The Other End of Time

by Frederik Pohl

  That was it. She wasn't going to tell until somebody higher up authorized it. That didn't surprise Dannerman; but what did surprise him was that, when he finally did get a clue, it came from that old fart of a family lawyer, Jerome Dixler.

  The place the lawyer had chosen for lunch was a small private club way downtown on Gramercy Park. The place appeared to have a theatrical history. When Dannerman checked his twenty-shot and carryphone at the cloakroom-the gun was no surprise, but he was a little astonished that the club did not allow phones to ring in their dining room-he was informed that Mr. Dixler hadn't arrived yet. He spent ten minutes in the lounge, studying full-length oil paintings of famous members, all actors of a century or more ago whose names were familiar to him only from long-ago courses at Harvard. When the lawyer showed up he was out of breath.

  "Real apologies, Dan," he panted. "The traffic gets worse every day and that driver of mine- Well, I did make it. Here, let's get to our table and order something to drink."

  Dannerman was mildly flattered, more intrigued, by the fact that Dixler had put himself out to try to be on time. Still, he didn't get to business right away, whatever his business was going to turn out to be. While the waiter was bringing cocktails the lawyer went over every item on the menu, discussing the provenance of the basic foods that went into it and the way the club's chef prepared it. Dannerman knew he was meant to feel courted. Clearly Dixler had taken him to a pretty expensive place, although Dannerman's own menu was bereft of prices for anything. He wondered just what it was that the lawyer wanted from him that justified this kind of entertainment.

  Dixler was in no hurry to get to it. As soon as the orders had been placed he said brightly, "Well, then, Dan. How're you getting along with dear little Pat?"

  "Well enough. I don't see much of her in the office."

  Dixler clucked. "That's a pity. You know Cuthbert always hoped you two kids would get together someday."

  "Him too."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Nothing. Someone else said the same thing, just the other night, but I don't think it's going to happen. For one thing, Pat never got in touch with me after Uncle Cubby died."

  Dixler gave him a wounded look. "You never called me, either, Dan. I hope you're not holding a grudge about that problem with your inheritance."

  "There wasn't any problem. There just wasn't any inheritance by the time it got to me. You explained it all when I got back from Europe. As executor you liquidated the estate."

  "Had to, Dan. It's the law. I'm sorry it worked out the way it did, but I put the whole bequest into government bonds the way I was supposed to; it's not my fault inflation was so bad there wasn't much there when you got home. If you'd kept in touch while you were in Europe-"

  "Yes, everybody's in agreement about me, aren't they? Pat told me I should have kept in touch, too. Well, I'm not blaming anybody." Dannerman wasn't, either, not really; there wasn't any point since there wasn't anything that could be done about it now. He changed the subject. "Anyway, it didn't work all that well for Pat, either, did it? I hear she's having her own money troubles."

  Dixler looked startled. "How'd you hear that?" Dannerman shrugged. "Well, I suppose offices gossip. It's true enough. I don't think I'm violating lawyer-client confidentiality if I say that divorcing two husbands cost her a lot."

  "Ah," Dannerman said, nodding. "I guess you handled the divorces for her."

  The lawyer winced. "Really, Dan, that's unkind. I did the best I could for her. No attorney can do more than his client lets him, and she-well, she didn't provide me with the best cases, you know. That's about all I can say with propriety. Wouldn't say that much, you know, if you weren't family." He worked on his salad in silence for a moment, then came to the point. "Let me take you into my confidence, Dan. I guess you wondered why I asked you to come down here."

  "I suppose it's because the club is sort of historic, and the food's good," Dannerman offered politely.

  "Historic, sure; they say John Wilkes Booth used to eat in this very room. If you like history. I don't; and there's good food in plenty of places that are a lot more convenient. There's only one reason I keep my membership in this place and that's because nobody I know ever comes here. It's private. What I wanted to talk to you about is confidential, and in a way it does have to do with Pat's financial situation. You see-" He hesitated, then put his fork down and got it out. "There are some funny rumors going around about what your cousin's up to. I mean this repair mission on that Starlab orbiter. It's not just that the observatory wants its telescopes working again. People seem to think there's more to it. In fact, some people say there's some kind of technology in Starlab that isn't supposed to be there. The kind that might be worth a lot of money to whoever got his hands on it."

  Dannerman kept his expression blank, but his level of interest suddenly elevated. "How can that be? Starlab's just an old astronomical satellite."

  The lawyer shrugged. "Whether the rumor is true or not, it appears that your cousin thinks it is. She's spending pretty heavily out of what's left of her personal fortune to get what she calls the repair mission going."

  That was a good deal more puzzling than enlightening. "Why does she have to spend her own money? You read me Uncle Cubby's will. Unless I heard wrong, it seems to me he left the observatory pretty well financed."

  Dixler shook his head. "She has to account to the board for anything she spends out of the endowment. If she wants that mission to fly she's got a lot of off-the-books expenses to deal with. I wouldn't call them bribes, exactly. But not exactly legitimate, either, if you know what I mean. She doesn't want to have to explain them to the board, so she's been dipping into her capital to pay them out of her own pocket. She's been buying uncut diamonds, too."

  For the first time Dannerman was startled. "Uncut diamonds!"

  The lawyer shrugged. "For what purpose I do not know. She certainly doesn't plan to wear them, and she's got better inflation hedges than diamonds already." He shook his head. "Dan, I don't have to tell you, that's not like her. So she must have some pretty powerful reason-and there are these rumors."

  "What do the rumors say, exactly?"

  The lawyer said shrewdly, "That's what I'm asking you to find out. You work there; you should be able to get the facts on it."

  Dannerman quelled a sudden impulse to laugh in the man's face. "You're not asking me to be a spy, are you?"

  "Oh, no! Nothing like that! I wouldn't ask you to pry into your cousin's affairs. All I want you to do is keep your ears open... and, of course, give me a call when you find anything out."

  "So you can figure out some way to cut yourself in on the profits-if there are any?"

  Dixler flushed, but he controlled his temper. "My reasons," he said, "aren't actually any of your business. If you want to take a guess about them, you're welcome, but I don't choose to discuss the subject."

  "Let me think about it," Dannerman said. The lawyer waved graceful permission with one hand, and began to talk about what a fine man Cuthbert Dannerman had been and how charming Dan and his cousin had been as children. Dannerman listened but didn't need to say much; Dixler was conducting the conversation by himself. Only when the meal was finished and they were getting their checked belongings at the cloakroom did the lawyer say:

  "What about it, Dan?"

  Dannerman was listening to a message that had come with his carryphone and gun. He looked up. "What?"

  Dixler lowered his voice. "I said, will you do what I'm asking for me? I can make it worth your while, Dan."

  "How worth my while?" Dixler shrugged and was mute. "Well, I'll do what I can," Dannerman said ambiguously. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run. Looks like I've got an appointment I hadn't expected."

  "Fine," said Dixler. "I'll be waiting to hear from you."

  As Dixler got into his limousine Dannerman waited for the doorman to produce a cab. He was thinking hard, but not about the lawyer's offer. He was listening again to the message that ha
d been on his phone. What it said was:

  "Dr. Adcock will be returning to the observatory some time after two-thirty. You should be waiting at the street entrance before she gets there."

  There wasn't any signature, but there didn't need to be: the message had been addressed to him as "Danno."

  He made it by two-thirty, but with only moments to spare; but it didn't seem he had needed to hurry. The sidewalk outside the building was as crowded as always, but there was no sign of his cousin. Not at two-thirty, not at two-forty, not at almost three.

  Dannerman leaned against the side of the building between two storefronts to keep his back covered; he had no doubt there were pickpockets among the horde of pedestrians. There was a policeman moving methodically down the block, making the sidewalk vendors pack up their wares and move on. He gave Dannerman a searching look, as he did the four or five other idlers who were standing around, doing their best to look as though they were waiting for someone. Some probably were. One at least wasn't, because as soon as the cop was ten meters away the man strolled over to Dannerman. Out of the side of his mouth, not looking at him, he muttered, "Smoke? Get high? Want to have a good time?"

  "Get lost," Dannerman said. He looked at his watch. He had stretched his lunch hour a good deal longer than Cousin Pat would approve; if it happened she had come back a little earlier than expected, and was up in her office wondering where he was-She wasn't. He saw a taxi roll up before the building entrance, and Pat Adcock and her bodyguard got out.

  Dannerman wondered just what he was supposed to do, but not for long. Two of the idlers had moved quickly toward the curb. As the cab was pulling away one of them jumped Mick Jarvas from behind, the two of them falling to the ground; Dannerman heard a sickening crunch that sounded like a bone breaking. The other grabbed his cousin, snatched her necklace, knocked her down too and began to run-straight at Dan Dannerman.

  Dannerman's reflexes were fast. "Hai!" he shouted, and stopped the man with a full body block. The mugger squawked, and then lost his voice as Dannerman spun him around and got an arm around his throat. The other mugger got up from where he had left Jarvas writhing on the sidewalk and started over to him; then, as Dannerman turned to face him, releasing the man he had captured, the two turned and ran, disappearing into the crowd.

  As Dannerman helped his cousin to her feet and handed back her necklace she looked at him with shaky wonder. "Well, thanks, Dan," she gasped. "You're pretty handy in a street fight, aren't you? And you even got my beads back."

  "Just glad I was here, Pat," he said modestly.

  "So am I." She turned to the policeman who was trotting toward them at last, sweaty in his body armor and looking annoyed. It was only when she had finished reprimanding the officer for not being present when needed and ordering him to call in for an ambulance for groaning Mick Jarvas that Cousin Pat finally remembered to revert to type. "One thing, though, Dan. I'm glad you happened to be here, of course. But you do know, don't you, that you're supposed to be back from lunch no later than two. And it's a pity you let those muggers get away."

  He didn't answer that. He especially didn't tell her the reason, because he didn't want to mention that while he had the "mugger" in a choke hold the man had gasped aggrievedly, "Come on, Danno! Don't be so fucking rough!"

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dan

  On the way home that night, Dannerman stopped to do what he should have done days earlier-put in his once-a-month hour's practice on the firing range at the YMCA. As long as he was there he put in another hour on the exercise machines to keep his muscle tone up. When he got home he was hot and sweaty, but the guns had to be cleaned.

  His practiced fingers knew how to do that without much direction from his brain, so he put something on the screen to watch while he cleaned the weapons. He hesitated over the choice. One of his store of Elmer Rice plays, for the fun of it? Some of the briefing tapes Hilda had downloaded for him, for the sake of duty? He compromised on looping the two messages from space again; maybe they had something to do with his assignment, as the colonel had hinted, but anyway she'd stirred his curiosity.

  He did the easiest weapon first, the registered twenty-shot, his eyes on the screen. Even slowed down to catch details, the first space message gave no more information than it had the first time he saw it, in the Neuereich. The universe expanded and collapsed; and that was that.

  He paused before running the second message, because the stink of his bomb-bugger was getting to him. Once the chemicals in a bomb-bugger mixed they produced not only thrust for the bullets but a god-awful smell; he rinsed the whole weapon, tiring chamber and all, in water with neutralizer added, then carefully added enough of each chemical to top them off from the canisters hidden under his bed. Then he turned on the second message and began to clean his ankle gun.

  He didn't get far. There were angry voices just outside his door. One was his landlady, Rita, in a bad mood; the other, whining and apologetic, belonged to one of the upstairs lodgers, Bert Germaine. When he opened the door, Rita diverted her attention from the lodger to Dannerman. "I didn't see you in the kitchen," she said accusingly. Then, wrinkling her nose, "What's that smell?"

  "I guess it's the low-power loads they make you use on the YMCA range. Sorry about that."

  She shrugged, turning back to look for the other lodger. But that conversation with the other lodger was over, because Germaine had taken advantage of her distraction to sneak away. "Little bastard," she said morosely. "I ought to kick his ass right out of my condo. Can't pay the rent, oh, no, but he always has a couple dollars for lottery tickets every day."

  Dannerman took the hint. "Let me settle up."

  "Oh, honey," she sighed, "I wasn't talking about you. You're the best goddam tenant I have, you know that. Only how can I make ends meet when I have to put up with deadbeats like Germaine?"

  "Look at the bright side, Rita. Maybe he'll win his hundred million dollars, then he'll pay everything he owes all at once."

  "Maybe pigs will fly. Dan," she said, looking him over, "when was the last time you got a haircut?" He shrugged. "You really ought to take more pride in your appearance, a good-looking young fellow like you. Which reminds me," she added. "There was a girl here looking for you."

  "Oh?" he said, wondering: Colonel Hilda? Somebody from the office?

  "Said her name was Anita. Said to tell you they missed you at the theater. Is she the one I used to see here sometimes, like a month or two ago? Not that I'm complaining about your having guests," she added hastily. "You pay your rent on time. I'm not going to worry if you have somebody visit you now and then, and one thing I will say for you, Dan, the ones I've seen have always looked pretty respectable. Not like the hookers that little bastard Germaine tries to sneak in. He's always got the money to pay them, you bet; and still he says he can't pay his rent!"

  When he was safely locked in his room again Dannerman didn't start the tape again. He was thinking about Anita Berman.

  That was not an enjoyable subject-not meaning Anita herself, who was about as enjoyable a female as he had ever dated, but the fact that he would soon have to do something about her. The troubling question was, do what? He didn't really want to break off their relationship. But she was beginning to sound serious, and that was something he couldn't afford.

  Then Hilda's call came in on the coded line and he put Anita Berman out of his mind for the moment. He started in right away with the colonel. "Thanks a lot for setting me up this afternoon. You could've told me about it first."

  "What for? I knew you could handle it. Now Jarvas is out of the way for a while, right?"

  "I guess so. They were still at the hospital when 1 left."

  "He's out," she said positively. "His arm's broken. So tomorrow morning you go in to your cousin and see if you can get his job."

  "You broke his arm on purpose."

  "Damn straight we did. So now his job's open, because what's the use of a bodyguard with a broken arm? Get it. Her bodyguard goes
wherever she goes, so you can keep tabs on her when she's out of the observatory. Now, let's hear your report."

  There wasn't much to say, until he got to his lunch with the lawyer. She scowled at that. "Him, too. Maybe we should sell tickets."

  "You don't act surprised at what he said," he pointed out.

  "You mean because this Dixler thinks your cousin's trying to make some money out of the Starlab? But we already knew all that, of course."

  "Hell, Hilda, I didn't! So now that I know that much, how about telling me the rest?"

  She shook her head. "Don't hassle me about that. What else?"

  He hesitated. "One thing. I want to go back and visit at the theater. They're opening The Subway tomorrow night and I want to be there."

  She frowned again. "Is that wise? The only reason we let you do that theater crap was because it made good cover on the Carpezzio job, and that's over for you. Don't get the two things mixed up."

  "It's personal, Hilda."

  She sighed and surrendered. "That goddam Berman woman, right? Well, I won't say no, but if there's any fallout it's your ass, Danno. All right, I've got some orders for you. We can't get through your cousin's encoding; we need a key. That Greek fellow-"

  "Papathanassiou."

  "That one. He probably has it, and I've got his data packet; I'll pass it on to you. Couple of others, too, but the Greek's is the one that looks good. You ought to be able to get something out of him."

  "Blackmail him, you mean?"

  "Whatever. And that Chinaman we were interested in, Jimmy Lin. He's coming back tomorrow morning, so you want to get on him, too." She reflected for a moment, peering past him.

  "Did you clean your clothes after firing your bomb-bugger? Once you fire one of those things the stink stays, so everybody's going to know you've got a hideout gun."

  "I will," he promised; then, "Hey! You've had me followed!" "Well, sure. If we didn't do that how would we know if anybody else was following you? You're clean, so far-and, don't forget, the first thing you do in the morning is see if you can go for Jarvas's job."