The worldwide discussion about the timelink rapidly reached the corridors of Congress. The newly appointed Senator Barkham even introduced a bill to outlaw the construction and operation of time machines and to expropriate the existing timelink for sole use by the U.S. government. Oscar was summoned to the office of the Senate Majority Leader, Wismer (Wiz) Jones.
"Senator Barkham," said Wiz, "I want you to drop your timelink bill."
"No!" Oscar replied hotly. "That megalomaniac little twerp has got to be stopped before he tries to take over the world!"
"You read Hunter's statement," Wiz said calmly. "He only used the timelink to stop the A.R.F. and has no intention of doing anything more with it."
"I don't trust him!" shouted Oscar. "I notice that he isn't destroying the timelink, only promising not to use it. I want it either destroyed or taken over by the U.S. authorities."
Senator Jones snorted. "I'd rather the timelink be in the hands of Hunter than the U.S. government. More trustworthy, in my opinion."
"Not in mine," replied Oscar. "My bill will make sure the timelink is either shut down or put under proper control."
Senator Jones gave a weary sigh. "Look, Oscar, you are a freshman senator, and appointed at that. You've got to realize that passing a law doesn't always solve a problem. Your bill is a case of trying to close the barn door after the horse was stolen. The timelink already exists, so you can't prosecute Hunter for illegally building one, because he did it before the law was passed. You can try to prevent him from using it further, but he has already said that he isn't going to. Besides, it is bad policy to make a law that you can't enforce. Your bill would only apply to the United States, and Hunter is operating the timelink in deep space, well outside our jurisdiction."
"We've got to do something about that blasted time machine!" Oscar railed. "The papers are speculating that he could destroy the future universe if he creates a paradox with it."
"According to what my science experts have told me, it is not possible to create a paradox with it," replied Wiz. He got up from behind his desk and put a friendly arm about the junior senator. "I tell you what we should do ..."
"What?" asked Oscar, calming down a little.
"You grew up with Hunter," said Wiz. "You know him and how he works. Why don't you go visit with him and have a chat, boyhood chum to boyhood chum ... get him to see your concerns and agree to close down the timelink voluntarily."
"I don't know," said Oscar dubiously. "He's so pigheaded he will probably say no just because it was me that was asking."
"Well, make it clear that all of us are asking," said Wiz.
"OK," Oscar said reluctantly. "I'll try." He turned to leave.
"Oh, Oscar," added Wiz, Oscar turned around. "Don't lose your temper like you did at the patent trial. If you do, I can guarantee you will never win the next election, even if I have to finance your opposition opponent out of party funds."
Chapter 9
Visit
AT FIRST, Randy refused to let Oscar visit him. But finally he gave in to pressure from his friend, ex-Senator Red Hurley, who passed on a personal request from the President asking Randy to at least listen to Oscar.
"OK ... if she wants to make a federal case out of it," said Randy, breathing heavily on the three-gee couch. "But he'll have to wait until I've reached ninety-eight-percent cee and can unfold the living quarters."
THREE WEEKS later, life on Timemaster had reached normal and Randy was waiting for Oscar to arrive. He wasn't about to stand around in a tightsuit waiting for the bastard to warp through, so after a vigorous game of vacuum poof-ball with the Silverhair, and getting the warpgate started, he let Didit and Gidget monitor the dilation while he dressed and got himself some lunch. The ship had to be in free-fall while the transfer took place, so he was reduced to opening a cold can of corned beef and cutting off slices to nibble on. It wasn't one of his favorite meals, and it made him dislike Oscar's coming even more.
As he ate, Randy watched Oscar's progress on his cuff-comp via the video monitors mounted at strategic locations around Timemaster. In addition to the small bag that carried his folded dress clothing, Oscar was hauling along a bulky package wrapped in butcher paper. Didit helped Oscar through the vacuum lock and out of his tightsuit. Randy grinned as he watched Oscar remove his codpiece.
At least there's one part of me that's bigger than Oscar's, he thought in amusement.
By the time Oscar had gotten dressed, Gidget had collapsed the warpgate and Albert had the ship under one-gee drive again. Randy unlatched Grandfather's pendulum, set it ticking again, and reset the time.
He welcomed Oscar at the elevator as he arrived at the main floor. "Greetings, Senator Barkham," he said, shaking hands perfunctorily. He reached for the bulky package under Oscar's left arm. "Here—let me take that off you," he said.
"I'll be glad to get rid of it," said Oscar, handing it to him. "It must weigh twenty pounds. What is it?"
"Dinner!" said Randy, breaking the tape and unrolling the butcher paper to reveal a fresh turkey. "A beauty!" He grinned and handed it to Didit, who took it off into the kitchen.
"When your wife gave it to me, I thought it was something important," Oscar grumbled.
"But it is important," said Randy. "I certainly wouldn't want to inflict an ordinary defrosted fillet of beef on such an important guest as you."
"But the ignominy of being asked to haul a turkey around ..."
Randy was going to make a quip along the lines of "it takes one to haul one", but decided not to.
THE VISIT started well enough, with Oscar taking an interest in seeing Randy's mansion among the stars. He was impressed with the living quarters, although the rooms were sort of small compared to the typical billionaire's mansion, and he asked lots of intelligent questions about the hydroponics deck. The garden was just recovering from being under three gees, but he could see and appreciate the potential. Oscar's eyes didn't miss the number of circular patches scattered here and there about the garden, and Randy got some good-natured kidding about them. By the time the afternoon was over, Randy was even beginning to see a good side to Oscar. All that disappeared, however, when Randy took out a handkerchief to wipe off his hands as they left the garden.
"There you go ... wiping your hands again," Oscar sneered. "You're such a cleany-weeny ..."
Cleany-weeny ... The childish taunt in the childish voice dredged up a long-hidden memory from Randy's early childhood, when he was a tiny, immature four and Oscar was a terrible six—large, hyperactive, and strong as a young bull. Randy had been dressed in his white Sunday suit, and Oscar and his parents had dropped over after church to visit..
"Keep clean," his mother had warned him. But Oscar had other ideas. In the garage was a barrel full of soot left by the chimney cleaners. Oscar had climbed on a box, removed the lid, stuck in an inquisitive finger, and started writing bad words on the garage wall. Randy had threatened to tell, then suddenly found his tiny body hanging by its heels over a soot-black hole.
"Afraid of a little dirt, cleany-weeny?"
Randy had kicked and screamed. His kicking had caused Oscar to lose his grip, and Randy's screams had been choked off by smothering soot. The rest of the nightmare was mercifully gone from his memory, except for the humiliating ending—Oscar had been praised for rescuing little Randy, while Randy got a whipping from his father for ruining his white suit. Randy doubted that Oscar even remembered the incident.
"I just like to be clean, that's all," he said.
THE TWO of them sat down to a delightful dinner. There was roast turkey with stuffing made of chestnuts and homemade bread crumbs, fresh coleslaw and sweet yams from the hydroponics tanks, and fresh-baked pie made with cherries from the orchard. Randy made a production out of carving the turkey, sharpening the carving knife beforehand on the steel sharpener, and handing out large slabs of steaming white meat to them both. It wasn't until the coffee that Oscar brought up the purpose of his visit. The conversation soon became
heated.
"The world will never be the same again!" complained Oscar.
"The universe will never be the same again," corrected Randy, an unconcerned tone in his voice. "Once a timelink is created, from that moment on, the future happenings at that location are determined by the actions of those in the future as well as those in the past. All of future time and space will be one self-consistent, logical whole."
"You are destroying free will!" Oscar insisted. "What good are a man's thoughts—his dreams—his aspirations—if all the future is predetermined?"
"You have a parochial view of time, Oscar," said Randy. "A person will still have dreams and aspirations—and carry out actions to make those dreams come true—only his actions can now cause effects that take place in the past as well as the future."
"But the paradoxes!" exclaimed Oscar. "Like going back in time and killing your grandfather. If, by accident, you create a paradox with your blasted timelink, no one knows what would happen. Time might stop. The universe might be destroyed. Anything could happen ..." Oscar's voice took on a frenzied edge. "You've got to destroy that infernal machine!"
"You are not being logical," replied Randy, infuriatingly calm and self-assured. "The beauty about timelinks is that they obey the Novikov Self-Consistency Principle—that anything involving a timelink must be self-consistent. You exist, so therefore you did not kill your grandfather, no matter how much you want to, or how hard you try."
Oscar sputtered, "But ..."
"That's the thing I like best about setting up this timelink," continued Randy. "For the first time, the future workings of the universe will be determined by logic rather than the whims of some illogical but powerful human. Reason, not emotion, will prevail in the new universe I am creating."
"That's what you really want, isn't it?" Oscar growled. "I knew you couldn't control that much power without using it. You little Napoleon ... you're not satisfied being the richest man in the solar system. You want to use your timelink to become ruler of the universe!"
Under the stress Oscar slipped into a ZED flashback, and Randy became scared. The last time Oscar had had a flashback, he had lost control of himself and tried to choke Red Hurley. There was no telling what he would do now.
"You're up to something ... I'm sure of it," Oscar said savagely, rising from his chair. "I'm not going to let you do it! I'll kill you first!"
Moving at manic speed, Oscar grabbed the carving knife from the table and was suddenly on Randy, pinning him in his armchair against the wall. The only things keeping the carving knife from penetrating Randy's throat were Randy's strong hands holding tightly to Oscar's right wrist and one of Randy's feet in Oscar's belly.
Didit appeared in the kitchen doorway, and for a second Randy felt a sense of relief. But Oscar, who had learned the trick as a kid, screamed "Stop!" and the robot was instantly frozen into immobility by its built-in safety circuits. Oscar turned back to look again at Randy. His eyes started flickering wildly. Randy, having seen that crazed look before, came close to panic. For once in his life, he was really scared, for his judo tricks were useless with his opponent right on top of him.
"I've got you now!" Oscar rasped, his muscles straining against Randy's weakening grip. Slowly, the knife tip came closer and closer to Randy's face. Randy felt his heart pounding as he stared at death.
I'm going to die! he thought. If I could just think of some way to save myself!
Just then, Randy was very surprised to see a heavily bearded man tiptoe through the door from the living room beyond. The man was dressed in red spacesuit outeralls and black space boots. He was helmetless, and his face and suit were smudged with black soot. In his tightsuit-gloved hand the man held the poker from the fireplace tool rack. Randy watched as the man crept up behind Oscar.
"Better put down that knife," Randy warned Oscar. "There's someone behind you!"
"You aren't going to fool me with that one, you miserable midget," said Oscar, pulling his knife hand free in order to strike again at Randy.
The stranger leaped forward and the heavy metal poker smashed against the back of Oscar's hand, sending the carving knife thudding onto the ornate rug.
"YEOW!" yelled Oscar, letting go of Randy to grab his injured hand. He tried to straighten the obviously broken fingers and cried out in pain again. "Ow-w-w-w!" he howled, stamping his feet in agony.
Randy quickly bent down and picked up the carving knife. Using the knife to keep Oscar at his distance, Randy clucked disapprovingly and used his napkin to wipe up the grease stain from the expensive Oriental rug.
Oscar, still holding his injured hand, turned slowly around to look behind him.
"Surprise ..." said the stranger. With his bearded face, soot-covered bright-red outeralls, and black boots, the man looked like Lewis Carroll's version of Saint Nick—except, of course, for the fireplace poker he was tapping in his sooty left hand.
Oscar's eyes widened and his face blanched as if he had seen a ghost. The shock of seeing the bearded man combined with the physical shock of his broken hand were too much—he fainted.
"Sissy," said the bearded man, kicking at the collapsed body with his toe.
"Thanks, mister," said Randy with great relief.
"Help me tie him up. We'll put him in the transfer pod and send him back," said the bearded man.
"No need to soil our hands with that animal kisser," said Randy. "I'll have Gidget do it." He stretched out his left arm and touched an icon on his cuff-comp. Off in the distance there came a clatter of metallic manipulators moving toward them down the corridor.
"We'd better do something about his hand before we send him off," said the man. He, too, stretched out his left arm and raised his cuff-comp to his mouth. "Godget, please bring the medical kit. Our guest has suffered a broken hand."
Randy stared at the man's cuff-comp. The catch that held it on the man's wrist was made of jet-black, shiny plastic, set with dozens of diamonds of various sizes and tints to outline the constellations in the sky. The man's cuff-comp was identical to the one his father had given him! Randy looked down at his left wrist. His cuff-comp was still there ...
Suddenly it all clicked into place: the identical cuff-comp, the identical small stature, the identical chestnut-brown hair, the way he ordered the robots around ...
It's me! thought Randy, turning pale. He started to feel dizzy and sat down weakly in the nearest chair. The last thing he remembered was the bearded man saying, "... and we'll probably need some smelling salts for the youngster."
"GET IN the pod," Randy ordered. Oscar glared back at him with sullen fury from inside the fishbowl helmet of his tightsuit. The right glove fingers of Oscar's tightsuit were crinkled up into little wormlike appendages that sprouted from the rounded cast that protected Oscar's broken hand. His wrists were bound together with a knotted piece of cord, as were his ankles.
"Before I go, I insist that you promise you will close down that infernal timelink and never use it again," said Oscar.
"I'll hold off using the timelink for a while and think about it," promised Randy. "Now get in the pod."
"I insist!" Oscar yelled.
"Don't try to bully me," said Randy. "I'm not afraid of you anymore. Every time you've tried to get in my way recently, I've made a fool of you. In the future, you had better stay away from me, or I'll do it again."
"Besides," added the bearded man, tapping the fireplace poker in the palm of his tightsuit glove, "you aren't in a position to insist on anything. You heard him ... get in the pod."
Grudgingly, Oscar stretched up in free-fall to grab the handhold at the top of the transfer pod and eased into the foot stirrups at the base of the pod. As he did so, Randy gave him a warning.
"Now remember ... if you tell anyone about what happened today, I'll tell them the whole truth—including your ZED flashback—and I'll file criminal charges for attempted murder. That should be more than enough to end your political career."
They closed the pod on Oscar an
d shot him through the warpgate back to Earth.
"I wonder if we've seen the last of him?" mused Randy.
"I can guarantee that we haven't," said the bearded man. "He's really mad now ..."
"Mad? That ZED has made him an unpredictable crazy. He's liable to do anything."
"You don't know the half of it," said the bearded man with a sigh. They collapsed the warp, danced with the Silverhair for a while, then cycled through the lock.
"ONE THING has been bothering me," said Randy as he relaxed the electrolastic in his tightsuit back in the dressing room. "Where in hell did you come from? You couldn't have warped through. We were still under acceleration."
"Came from UV Ceti in my ship, the Errol Flynn," said the bearded man. "It's flying in formation right alongside your ship."
"Why didn't Albert or Didit tell me you were coming?"
"I told them not to," said the bearded man. "I was afraid that Oscar might overhear and be forewarned that I was coming. Although logically I knew he would be surprised, I still have a tough time really believing that you can't change the past."
The man had stripped off his tightsuit, which was now a relaxed pile of fabric around his feet. He pulled his combination codpiece and antibind protector from between his legs, and Randy was impressed with what fell out. Then Randy noticed the jagged scar on the man's belly. His groin clinched up reflexively in sympathy for the ancient injury. The bearded man saw Randy staring at his scar, then turned and stretched it out with his hands so Randy could see it clearly.
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