Cryptozoic!

by Brian Aldiss

Impatient, he jabbed an ampoule of CSD into his artery and moved into mind-travel again.

  There was Silverstone! Pacing a corner of the room. Bush remembered clearly that remarkable face, with the wry mouth and beaky nose; a phrase describing it popped into being: the self-mocking-bird. Four genuine Victorian gents smoked at the other end of the chamber. Bush knew this was the moment he needed; that mysterious instinctive sense guiding him through mind-travel had worked again. He must be careful. He was only a matter of minutes, scarcely an hour, away from Silverstone in time. The man would be able to see him quite easily, hear him, speak to him, shoot him. He crouched behind the thick curtains.

  Silverstone turned -- whipped his head round, saw Bush, perhaps had seen him materialize from the corner of his eye. His face clouded, he pointed an accusing finger at Bush. Dumbfounded by his own stupidity, Bush flicked back into mind. He had forgotten that Silverstone had probably spent some while in 1851 before Howes arrived, had forgotten to take thorough precautions against being seen by men of his own time.

  He surfaced. The room was empty now, stacked with twilight, like a replica of itself standing in a museum. He went behind a long sofa, the upholstered wooden back of which curved like a mahogany wave, foaming roses and rose buds. Safely concealed, he surged through time again, ignoring his own fatigue.

  Then he had it!

  The instinct had served him well and homed him in on a moment when they were actually talking about him.

  Silverstone was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall. Howes was standing by him, but had turned from him as Ann entered the room. She was in distress, calling to him even as she ran across to the far side of the room where they were. Every word carried to Bush, faint but very clear amid all the surrounding silence.

  "Eddie Bush is in the palace, David! I just met him on this floor."

  She stood before Howes, running her hands up and down the seams of her maid's uniform. Howes became tense and unsmiling, even stroking his false whiskers.

  Silverstone said, "I told you he'd be back. He was in this very room two months ago. I saw him by this window. He could have killed me then, young ruffian!"

  Ignoring him, Howes asked the girl, "Did you obey your orders?"

  "I couldn't, David! Listen -- there's no need to kill Bush now. He's changed his opinions. He'll help us now, and goodness knows we need help."

  Howes made to push by her, reaching for his gun at the same time.

  "You've disobeyed orders, Ann. We've got enough trouble without the uncertain factor of Bush complicating life for us. Take me to him!"

  She caught his arm. "Don't do anything you'd regret later, David. He can help us. Be reasonable with him -- you said yourself he was an artistic type. Besides, he has a light-gun."

  "Ha! You needn't worry about that! We fixed that."

  "You're so good at fixing! I'm just asking you not to hurt him. Please!"

  When he looked at her, his expression softened.

  "You still fancy him, don't you? All right, I'll talk to him, if I must. But don't forget how much hinges on the success of this operation. Professor Silverstone, if you'd kindly stay here, we'll be back in a couple of minutes, and then we will mind at once, before things get too hot for us."

  "But my parcel," Silverstone said. "I can't leave without that. Ann, you were going to get it for me."

  Ann snapped her fingers. "I was on my way to get it -- I forgot when I saw Eddie. There'll be no hitches, Professor -- I'll fetch your parcel at once."

  Bush was not staying to hear the last part of the conversation. While their attention was focused on each other, he ran, bent double, out of the door. Directly he got into the corridor, he capered, enemy agents or no. Wonderful!

  He had seen the look on Ann's face when Howes had asked if she still fancied him. Until that moment, he had forgotten he possessed any talent for loving. The unguarded look on her face told him otherwise -- yes, unguarded, just as little Joan Bush had been observed unguarded; it was the first time he had seen Ann with her guard down.

  And he had caught Howes with his guard down! Howes -- the fixer! A brave and cool and far-sighted man: all qualities Bush could not see in himself. Howes' sabotage of the regime's plans had been as complete as he could make them: and had included making sure the guns of his chosen assassins did not function properly. No doubt Bush's gas-gun fired harmless carbon dioxide, just as his light-gun had fired harmless unlasered light rather than the coherent beam it was supposed to do. It was all clear. He had not killed Ann.

  What Howes just said confirmed what Bush had already guessed. The fact that his gun was tampered with was the one bit of tangible proof he had that Howes' account of subversive activity was true.

  He knew he could now cheerfully mind back to the point where he had left Silverstone and Howes lying gassed in the corridor. Time was of the essence -- a pregnant thought! But he was no longer a murderer! He was reprieved! -- a good harmless creature who intended injury to no one. And Ann lived her elusive life still!

  Caprice took him. Laughing, he bounded down the corridor, back the way he knew Ann had just come.

  He found his earlier self lurking in the dark alcove behind which the women still ironed. Impulsively, he reached his hand and found it grasped by himself. He smiled. How fine he was, larger than he had anticipated, deft in his movements.

  "You!"

  "I!"

  It was a sort of exchange of love. How well he wished this man, this stranger whose every thought, every inch of body he knew -- the only such person! What a crazy dark unknown incest this was, to be clutching himself in love! He could say no more, overcome with emotion, content with the charge that had been conveyed. He minded.

  He was back -- or he had been there all the while and the universe had been away. The effort of breaking through the time-entropy barrier told on him and sobered him down, making him aware once more of present dangers.

  Silverstone and Howes were returning to consciousness, sprawled on the corridor carpet. Although they had breathed relatively less of the gas than Grazley's men, it would not be long before the enemy also revived and burst into the corridor.

  Stooping, Bush slapped the professor's face -- the face of the self- mocking-bird -- and rubbed it briskly, calling, "Stein, Stein!" He changed his mind. "Silverstone!" he said.

  The professor opened his eyes. "It was proof," he muttered. "That weapon -- proof positive!"

  The words piled confusion into Bush's head. Could Silverstone remember that his light-gun had been tampered with? He was totally at a loss to understand how the man had learned what he had been through. He just stared down at Silverstone as the professor struggled into a sitting position and said, with a much firmer grasp on consciousness, "That weapon the four people from the other time used -- it is proof that my theory is absolutely correct, and we shall have other proof, you'll see! This is the first time they have intervened through the time-entropy barrier."

  Somewhat disgruntled to find that his own case was not being discussed, Bush said, "I'm going to get you out of here, Silverstone. In any case, I don't see how they could use a weapon through the entropy barrier."

  "Simple, isn't it? We'd have developed it ourselves in a few years, no doubt. We've already learned to leak air through the barrier; the whole concept of mind-travel necessitates it. They merely leaked an anesthetic through. Now, get me to my feet, will you? You're Edward Bush, I know. We've met up and down the time spectrum, not always in friendly circumstances. I hope I did not hurt you too much that time by The Amniote Egg. I imagined you were one of that villain Bolt's agents."

  Bush laughed. "I hadn't even noticed you on that occasion. I was too taken up with the girl you were with."

  Silverstone's rather strained countenance relaxed. "Well, I was taken up with her too. Women are my weakness, happily. Now, thank you for getting me out of that room. Undo Howes and we will go."

  "I tied Howes up for a purpose. He did a cruel thing to me, just to ensure I was suffi
ciently overwhelmed to obey him without question. I'm not going to be used as anyone's tool."

  "We're all someone's tool. That's what society means. You're a very emotional man, Bush, but we have no time for emotion just now. David Howes is a vitally important man, and we must have him with us."

  We're all someone's tool. . . . It was not a particularly lofty thought, in Bush's estimation, but it was a way of making sense of human affairs. One used and was used. He had used Ann. Howes had used him. He would use Howes. He would use Silverstone.

  Howes and Silverstone had power; they could gain more power. Back in the present -- in 2093 -- they could help Bush if he would help them. He could find through them the liberty to paint, to group, again -- he needed to create as a sleeping man needs to dream. If his art was going to survive, he had to give up some of the pettiness of being himself.

  He stooped down and began to untie Howes, who was already opening his eyes. As he fumbled with the knots, Silverstone said, "You may know there was a coterie of intellectual exiles here in Buckingham Palace from our time. I have explained my message to them and they have gone to disseminate it."

  "Message? Have you gone religious?"

  "My teaching. I wish Wenlock were here, now our quarrel is made up. Even I can hardly grasp what I have discovered. It turns the world upside down, quite upside down. We must mind as soon as possible."

  "I can't go without Ann."

  "I know. We need Ann. She will be back in a moment with my parcel, which was left downstairs. How are you, Captain?"

  Howes grunted. He sat up as Bush untied him, shook his head to clear it, looked at Bush. "You know about Ann? That she's alive?"

  Bush nodded.

  "Sorry, Bush. Your uncertain temper was to blame. When you fired the doctored light-gun at her, she threw herself down, and when I'd gassed you I made her agree to pretend she was dead. It's about time you had a shock. It might be good for your sadism!"

  "You're sick!" Bush said. He turned away in disgust. Ann was hastening along the corridor, a large plastic case under her arm. Silverstone grasped the parcel; Bush grasped Ann. She smiled up at him, with a raised eyebrow and an echo of her old distrust.

  "Why did you do it?" he asked.

  "You dare ask me that? Why did you shoot me? Don't answer! I know the answer -- you don't trust me, you daren't trust me, because you daren't trust yourself!"

  He lied to her. "The gun went off by accident."

  "You're lying! I saw the intention in your eyes as you pressed the button."

  "I was mad with disappointment -- you know that! You know I thought you were bringing back Howes to kill me. It was only because I loved you, Ann, I went wild as I did!"

  She dropped her gaze and said sulkily, "You don't trust me."

  "We're all going to have to trust each other now," Howes said. "Because if we don't mind out of here quickly, Grazley and his men will be on to us again. We could shoot them out of hand where they lie -- perhaps Bush would care to do it -- but I prefer to mind before they recover."

  "Excellent idea, Captain -- though I think you are unfair to Bush. He pulled us both out of the hands of the Popular Action party, and we owe him our thanks," Silverstone said. "Now, I have my parcel: link arms and give yourselves a shot of CSD. Hold the discipline in your minds, and let's get away from this madhouse. We're going to mind back to the Jurassic, all four of us."

  "I thought we were returning to 2093," Bush said.

  "You'll take orders," Howes said, producing an ampoule, rolling up his sleeve, and pressing it into his arm.

  "We have a little business to attend to -- someone to collect -- in the Jurassic," Silverstone said, clearly trying to make up to Bush for Howes' ill manners.

  Bush shrugged. "I want to talk to you, Ann," he said in a low tone as he also prepared to mind.

  She said in a subdued way, "I don't want to talk. David's told me just enough of the Silverstone undermind theory to daze me completely -- "

  "Ann, let's go, please!" Silverstone said. "No talking. Ready, Captain Howes?"

  Howes had already linked arms with Silverstone. Now he caught Bush's arm as Bush took Ann's.

  "Let's go," he said.

  Chapter 5

  ON THE DECREPIT MARGINS OF TIME

  Buckingham Palace: the savannahs of the Jurassic. There was little difference between them for a mind-traveler in one important respect: both lay eternally under the curse of silence, three-dimensional but hardly accessible to any sense but sight. And no pterodactyls flew.

  The four of them arrived together, and an immense tiredness settled down on Bush. He looked with disfavor at Silverstone and Howes. The whole roughneck episode in Buckingham Palace disgusted him, as he recalled the good resolutions and feelings of godliness with which he had left Breedale. Any attempt he made to participate in the events of the world disgusted him; he needed silences and solitudes again, and reflected cynically, "Absolute powerlessness corrupts absolutely." The meaning of his weapon's failure to work was not lost on him.

  They were standing by a slow-flowing river, the dull blue-green jungle stretching behind them, while ahead lay plain and mountain. Nothing moved but the river. The sky was full of rolling cloud-cover, as Bush always recalled the Jurassic.

  "We will continue with the plan we agreed on," Silverstone said. "Captain Howes, if you and Ann will proceed and collect our other friend, I will rest here with Bush."

  "We'll get moving at once," Howes said. "You take a nap, professor. You look as if you could do with one, too, Bush. We'll be back in two or three hours, if all goes well."

  Ann waved, and without more fuss she and Howes departed, walking with the lethargic tread of someone still under the influence of CSD.

  Silverstone began at once to unroll a light bed from his pack, advising Bush to do the same.

  "We are quite safe here. I chose this spot because it is a couple of miles away from human habitation. The captain and Ann will collect someone and then we make the rest of our journey."

  "Professor -- I'm exercising some self-restraint because I realize I am only a pawn in this game, but will you please explain to me whom we are meeting now and where we are going next?"

  "You're too preoccupied with little things, my friend. But -- so am I . . . I keep worrying because I broke my wristwatch and don't know the time -- the time! A time! And yet I know every wristwatch is obsolete. I'm an inconsistent man."

  "So am I! Genius is inconsistent. Do you remember your childhood?"

  "We must get some rest. But I will answer your first questions." He began to unwrap the plastic parcel he had brought with him from Victorian times. "You were an artist of some sort, weren't you?"

  "I am an artist. You don't cease to be an artist!"

  "Well, you stop manifesting it, shall we say?"

  Bush looked for irony, but forgot what he was about as the panel emerged from the parcel.

  "We are going to meet the man who executed this. He will grasp my findings when I explain them, seminally if not intellectually. It is necessary for any new thing in the world to be interpreted to the public at large not only through scientists but through artists -- that has been the eternal role of the artist, and this man shows he is ideal for my purpose. Look at this fine work of his."

  Bush was looking. "It's a Borrow. He's great, isn't he?"

  Without fuss, Borrow had established several areas of darkness in his groupage, inter-related by motes of color which combined here and there into dominant masses so presented that they might have been atomic nuclei, Cities or stars; the scale of the whole being thus thrown in doubt, other ambiguities could take on double or even treble meanings. Some parts seemed rather coarse and ill-felt, but they were inseparable from the whole, as if Borrow had here extended himself, thrown off the role of the dandy, and tried to face simultaneously all of himself and all of his world.

  It was a groupage that appeared to Bush less perfect than the montages he had inspected at The Amniote Egg, but infinitely g
reater; he knew unhesitatingly that this was a later work to which the earlier ones stood as preliminary exercises. This was Roger Borrow as late Turner, late Kandinsky, late Braque, late Rellom, late Wotaguci. It was incredible to Bush that the unfiery Borrow could have produced such a statement; yet it had his friend's signature all over it, impersonal though it was.

  And Borrow was coming back to join them with Ann and Howes . . .

  He realized he had been staring at the work for many minutes. Parts of it were, parts of it seemed to be, in slow contrapuntal motion; his attention was drawn to the ominous grinding of human circumstance, to the measured shifting of galaxies and protons, and to the time strata that gathered like a ripening storm over his world. Now he looked up at Silverstone. He didn't even want to ask where they were going when Borrow arrived.