by E. C. Tubb
“Buck,” Eva interrupted, “we can’t get away with this! I didn’t know this girl was not registered. It’s a risk we can’t afford to take! Don’t you realize that if we’re caught sheltering her, and she has no index-card to produce, we can be lethalized?”
“Course I know,” Buck growled. “What about it? You don’t suggest we turn the poor girl loose, do you? Anyway, that’s all sorted out. I’m canceling Worker Ten, and Ancient here can take her place.”
“That,” Eva said, “will be more difficult than you think. Worker Ten was killed tonight on an in-town transport. It went over the bridge on which you had such a narrow escape.”
Clem started and Buck’s eyes widened.
“Was it Transport KT-eight-nine-seven?” Clem questioned sharply.
“It was. They gave it out on the local newsflash not ten minutes before you arrived. That was why I was looking so bothered when you came—trying to decide about my household duties.”
“This,” Buck groaned, “is the finish! The authorities know that Worker Ten is dead, along with hundreds of other people, and we told that officer that Ancient here is Worker Ten.”
“Yes,” Clem muttered, “we did.”
Silence, Lucy looking from one to the other uneasily.
“So there it is,” Eva said, glancing at her. “You can surely see, Lucy—I suppose I can call you that—that we can’t jeopardize our lives by having you stay with us?”
“And what’s the alternative?” Buck asked. “We can’t turn her loose in a city and time she doesn’t know anything about. It would be worse than murder! And certainly Clem can’t take her to his place since he’s known to live alone.”
“Suppose we got married?” Lucy asked surprisingly.
“Huh?” Clem stared at her, uncomprehending.
“I mean it,” she said. “I’d trust you anywhere, Clem—or you, Buck. You’re both grand fellows. Don’t you see?” she went on eagerly. “If we got married, Clem—in name only of course, since I’d be doing it solely to protect myself—we could live together in safety and decency, and then Buck and Eva wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“Now I know you’re an Ancient Briton,” Buck smiled. “Do you mean that in your time marriages were entered into as lightly as that?”
“Sometimes, yes. Just get a special license, a Justice of the Peace and the thing’s as good as done.”
“Not anymore,” Clem said, with a serious shake of his head. “If we tried to get married, Lucy—and don’t think I don’t appreciate the compliment—we’d be worse in the soup than we are now. First your index-card would be needed; then you would have to go before the Eugenics Council for a medical examination. Then I would have to do likewise. After a gap of about six months the Council would decide if we were fitted to marry each other. If so, special forms would be granted, fully indexed mind you, and then a rubber stamp would proclaim us mated. Not married: that word is defunct. Marriage today is a biological partnership of ideally suited male and female parties. So say the great ones.”
“Then one doesn’t marry for love anymore?” Lucy asked in amazement.
“Sometimes it works out that love and eugenics match. In the great majority of cases you only get biological matches. Good idea in some ways. It has stamped out disease, the unfit, and the over or under-prolific. No, Lucy, that wouldn’t do.”
“She stays here!” Buck declared flatly. “That was the idea in the first place, and it still holds good. Tomorrow, if we haven’t thought of anything bright, we’ll smuggle her to the underground site until we do think of something bright. Nobody from the law will get down there without your express permission, Clem.”
“Looks like the only solution,” Clem admitted. “Think you can fall in with our views, Eva, and take a gamble?”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” Lucy exclaimed. “It isn’t fair that you should be asked to take such a chance. I’m all for giving myself up to the authorities and explaining the facts.”
“They’d listen, no doubt of that,” Clem said. “If they didn’t I think I could get the Master to give us a hearing—and his word is law. But unless I could prove what we were saying I’d get nowhere. And there isn’t a shred of evidence!”
“Not even in these ancient clothes I’m wearing?” Lucy pulled aside the overalls. “Ancient to you, that is.”
“Not even those. You could have obtained them from the history museum—or, if none have been reported missing from there, you could have manufactured them on a synthetic clothing machine. Most women have them these days.”
“Then—then what about these biological experts you have?” Lucy hurried on. “Surely, if I submitted to an examination, they could find things different in my make-up to those of a woman normal to this time? In a thousand years there must have been some sort of evolution.”
“Not in a thousand years,” Clem replied seriously. “It takes tens of thousands to alter a physical characteristic so far as to make it noticeable. You think back to your own time, and then to people existing a thousand years before you. How much change is there to be detected?”
Lucy sighed. “None. To the eye, anyway. Even two thousand years doesn’t seem to make much difference. I never thought we could be so stumped for proof. The force-bubble gone, the cavern blown up, and all traces of Bryce’s handiwork rusted into dust.”
“That brings us back to my own idea,” Buck insisted. “No other way, Ancient. You can see that too, Eva, surely?”
Eva seemed to have made up her mind—or else her overbearingly generous husband had made it up for her. She turned to Lucy, smiled, and then said quietly:
“All right, Lucy, I’ll risk it—” and to cement the fact she shook hands warmly. Then she began to move into action. “Take off those overalls and make yourself at home. I’ll fix an extra place for you at the table. You’ll certainly be in need of a meal?”
“Starving,” Lucy confirmed, struggling out of the overalls with Clem’s help. When at last she was free he patted her shoulder.
“Everything will be all right,” he assured her, smiling seriously. “I’ll be along tomorrow with some plan worked out. Meantime I can rely on Buck to keep you hidden if anything unpleasant arises.”
“You’re not staying for a meal?” Buck asked.
“No, old man. Better get back for when that wreck of an autobus is returned to me.”
With that Clem took his departure. Lucy, whilst Buck departed to other regions presumably to freshen up, found herself surveying more closely this typical city home of the year 3004. Basically she could see little difference from the more modern homes of her own time, but here and there were refinements that fascinated her. The wall, for instance, facing the warmly-glowing electrode fireplace was composed of two panels. In one was inset a flat television screen; and in the other a loudspeaker permanently on by law so that any official notice could not fail to be received.
Another refinement was lack of corners. The room was almost circular, floored in a rubber substance of scrupulous cleanness, and all the furniture was metal. The two doors leading off the room slid on runners instead of moving back and forth. Fascinated, Lucy began to wander to the nearer doorway and found herself looking in on the kitchen where Eva was busily at work.
Everything was electrical, and thermostatically controlled, dials and meters in the walls ensuring exact temperatures for cooking and culinary necessities. At the moment Eva was in the midst of operating a highly-polished and complicated-looking machine. “Come in,” she invited, noticing Lucy watching.
Lucy did so, surveying curiously. Apparently there was no necessity for to handle anything. From the washing-up machine to the robot dish-cleaner everything was automatic.
“What are you doing?” Lucy asked curiously.
“Preparing an extra meal for you. All you do is put the concentrates in this funnel here and then they drop inside this machine and all sorts of queer things happen. Don’t ask me what because I’m no scientist. The fin
ished result is a perfectly cooked meal. That is if you don’t object to a beef omelette?”
“Object? I’d love it.”
Lucy glanced up as Buck came into view again. He was in shirt and trousers, his skin bright red from a vigorous washing, and in one hand he was clutching his pants’ belt. “Something wrong here, Eva,” he said. “Maybe you can fix it for me. My belt’s given way.”
“Given way?” Eva looked surprised. “But that’s the one I bought you for your birthday. Ox-hide. It couldn’t give way.”
Holding his trousers with one hand Buck handed the belt across—or at least the two halves of it. It had parted down the centre back as though it had gone rotten.
“Nice thing!” Eva exclaimed indignantly. “I’ll take it back to the store tomorrow! I’ve been swindled.”
“Looks like it.” Buck drew in his pants’ waist by another notch and then rubbed his hands. “Well, what about the meal, sweetheart? I’m starving.”
“Coming right up. I’ll just get Lucy some more suitable up-to-date clothes first. She can borrow some of mine; we’re about the same size.”
Lucy did not say anything but thought a good deal. In a thousand years home life had changed but little, she decided. Only the externals were different. It brought back to her vivid memories of her own life with Reggie, and once again she felt like crying. Somehow, though, she kept a hold on herself, and after quickly changing into the borrowed clothes Lucy gave her—Eva taking away her old ones—she rejoined the Cardews downstairs.
Soon she was seated at their table enjoying her first real meal in 3004. She found it delightful, the mysteriously created omelette having a richness of flavour that her own time had never been able to produce. This, the hot drink that tasted like a cross between cocoa and coffee, and the warm friendliness of the two who were her guardians, made her begin to feel almost happy again.
“You’re more than kind,” Lucy smiled. “One day, if I can ever convince the powers-that-be that I’m quite harmless, I’ll try and get some work and repay you for all you’ve done.”
“Forget it,” Buck grinned. “Only too glad to help. As for repayment, we won’t even hear of it. You can help Eva if you like, as Worker Ten would have done, and let it go at that.”
Lucy nodded and then went on with her meal. During the course of it she gathered that there were two children in the Cardew family—boy and girl—but by law they were not allowed to live in the home during the ‘education period.’ They were cared for by the State crèche and only allowed, until the age of sixteen, to see their parents twice a year. In this manner juvenile delinquency had long since been stamped out even though it caused profound heartache amongst many parents.
By the time she had got to bed, between sheets electrically aired from a source she could not discover, Lucy was quite convinced that she was dreaming. Surely all this couldn’t really be happening? Even now she had not assimilated the astounding fact that she would never see 2009 again.… Had she been in the office of the Master at that moment, however, she would certainly have realized that her experience was not a dream.
The Master, in fact, was by no means pleased at being detained so late in his lofty sanctuary. The power failure had delayed him in the first instance, and now the repercussions of it were still holding him to his desk. Before him stood a guard—the same one who had questioned Clem, Buck and Lucy on the river bridge.
“I’ve had the engineers throw a skeleton pass-way over the fissure, Master,” he reported. “It will take all the traffic single-file. The bridge dissolution seems to have ceased now so I have given the order for traffic to resume. Parts of the faulty bridge section have been removed and sent to the analytical laboratory for a report.”
“Very well,” the Master acknowledged, making a note. “I want an immediate report when the cause of the defect is known. You informed the laboratory of that, I trust?”
“I did, Master, yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Master. A public transport plunged over the fissure, and then a private autobus—”
“I know. That was reported direct. It has been given over the public speaker, together with a list of the numbers and names of the passengers. That was done for the convenience of relatives. The transport will be salvaged from the river in daylight, together with the private car that followed it. The occupants of that car are at present unidentified, I take it?”
“Up to the moment, Master, yes. There is, however, a matter I feel I should report. It puzzles me—”
The guard broke off in surprise as his atom gun holster, hanging from a broad strap about his shoulder, suddenly dropped to the floor. He gazed down at it blankly and the Master waited, his lips compressed.
“I would suggest that in future you buckle your accoutrements more securely,” he said curtly.
The guard nodded somewhat dazedly and picked up his gun and holster from the floor. The odd thing was that the strap was securely buckled—but the leather itself had rotted visibly close to the holster.
“Obtain a fresh one,” the Master instructed, studying it. “Here is a renewal card—” He handed it over and sat back in his chair. “You were remarking upon a matter which puzzles you. Please continue.”
The guard came back to life with something of an effort. “Er, yes,” he assented. “It concerns a young woman whom I encountered on the bridge in company with Mister Bradley and Mister Cardew, the two blasting engineers who are at work on the Protection Tower foundations. She had no index-card with her, her explanation being that she had accidentally dropped it. Mister Bradley confirmed her statement. However, she gave her index-number as Worker Ten, Domestic Grade. Since then I have learned from the public transport authority that Worker Ten was on the transport which fell in the river.”
The Master drew towards him the passenger list, which had been submitted from transport headquarters. He studied it, then with no expression in his face he pushed it aside again.
“Yes, Worker Ten was on that transport,” he confirmed. “That is if she did take it. Certainly her number was registered, as was everybody else’s. There may be a mistake.”
“We could be sure, Master, if we had Worker Ten’s civic photograph transmitted immediately. I could tell in a moment if the girl I saw is the same person.”
“Very well.” The Master touched a button and spoke into the microphone that swung gently towards him. “Civic Records?” he asked. “Transmit immediately a photograph of Worker Ten, female, Domestic Grade.”
“Yes, Master.”
There followed an interval, during which the guard carefully examined his mysteriously ruined gun-belt; then a screen came to life on the Master’s desk and in vivid coloring Worker Ten was depicted, both full-face and profile. She was dark, thin-cheeked, with one eyebrow noticeably higher than the other.
“No,” the guard said flatly. “That is not the woman I saw.”
The Master switched off, frowning a little. “I assume you ordered her to report with her index-card by tomorrow?”
“I did, Master. I assumed her story to be genuine, but now I am extremely doubtful.”
“And you say she was with Mister Bradley and Mister Cardew?”
“Yes, Master. I recognized them immediately: their work makes them pretty well-known at present. That was why I gave her the benefit of the doubt.”
“Quite so. It is unlikely that Mister Bradley would take her to his home since he is known to be living alone at present. Mister Cardew, on the other hand, has a wife. You might do worse than make enquiry at Mister Cardew’s home and get further details. If you fail in that respect then put a guard on all routes out of town and use a secondary investigation corps to keep watch on the homes of both Mister Cardew and Mister Bradley. Just at the moment we cannot afford any laxity with unidentified people. International tension is too great.”
“Very well, Master. I’ll make enquiry immediately.”
The guard bowed his way out and departed. He stayed in
the building only long enough to obtain a new belt from the armaments section, then he was on his way in an official car. His arrival at the Cardew home and subsequent hammering on the door stirred Buck out of well-earned slumber.
“What the hell—” he growled, sitting up and listening. “Who’d want me at this time of night?”
He was too fogged with sleep at that moment to think of anything but the blasting site being the cause of trouble. Then when he had stumbled to the window and saw a law officer looking up from the brightly-lighted street he remembered Lucy.
“Eva, quick!” he gasped hoarsely, and she stirred lazily in her bed. “The police I think. Get Ancient to a safe place.”
“But—but where?” Eva groped stupidly for her robe.
“I dunno. Think of something. I’ll keep this quizzer occupied meanwhile.”
Buck flung open the window and leaned out. “Well, what is it?” he demanded—and Eva fled from the bedroom, reaching Lucy’s room in a matter of seconds.
“Wass wrong?” Lucy yawned, awakened from a dream of 2008, in which she and Reggie had been enjoying a picnic. “Who is it?”
“Eva! Get out of bed and follow me—and keep quiet!”
Strangeness in her surroundings caused her several moments’ delay in focusing things. When at last she did get a grip on realities she realized she was being pushed relentlessly, along with the discarded clothes Eva had taken from her bedside, into the washing machine in the kitchen. The lights were not on and the whole thing was a confused struggle in semi-gloom.
“Police are here,” Eva panted, just visible in reflected street light from outside. “This is the only place I can put you. Cover yourself with the clothes, and don’t breathe, sneeze or move!”
The lid closed and Lucy crouched, cold metal fittings prodding into her in most uncomfortable places. She waited, her heart thudding.
“This is an absolute waste of time, officer,” came Buck’s grumbling voice, as he led the way into the living room and switched on the lights. “Digging me out at this hour with your crazy notions!”
Eva fled up the back stairs from the kitchen and regained Lucy’s room. Hastily she remade the bed, removed the borrowed pair of shoes she had previously overlooked, and then hurried back with them to her own room.