Time Travel Omnibus Volume 2

by Anthology

  Leveritt moved her head experimentally and at once regretted it. When the pain had receded, she carefully took stock. She was still on the gurney. There were exposed pipes overhead and a muffled throb of machinery. The ship, she thought, I’m on the ship, in the Silurian, and after a second or two she realized that she was disappointed. She had wondered if being in Silurian time would feel somehow different. Thus far, it felt just like a hangover.

  The doctor held up a knuckley finger in front of her face. “I want you to follow my finger with your eyes. Don’t move your head.”

  It hurt her even to think about moving her head again. She watched the finger move to the left and back to the right. She said, “My head’s killing me.”

  “You’ll be fine in a little while. You’re just a little shaken up. Here.” He gave her two aspirin tablets and some water in a paper cup. “Stay on the gurney till those take effect. Then we’ll see about getting you up on your feet.”

  “How soon can I get ashore?”

  “We generally like to keep new arrivals under observation for at least six hours.” Leveritt groaned when he said that, and he gave her a mildly reproachful look. “You can only get ashore by boat, and the next one doesn’t leave until late this afternoon.”

  “It’s just that I’ve been looking forward to this so long.”

  “Uh huh. Well, the Silurian Period’s still got five or ten million years to run. You aren’t going to miss out on it.”

  The door opened behind him, and a khaki-clad officer leaned in and asked, “Doctor White, may I talk to her now?” Visible in the passageway was an unhappy-looking man in civilian clothes.

  “These gentlemen,” said the doctor, “have some questions they want to ask you. Feel up to it?”

  Before she could reply, the officer said, “Just a couple of routine questions.”

  “Sure.”

  The officer moved quickly toward the gurney with the civilian in tow. Doctor White said, “Miz Leveritt, this is Mister Hales—”

  “How do you do?” said the officer, rather too impatiently, she thought.

  “—and this is Doctor Cutsinger.” The civilian slightly inclined his head in greeting and repeated her name. “The lieutenant is from our operations department. Doctor Cutsinger is one of our civilian engineers.”

  “Physicist,” Cutsinger said, and smiled tightly.

  Leveritt tried to sound good-natured. “I was hoping you were the welcoming committee. Isn’t anybody going to welcome me to the Paleozoic?” Evidently, no one was. Lieutenant Hales regarded her as though her show of good-naturedness were somehow in poor taste. Cutsinger continued to look unhappy. The doctor nodded at the two men and went out, closing the door behind himself. Leveritt repressed a sigh of bafflement and said, “Well, gentlemen, ask away.”

  Hales said, “Miz Leveritt.”

  “Lieutenant?”

  He was obviously uncertain as to how to proceed. The lower part of his expression suddenly twisted, rearranging itself into an approximation of a smile; at the same time, a frown intensified the upper part. Considered with his deep-set eyes and hook nose, the effect was ghastly and alarming. Finally, he said, “The, ah, experience of time-travel is never exactly the same for anyone. We like to find out, ah, make a point of finding out how it was for each person each time. Can you describe your experience in detail?”

  Leveritt’s eyes met Cutsinger’s. He blinked and shifted his gaze to a point slightly to the right of her ear. She refocused on Hales and said, “I’m afraid there were no details, just a blinding flash of light.”

  Hales seemed disappointed by her answer. “What about before the jump? Did anything in the jump station strike you as unusual?”

  If you weren’t so intense, Leveritt thought, that question would be funny. “It was all unusual to me, because, as you surely must know already, this was my first jump.”

  “Of course. We want your impressions, though. Anything you can tell us, anything at all. Before the flash of light, when they took you into the jump station—you and Ed Morris. Do you know him well?”

  She saw something shift in Cutsinger’s face as he glanced at the lieutenant, saw his expression of general unhappiness sharpen into one of very particular contempt. To the oblivious Hales she said, “I don’t know him at all. We met a few minutes before the jump, and he talked my ear off. I think you’d do better to ask him these questions. As you surely must also know, Mister Morris’d made at least one jump before this. He can tell you if anything was unusual or not. As for me . . .” she swung her legs over the edge of the gurney and sat up “. . . if I’m going to answer any more questions, it’s going to be in an upright position.”

  After a second’s hesitation, she slid off the gurney, on to her feet. Cutsinger said, “Are you all right?”

  “A little rubbery in the knees, like I just came in off the jogging trail. Otherwise . . .” She stepped away from the gurney, quickly stepped back, leaned on it for support, admitted, “Still a little wobbly.” She locked eyes with the lieutenant. “What is it in particular you’re driving at? I somehow can’t help feeling you know something and are dying to know if I know it, too.”

  Hales turned the full force of his grimace on her again, and she realized with a jolt that he now intended it to be a look of reassurance. “As I said, these are just routine questions.”

  And possibly excepting my six-year-old nephew, you are the worst, the most unconvincing liar I’ve ever known. She almost said it aloud. What stopped her was the thought of all the time and effort she had put into getting this far—to a room, as she saw it, adjoining the prehistoric past—and how much farther there was to go. Fist on hip, she waited.

  Hales, however, clearly was at a loss. He turned to Cutsinger, who, no less clearly, was close to losing his temper. “Anything you can think of to ask her?”

  “I told you there was no point to this!”

  “I wish to God,” said Leveritt, “one of you would tell me what this is all about.” Neither man spoke. “Fine. Have it your way. But if I don’t get out of this room, I’m going to go insane. The doctor said I wouldn’t be able to go ashore for hours, but if you’re through, I’d at least like to take a look outside. Okay? Please?”

  Cutsinger brushed past Hales. He said, “Permit me,” and offered Leveritt his arm.

  A romantic, she thought, taking it.

  “I think,” Hales said, “Miz Leveritt had better remain in sickbay.”

  Not looking back at him, Cutsinger said, “Take a flying leap.”

  “Master-at-arms!”

  A bluejacket with a sidearm suddenly filled the doorway. Cutsinger sighed, shrugged, and said, “Sorry,” as he directed Leveritt to a chair.

  “I’m sorry, too,” said Hales, “but this is a United States Navy ship, and the rules of security are in force. Miz Leveritt, I want you to understand that this interview is confidential.”

  “So much for the subtle approach!” Cutsinger said sourly.

  Hales ignored him. “You’re not to repeat any part of our conversation to anybody or make any record of it without express authorization. Any breach—”

  “I’m sure she gets the idea, Lieutenant.”

  “Not at all,” said Leveritt. “What am I not supposed to talk about?”

  “We have a situation,” Cutsinger said quickly, before Hales could open his mouth to answer her, “an unprecedented one, I might add, which is why Hales here’s so rattled, why he’s handling it in such a ham-handed manner. Ham-headed, too.” The lieutenant’s mouth did open now, in a threat display. Cutsinger met it with a glower and continued talking. “About all he’s really going to accomplish by invoking security is to make it impossible for you to do the work you came here to do.”

  Leveritt gave Hales an even look. “I didn’t come all this way just to fight the Navy.”

  “There’re some thousands of people living and working here,” said Hales, “and in the interest of general morale, we have got to keep rumors and misin
formation from spreading and panic from breaking out.”

  “You’re the one who’s panicked! Either leave her alone or tell her. She’ll hear all about it soon enough.”

  “Don’t underestimate Navy security,” Hales said stiffly.

  That elicited a harsh laugh from Cutsinger. “I bet you anything it was all over the ship inside of five minutes. I bet you it’s already gotten ashore, some version of it, anyhow. All you’re doing is putting Miz Leveritt in a very awkward position. She’ll be the only person in the whole expedition who won’t have an opinion on what everybody else is talking about.”

  “Master-at-arms, Doctor Cutsinger is needed back at the jump station.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The bluejacket stepped to Cutsinger’s side.

  “Tell her,” Cutsinger said over his shoulder as he went out, “for God’s sake, tell her.”

  The bluejacket closed the door behind himself, and Hales said, “Well.” He looked at Leveritt; his features relaxed; he almost smiled a real smile. “Please accept my apologies on Doctor Cutsinger’s behalf. As a civilian aboard a Navy ship, he naturally finds working under Navy supervision irksome at times.”

  “By supervision, do you mean armed guard?”

  “I mean—I am not a martinet or a horse’s patoot.” He took a step toward the door. “Please come with me. I have enough to worry about without you going insane.”

  He led her down the passageway and opened a heavy steel door at the end of it. As Leveritt stepped through the doorway and on to a catwalk, a breeze touched her face and ruffled her hair. Her first, quick 180-degree survey took in the fact that the ship and some lesser vessels lay off a rocky coast. She gripped the railing with both hands and inhaled the scent of sea salt and the faintly oily smell of the ship. From a deck overhanging the catwalk came the sounds of a helicopter warming up its motor and spinning its blades. Below, waves smacked noisily against the hull. The mid-morning sun was behind the ship, in whose great angular shadow the water was blue-black, almost slate-colored. Close by, two auxiliary craft rode at anchor, and beyond them a glittering expanse of blue-green water stretched to a line of sea cliffs. Even as she stared, transfixed by the sight of that shore, another, even smaller craft—not a Navy vessel at all, but a sailboat—came into view around the headland. Against the somber cliffs, its sail looked like a blazing fire. “Oh, my.” She breathed the words.

  Hales had followed her on to the catwalk. He rested his elbows on the railing and did not look at her when he spoke. “Doctor Cutsinger did tell me there’d be no point in questioning you. If there’d been any way to find out what we need to know without actually asking you . . .”

  She realized after a moment that what he was saying must be important, but it took an effort of will to turn her attention from the Silurian vista, and she was scarcely able to say, “I beg your pardon?”

  “He also talked me out of sending you right back to the twenty-first century. He may have talked me out of confining you to the ship until we get this, this situation straightened out.”

  Now Leveritt could not take her eyes off him. “I swear to you, I don’t know anything and won’t talk to anybody about anything; please just let me go off into the hinterlands and collect rocks like I’m supposed to.”

  Hales almost smiled again. “He said I’m treating everyone here like children. I’m not trying to, I’m really not. I see his point.” He made a gesture that seemed meant to take in everything around them. “This is the greatest thing since the moon landings, and a lot less exclusive. Every single person here, Navy as well as civilian, wants to be here and volunteered to be here. Doctor Cutsinger’s view is, we’re all grownups and deserve to be told the truth like grownups. All the truth all the time.”

  Leveritt asked, “And what’s your view?” and when he did not answer immediately, “Or doesn’t the Navy let you have one?”

  “Right the second time. All of us here, we’re an extension of our nation. There’re all these little communities of scientists scattered about, and there’s the Navy, delivering supplies, providing transport, holding things together. The Silurian Earth’s a United States possession, Miz Leveritt, American territory, and the Navy’s here to guard our national interests. It is in the national interest that the Navy decides what is classified matter. Only persons who need to know about classified matter to perform an official job for the Navy are entrusted with the information. That’s rule number one, and it leaves you out. Rule number two is, persons to whom classified matter is entrusted are responsible for protecting it against unauthorized disclosure. That hems me in.”

  “Fine. What’re you going to do with me?”

  “Escort you back to sickbay. Later, I hope, see you on your way to go collect rocks.”

  It was late in the short Silurian day when Hales guided Leveritt through the ship to the boat bay. From a platform above that noisy grotto, she watched as the last supplies were loaded, then, with a nod to the lieutenant, descended to the boat. The coxswain helped her aboard. Hales surprised her by climbing down after her. He gave no sign that he heard her when she asked, “Are you going to keep watch on me from now on?” She found a seat amidships; he gave her a nod as he took the one next to hers but said nothing.

  She was too excited, however, to resent his presence. She had had sleep, a shower, and her first food in almost twenty-four hours, and the morning’s frustrations and mystifications were falling away behind her. When she ran her eye over the neatly stowed boxes and crates, the words BATHROOM TISSUE prompted something too fleeting to be called a memory. The bay’s gates opened. Leveritt looked up, caught a glimpse of someone who could have been Cutsinger on the platform, and glanced at Hales to gauge his reaction. His attention, though, was directed forward rather than upward. The boat slid out, sliced across the ship’s lengthening, darkening shadow, and emerged suddenly into sunlight. She gazed shoreward, at the drowned valley’s rocky walls, and felt that at last she truly was entering Paleozoic time. Not even the sight of the pier, jutting out from the near shore below a cluster of Quonset huts and tents, dispelled the feeling. She spared the ship a single backward glance. Everything in its shadow, everything aboard it, contained by it—even the air circulating through it and the seawater sloshing within the confines of its boat bay—belonged to the twenty-first century. She looked shoreward again and thought of the great steel monster no more.

  Several boats, including a tiny blue-hulled sailboat, were tied up at the pier. Indistinct human figures waiting there gradually resolved themselves into a small party of Navy men in tropical khakis and two civilians who stood apart both from them and from each other. Both civilians wore white suits, but one man was short, stout, and sunburnt, and the other was tall as well as thickset, tanned rather than burnt, and had a Panama hat with a purple hat band set at a rakish angle atop his squarish head. It was clear from his bearing that he considered himself to be a vision. Leveritt laughed when she saw him, waved, and called out, “Rob! Rob Brinkman!”

  Brinkman waved back, and when the boat had been tied up he reached down and offered Leveritt his enormous brown hand. She was a medium-sized woman, heavier in the hips than she cared to be, but he seemed to lift her right out of the boat and on to the pier with only minimal assistance from her. His grin and voice were as big as the rest of him. “Welcome to the Silurian!”

  Leveritt hugged him. She could not quite encircle his torso with her arms. “It’s about time someone here said that to me. What a suit! What a hat! Is this what you wear on collecting trips now?”

  “Only if pretty grad students are going along.”

  Behind her, somebody peevishly said, “I’m supposed to meet Ed Morris. I’m Michael Diehl, from the San Diego Natural History Museum.”

  As Brinkman stepped around Leveritt to ask a bluejacket to hand up her gear, she saw the other civilian peering anxiously into the boat, as though he expected to spot Ed Morris trying to hide from him among the cargo. The party of Navy men had got immediately to work
unloading the boat, and their interest in Diehl did not extend beyond his keeping out of their way. Hales, however, introduced himself and said, “I regret that Mister Morris is unable to come ashore at this time.”

  “Eh? Why not?”

  “Side-effects of the jump.”

  “Oh. Well, you could’ve radioed that piece of information and saved me an hour’s wait for nothing. Could’ve saved yourself a boat ride, too.”

  Hales noticed Leveritt watching him. He favored Diehl with a mild version of his frown-above, smile-below expression. “Boat rides’re what the Navy’s all about.”

  Brinkman turned with Leveritt’s seabag on his shoulder and said, “Okay,” and the two of them walked away. The pier came straight off the camp’s main thoroughfare, which was paved with metal matting and lined with huts. Tents had been erected along intersecting streets. There was a good deal of pedestrian traffic, both civilian and Navy. Brinkman led Leveritt past supply, generator, and administration buildings, the dispensary, the exchange, the mess—“The Navy part of camp,” he told her, adding, “but we get to use the facilities, of course.” Civilian personnel lived in and worked out of a group of tents he called the suburbs. “Our people’re already upriver, so, tonight, you’ll be the guest of a bunch of centipede enthusiasts.”

  “How charming.”

  “It’d probably be a good idea to shake out your shoes in the morning. Want some dinner?”

  “I think all I want tonight,” she said, “is to walk a little way past the last row of tents, where I can see pure and unadulterated Paleozoic.”

  “Care for a guide?”

  She gave him a sidelong mock-wary lock. “Not if it’s some notorious lady-killer in an ice-cream suit.”

  Brinkman laughed. “Just make sure you keep the camp on your left when you go out, or you’ll wind up in the marsh. And don’t go out too far, either. And don’t stay up too late.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “We leave right after breakfast, and around here breakfast is at sunrise.”