The Year of the Quiet Sun

by Wilson Tucker

  The only reliable information known was that large numbers of them had lain in concealment about Camp David for several days prior to the action. The spokesman would say only the two groups had courageously rescued the President and his party.

  Brian Chaney was unaware that the lights dimmed and the hurtful rubber band smashed against his eardrums; he didn’t hear the massive mallet smash into the block pf compressed air and then rebound with a soft, oily sigh. He didn’t know that Arthur Saltus had left him until he turned around and found himself alone.

  Chaney stared around the empty shelter and shouted aloud: “Saltus!”

  There was no answer.

  He strode to the door and shouted into the corridor. “Saltus!”

  Booming echoes, and then silence. The Commander was emerging from the vehicle at home base.

  “Listen to the word from the ivory tower, Saltus! Listen to me! What do you want to bet the President didn’t risk his precious skin under a dining room table? What do you want to bet that he sent a double to Camp David? He’s no Greatheart, no Bayard; he couldn’t be certain of the outcome.” Chaney stepped into the corridor.

  “We tipped him off, you idiot — we passed the word. We told him of the plot and of his re-election. Do you really think he has the guts to expose himself? Knowing that he would be re-elected the next day for another four-year ride? Do you think that, Saltus?”

  Monitoring cameras looked at him under bright lights.

  In the closed-off operations room, the TDV came back for him with an explosive burst of air.

  Chaney turned on his heel and walked into the shelter. The newspapers were stacked, the gear was stored away, the clothing was neatly hung on racks. He had arrived and was preparing to leave with scarcely a trace of his passage.

  The torn envelope caught his eye — the instructions from Katrina, and his identification papers, his gate pass. Cool, impersonal, distant — impassive, reserved. The wife of Arthur Saltus giving him last minute instructions for the field trial. She still lived on station; she still worked for the Bureau and the secret project — and unless the Commander had been reassigned to the war theater he was living with her.

  But the barracks were dark, padlocked.

  Brian Chaney knew the strong conviction that he was gone — that he and the Major had left the station. He didn’t believe in crystal balls, in clairvoyance, hunches, precognition — Major Moresby could have all that claptrap to add to his library of phony prophets, but this one conviction was deeply fixed in his mind.

  He was not here in November, 1980.

  ELEVEN

  Chaney sensed a subtle change in relationships. It was nothing he could clearly identify, mark, pin down, but a shade of difference was there.

  Gilbert Seabrooke had sponsored a victory party on the night of their return, and the President telephoned from the White House to offer his congratulations on a good job well done. He spoke of an award, a medal to convey the grateful appreciation of a nation — even though the nation could not be informed of the stunning breakthrough. Brian Chaney responded with a polite thank you, and held his tongue. Seabrooke hovered nearby, watchful and alert.

  The party wasn’t as successful as it might have been. Some indefinable element of spontaneity was missing, some elusive spark which, when struck, changes over an ordinary party into a memorable evening of pleasure. Chaney would remember the celebration, but not with heady delight. He passed over the champagne in favor of bourbon, but drank that sparingly. Major Moresby seemed withdrawn, troubled, brooding over some inner problem, and Chaney guessed he was already preoccupied with the startling power struggle which was yet two years away. Moresby had made a stiff, awkward little speech of thanks to the President, striving to assure him without words of his continued loyalty. Chaney was embarrassed for him.

  Arthur Saltus danced. He monopolized Katrina, even to the point of ignoring her whispered suggestions that he give unequal time to Chaney and the Major. Chaney didn’t want to cut in. On another evening, another party before the field trials, he could have cut in as often as he dared, but now he sensed the same subtle change in Kathryn van Hise which was sensed in the others. The mountain of information brought back from Joliet, November 1980, had altered many viewpoints and the glossy overlay of the party could not conceal that alteration.

  There was a stranger at the party, the liaison agent dispatched by the Senate subcommittee. Chaney discovered the man surreptitiously watching him.

  The briefing room offered the familiar tableau.

  Major Moresby was again studying a map of the Chicago area. He used a finger to mark the several major routes and backroads between Joliet and the metropolis; the finger also traced the rail line through the Chicago suburbs to the Loop. Arthur Saltus was studying the photographs he’d brought back from Joliet. He seemed particularly pleased with a print of an attractive girl standing on a windy street corner, half watching the cameraman and half watching for a car or a bus coming along the street behind. The print revealed an expert’s hand in composition and cropping, with the girl limned in sunny backlighting.

  Kathryn van Hise said: “Mr. Chaney?”

  He swung around to face her. “Yes, Miss van Hise?”

  “The engineers have given me firm assurance that mistake will not happen again. They have used the time since your return to rebuild the gyroscope. The cause has been traced to a vacuum leakage but that has been repaired. The error is to be regretted, but it will not happen again.”

  “But I like getting there first,” he protested. “That’s the only way I can assert seniority.”

  “It will not happen again, sir.”

  “Maybe. How do they know it won’t?”

  Katrina studied him.

  “The next targets will each be a year apart, sir, to obtain a wider coverage. Would you care to suggest a tentative date?”

  He betrayed surprise. “We may choose?”

  “Within reason, sir. Mr. Seabrooke has invited each of you to suggest an appropriate date. The original plan of the survey must be followed, of course, but he would welcome your ideas. If you would rather not suggest a date, Mr. Seabrooke and the engineers will select one.”

  Chaney looked down the table at Major Moresby.

  “What did you take?”

  Promptly: “The Fourth of July, 1999.”

  “Why that one?”

  “It has significance, after all!”

  “I suppose so.” He turned to Saltus. “And you?”

  “My birthday, civilian: November 23rd, 2000. A nice round number, don’t you think? I thought so anyway. That will be my fiftieth birthday, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I might take a jug with me. Live it up!”

  Chaney considered the possibilities.

  Saltus broke in. “Now, look here, mister — don’t tell Seabrooke you want to visit Jericho on the longest day of summer, ten thousand years ago! That will get you the boot right through the front gate. Play by the rules. How would you like to spend Christmas in 2001? New Year’s Eve?”

  “No.”

  “Party-pooper. Wet blanket. What do you want?”

  “I really don’t care. Anything will do.”

  “Pick something,” Saltus urged.

  “Oh, just say 2000-plus. It doesn’t much matter.”

  Katrina said anxiously: “Mr. Chaney, is something wrong?”

  “Only that,” he said, and indicated the photographs heaped on the table before Arthur Saltus, the new packets of mimeographed papers neatly stacked before each chair. “The future isn’t very attractive right now.”

  “Do you wish to withdraw?”

  “No. I’m not a quitter. When do we go up?”

  “The launch is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. You will depart at one-hour intervals.”

  Chaney shuffled the papers on the table. “I suppose these will have to be studied now. We’ll have to follow up.”

  “Yes,
sir. The information you have developed on the trials has now become a part of the survey, and it is desirable that each segment be followed to its conclusion. We wish to know the final solutions, of course, and so you must trace these new developments.” She hesitated. “Your role in the survey has been somewhat modified, sir.”

  He was instantly wary, suspicious. “In what way?”

  “You will not go into Chicago.”

  “Not — But what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “You may visit any other city within range of your fifty-hour limit: Elgin, Aurora, Joliet, Bloomington, the city of your choice, but Chicago is now closed to you.”

  He stared at the woman, knowing humiliation. “But this is ridiculous! The problem may be cleared away, all but forgotten twenty-two years from now.”

  “It will not be forgotten so easily, sir. It will be wise to observe every precaution. Mr. Seabrooke has decided you may not enter Chicago.”

  “I’ll resign — I’ll quit!”

  “Yes, sir, you may do that. The Indic contract will be returned to you.”

  “I won’t quit!” he said angrily.

  “As you wish.”

  Saltus broke in. “Civilian — sit down.”

  Chaney was surprised to discover himself standing. He sat down, knowing a mixture of frustration and humbled pride. He knotted his fingers together in his lap and pressed until they hurt.

  After a space he said: “I’m sorry. I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted,” Saltus agreed easily. “And don’t let it trouble you. Seabrooke knows what he’s doing — he doesn’t want you naked and shivering in some Chicago jail, and he doesn’t want some damned fool chasing you with a gun.”

  Major Moresby was eyeing him.

  “I don’t quite read you, Chaney. You’ve got more guts than I suspected, or you’re a damned fool.”

  “When I lose my temper I’m a damned fool. I can’t help myself.” He felt Katrina watching him and turned back to her. “What am I supposed to do up there?”

  “Mr. Seabrooke wishes you to spend the greater part of your time in a library copying pertinent information. You will be equipped with a camera having a copying lens when you emerge on target; your specific assignment is to photograph those books and periodicals which are germane to the information discovered in Joliet.”

  “You want me to follow the plots and the wars and the earthquakes through history. Make a copy of everything — steal a history book if I have to.”

  You may purchase one, sir, and copy the pages in the room downstairs.”

  “That sounds exciting. A really wild visit to the future. Why not bring back the book with me?”

  She hesitated. “I will have to ask Mr. Seabrooke. It seems reasonable, if you compensate for the weight.”

  “Katrina, I want to go outside and see something — I don’t want to spend the time in a hole.”

  She said again: “You may visit any other city within range of your fifty-hour limit, sir. If it is safe.”

  Morosely: “I wonder what Bloomington is like.”

  “Girls!” Saltus answered. “One sweet liberty port!”

  “Have you been there?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “Just trying to cheer you up, civilian. I’m helpful that way.” He picked up the photograph of the girl on the Joliet street corner and waggled it between thumb and forefinger. “Go up in the summertime. It’s nicer then.”

  Chaney looked at him with a particular memory in the front of his mind. Saltus caught it and actually blushed. He dropped the photograph and betrayed his fleeting guilt by sneaking a sidelong glance at Katrina.

  She said: “We hope for a thorough coverage, sir.”

  “I wish I had more than fifty hours in a library. A decent research job requires several weeks, even months.”

  “It may be possible to return again and again, at proper intervals of course. I will ask Mr. Seabrooke.”

  Saltus: “Hey — what about that, Katrina? So what happens after the survey? What do we do next?”

  “I can’t give you a meaningful answer, Commander. At this point in the operation nothing beyond the Chicago probe is programmed. Nothing more could be programmed until we knew the outcome of these first two steps. A final answer cannot be made until you return from Chicago.”

  “Do you think we’ll do something else?”

  “I would imagine that other probes will be prepared when this one is satisfactorily completed and the resultant data analyzed.” But then she added a hasty postscript. “That is only my opinion, Commander. Mr. Seabrooke has said nothing of possible future operations.”

  “I like your opinion, Katrina. It’s better than a bucket in the South China Sea.”

  Chaney asked: “What happened to the alternatives? To Jerusalem, and Dallas?”

  Moresby broke in. “What’s this?”

  The young woman explained them to Moresby and Saltus. Chaney realized that only he had been told of both alternate programs, and he wondered now if he had let a cat out of the bag by mentioning them.

  Katrina said: “The alternatives are being held in abeyance; they may never be implemented.” She looked at Brian Chaney and paused. “The engineers are studying a new matter related to vehicle operations; there appears to be a question whether the vehicle may operate in reverse prior to the establishment of a power source.

  “Hey — what’s that in English?”

  “It means I can’t go back to old Jericho,” Chaney told him. “No electricity back there. I think she said the TDV needs power all along the line to move anywhere.”

  Moresby: “But I understood you to say those test animals had been sent back a year or more?”

  “Yes, sir, that is correct, but the nuclear reactor has been operating for more than two years. The previous lower limit of the TDV was December 30, 1941, but now that may have to be drastically revised. If it is found that the vehicle may not operate prior to the establishment of its power source, the lower limit will be brought forward to an arbitrary date of two years ago. We do not wish to lose the vehicle.”

  Chaney said: “One of those bright engineers should sit down to his homework — lay out a paradox graph, or map, or whatever. Katrina, if you keep this thing going, you’re going to find yourself up against a wall sooner or later.”

  She colored and betrayed a minute hesitation before answering him. “The Indiana Corporation has been approached on the matter, sir. Mr. Seabrooke has proposed that all our data be turned over to them for a crash study. The engineers are becoming aware of the problems.”

  Saltus looked around at Chaney and said: “Sheeg!”

  Chaney grinned and thought to offer an apology to Moresby and the woman. “That’s an old Aramaic word. But it expresses my feelings quite adequately.” He considered the matter. “I can’t decide what I would rather do: stay here and make paradoxes, or go back there and solve them.”

  Saltus said: “Tough luck, civilian. I was almost ready to volunteer. Almost, I said. I think I’d like to stand on the city wall at Larsa with you and watch the Euphrates flood; I think I’d like — What?”

  “The city wall at Ur, not Larsa.”

  “Well, wherever it was. A flood, anyway, and you said it got into the Bible. You have a smooth line, you could persuade me to go along.” An empty gesture. “But I guess that’s all washed out now — you’ll never go back.”

  “I don’t believe the White House would authorize a probe back that far,” Chaney answered. “They would see no political advantage to it, no profit to themselves.”

  Major Moresby said sharply: “Chaney, you. sound like a fool!”

  “Perhaps. But if we could probe backward I’d be willing to lay you money on certain political targets, but nothing at all on others. What would the map of Europe be like if Attila had been strangled in his crib?”

  “Chaney, after all!”

  He persisted. “What would the map of Euro
pe be like if Lenin had been executed for the anti-Czarist plot, instead of his older brother? What would the map of the United States be like if George the Third had been cured of his dementia? If Robert E. Lee had died in infancy?”

  “Civilian, they sure as hell won’t let you go back anywhere with notions like that.”

  Dryly: “I wouldn’t expect a bonus for them.”

  “Well, I guess not!”

  Kathryn van Hise stepped into the breach.

  “Please, gentlemen. Appointments have been made for your final physical examinations. I will call the doctor and inform him you are coming now.

  Chaney grinned and snapped his fingers. “Now.”

  She turned. “Mr. Chaney, if you will stay behind for a moment I would like more information on your field data.”

  Saltus was quickly curious. “Hey — what’s this?” She paged through the pile of mimeographed papers until she found the transcript of Chaney’s tape recording. “Some parts of this report need further evaluation. If you care to dictate, Mr. Chaney, I will take it in shorthand.”

  He said: “Anything you need.”

  “Thank you.” A half turn to the others at the table. “The doctor will be waiting, gentlemen.”

  Moresby and Saltus pushed back their chairs. Saltus shot Chaney a warning glance, reminding him of a promise. The reminder was answered with a confirming nod.

  The men left the briefing room.

  Brian Chaney looked across the table at Katrina in the silence they left behind. She waited quietly, her fingers laced together on the table top.

  He remembered her bare feet in the sand, the snug delta pants, the see-through blouse, the book she carried in her hand and the disapproving expression she wore on her face. He remembered the startlingly brief swim suit worn in the pool, and the way Arthur Saltus had monopolized her.

  “That was rather transparent, Katrina.”

  She studied him longer, not yet ready to speak. He waited for her to offer the next word, holding in his mind the image of that first glimpse of her on the beach.