by Will Hubbell
"Can't you tell me if he's all right? At least do that."
"What is the reason for your persistence in this mat-ter?" asked the woman. "Are you mating?" Con was insulted. "How is that your concern?"
"I study Homo sapiens."
" Homo sapiens? Why not say 'people'?" retorted Con.
"As a paleontologist, I prefer precise terms."
"Then you should say you're an 'anthropologist.' That's the correct word."
"No," said the woman evenly, "I used the proper term. I study extinct species. We are Homo perfectus." The woman's matter-of-fact comment belittled Con more than any insult. Con grasped the gulf between them as the word "subhuman," with all its implications, sprang to her mind. Con's assertiveness transformed to unease and, for a moment, she was speechless. When she spoke again, it was in a less confident tone. "Please tell me about Rick."
"You still have not explained the reason for your in-terest."
"It's because . . ."
"Because what?"
"Because we're in love." ?
"That is another term for which I have no definition."
"It's an emotion," said Con. "I guess you could say it has something to do ... to do with mating." The woman looked intrigued, but said, "After more sat-isfactory sessions, we may allow you contact with him."
"Then he's alive?"
"Yes," said the woman. "I will tell you that."
"Thank you," said Con joyfully. "Thank you!"
The woman watched Con's reaction with apparent in-terest, but she did not respond to it. Instead, she pointed to the cube lying on the bed. "There is sufficient nutrition for your accelerated physiology." After saying that, she left the room. Although she did not turn her back on Con, she no longer pointed the weapon at her. Con thought, / guess that's progress.
As soon as the woman departed, Con bubbled over with excitement. "Rick's alive!" she shouted. "He's alive!" She happily danced about the sandy room, then whirled until she dropped dizzily on the bed. She felt hungry and pulled a corner off the cube the woman had left. It had a texture that was a cross between gelatin and cheese and tasted like unsweetened fruit punch. It was not unpleasant, and it was very filling. Con ate only a small portion of the cube before her hunger was satisfied.
She returned to cleaning the room, trying to expend some of her energy. As she worked, she pondered how she could hasten the time when she could see Rick. The woman said I'd see Rick after "more satisfactory ses-sions." The ambiguity of that phrase worried her. Did she mean more sessions as satisfactory as the last one? If that were the case, Con wondered how many more inter-rogations she must endure. Or did she mean the last ses-sion was unsatisfactory? That also seemed plausible. They looked annoyed by the end of the questioning. Con tried to think how she might have provoked them, but she had no idea. It disturbed her that she didn't know. It dis-turbed her even more how she had lost control of her life and how her happiness was dependent on satisfying her captors. 37
THE FAINT WORLD BEYOND THE SWIRLING COLORS DARK-
ened to black, indicating it was night. Con slept and awoke to a routine of confinement that dragged on for days. Her life became one of profound loneliness, marked by bouts of anxiety and long stretches of depressed boredom. There was nothing to do once she cleaned the room and took care of the jacket. Meals consisted of eating from a grayish pink cube that was wordlessly delivered each morning. Filling the empty hours became a trial. She slept as much as possible. She took long baths. She paced for hours, tracing complex patterns through the three rooms that imprisoned her. What made Con's situation particularly hard was her ignorance. She worried about what was happening to Rick. She worried about what would happen to her. The woman provided no further information. She had ceased to come alone, and she was coldly formal in the presence of her companions.
The days passed so slowly that Con came to look forward to her daily interrogations, for, although they were demean-ing, they at least broke the monotony. Also, each session held the promise that she might learn something about Rick. In that hope, she was always disappointed. She was not even given an indication whether the sessions were satisfactory to her captors. They ignored all her inquiries. Indeed, they be-came so irritated when she made them, Con soon thought it was prudent to stop. While Con's interrogators provided her no direct infor-mation, she was able to learn things about them through ob-servation. During one of the early sessions, Con observed that the metallic dots on her captors' foreheads were more than adornments. They were apparently involved in trans-mitting information. One of the men arrived in the middle of the interrogation and both of the others touched their dots to his. Afterward, the man's questions reflected an awareness of all that had proceeded in his absence. That's what the woman meant when she said I had an inaccessible mind, thought Con. No wonder they get impatient asking questions. Once Con was aware of the dot's function, she noticed its use on other occasions. Several times, she witnessed her cap-tors touching various devices to their dots. That led her to speculate they were capable of directly inputting data. Con recalled the woman's statement that her English came from the facility's verbal control system and envisioned her down-loading it through her dot.
Each session caused Con to conjecture on other matters as well. She came to believe that her captors were also con-cerned with business that did not involve her, since they vis-ited infrequently. After they used holographic images and maps to question her about the last location of the airplane and the time machine, she thought they were sent to retrieve them. Later, when they grilled her about the observatory, she decided they were investigating that also. The most puzzling interrogation also proved to be the last. It was concerned with Con's plans after the vacation and the repercussions of her father's demise. Most of their questions involved public rec-ords. Con found herself explaining about such things as wills and diplomas and also about the different forms of media coverage. It was the first time they showed any interest in twenty-first-century society. As always, they did not explain why. When Con awoke the following day, the food cube was already on her bed. She did not see her captors the entire day, nor did they appear the following one. As disconcerting as the interrogations had been, their cessation was even more so. She still knew nothing about what had happened to Rick. As the slow hours passed, her concern for him became an obsession.
"Only that colored thing keeps me from him," she said to herself. "Only a little pain." She approached the colonnade and saw the colors turn angrily intense. She halted a half a foot away. "I can do this." Her skin tingled unpleasantly as she gathered up her resolve. Thinking of Rick, she gritted her teeth and stepped forward.
The flash of pain was excruciating and overwhelming. Con screamed and fell writhing to the floor. Only a portion of her foot passed through the colored plane, but agony rapidly boiled throughout her body. The torment was exquisite and all-encompassing. It became her only reality as she moaned and shook spasmodically on the floor. Gradually, the pain subsided until she recovered the presence of mind to examine her foot. It hurt so intensely she expected to find only a charred stump. Despite the searing pain, it appeared un-scathed. She crawled away from the colonnade and curled up into a ball, too drained to climb onto the bed. As the pain faded to a dull ache, someone entered the room.
"I do not understand your behavior," said the woman. She stood over Con, gazing at her with a puzzled expression. "You understand the nature of the barrier. Why did you at-tempt to cross it? It was not a rational act."
Con smiled ruefully. "No, I guess it wasn't."
"You have not answered my question."
"I wanted to see Rick."
"I said contact would come after satisfactory sessions."
"I answered all your questions, and then you stopped com-ing," protested Con.
"My colleagues have the information they require," the woman stated, "but I still need information for my own stud-ies."
Con sighed. "What do you want to know?"
"It concerns the male."
<
br /> "Rick?" said Con eagerly. "Will you let me see him?"
The woman ignored Con's question. "Was your irrational behavior associated with the condition you called 'love'?"
"Isn't that evident?" asked Con.
"No," stated the woman. 'Tell me more about this con-dition."
"Don't you people have the same emotion?"
"I cannot discuss ourselves with you."
"Why not?"
"I cannot discuss that either. You must answer my ques-tion."
"But surely you know about love from our literature and art. Your museums must be full of information."
"There are discontinuities in the record," the woman stated.
"This is a basic human emotion!"
The woman looked annoyed. "Why do you persist in evad-ing my question?" Although the implications of the woman's statements dis-turbed Con, she knew it was unwise to ask more questions. Instead, she tried to frame a satisfactory reply. "Love is so central to our culture, I thought you'd know about it."
"You wanted to be with the male nineteen days ago," stated the woman. "Why are you still interested?"
"Why am I still interested?!" said Con, perplexed by the question. "I love him, that's why."
"I do not understand your response," said the woman. "You said earlier that love is an emotion involved with mat-ing."
"I said it had something to do with it," replied Con, feeling flustered. The woman started to lean forward as if she were going to touch her forehead to Con's, but then halted.
"You forget," said Con. "I have an inaccessible mind." The woman smiled slightly. It was the first time Con had ever seen that expression on her face. "Love is a complicated feeling," she continued, "and while it has something to do with mating, it involves much more. When two people are in love, they want to be together. They need to be together. It makes them feel complete and happy. Love can last a lifetime."
"So it is not periodic?" asked the woman.
"Periodic?"
"Is it not determined by your ovulation cycle?"
"Are you asking me if I go into heat?" said Con with disgust. "Only animals do that." The woman's face colored, and Con immediately sensed she had said something wrong. "Then, I am to understand." said the woman, more coldly than before, "that you are con-tinuously in a state of 'heat' as you call it?"
Con tried to sound calm. "We Homo sapiens don't think of mating in that way."
"Yet you said love is central to your culture."
"It is," replied Con, "but some of it's private, too. It's hard to explain."
"You must try," said the woman.
Why must I? thought Con. Then, she answered her own question. So I can see Rick. "We separate our lives into pri-vate and public parts. When people fall in love, they usually tell their friends. If they get married, it becomes part of the public record. How they express that love is often private. Mating is a private part." Con looked at the woman, trying to determine if she was satisfied with her explanation. She could see growing impatience in her interrogator's face.
The woman stepped away abruptly. "You may see the male, this 'Rick,' as you call him." The woman said something in her language, and the bar-rier vanished from between the columns. Con peered at the dark world beyond without truly seeing it. All she could think about was Rick.
"I will show you the way," said the woman.
Con followed, barefoot in the snow, to the room that used to be her father's and Sara's. The multicolored plane between the columns vanished at the woman's command to reveal Rick seated on the bed, staring despondently at the floor. With a shriek of joy, Con ran to him. Rick rose to meet her and they embraced.
"Rick! Rick! Rick!" sobbed Con. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you, too," said Rick. He softly touched Con's face and rejoiced in her nearness. They kissed and, for a long while, they spoke only the silent language of love. When Con eventually glanced toward the woman, she discovered that the colored barrier was back between the columns. They were alone.
"You look great!" Rick said. "You're not starving."
"Only for you."
"I had no idea what had happened to you," said Rick.
"They wouldn't tell me anything. I was afraid you were dead."
"I feared the same for you," said Con. "It's been horrible. I'm so lonely without you. For the first time in my life, it feels strange to sleep alone."
"How have they treated you?" asked Rick.
"They've left me alone, except to ask all sorts of questions about the time machine and stuff. The two guys act like I disgust them, but sometimes the woman's not so bad. I think she's studying me."
"Yeah, Jane's the curious one."
"Jane?"
"I gave them names," said Rick. "The two guys are Hitler and Stalin and the woman's Jane, after Jane Goodall."
"Never heard of her."
"She was a twentieth-century scientist who studied chim-panzees."
Con smiled wryly. "That's appropriate, they treat me like one. Did you know they call themselves Homo perfectusT
"Perfected Man," mused Rick. "That sounds about right."
"Perfected?" said Con disdainfully. "They look like big kids."
"And we probably look like pinheads to them. They look like kids because of neoteny."
"What?'
"It's the retarding of development so juvenile traits are retained in adulthood. It's why humans have large heads. It's why baby apes look more like humans than the adults. Our friends just took it one step further."
"And those dots?" said Con. "They can transmit infor-mation through them."
"I think they're implants. A computer with a neural inter-face. I've seen them downloading to one another."
"I have, too," said Con. "Jane complained that my 'inac-cessible mind' tired them."
"Yeah," said Rick, "talking to us drives them nuts. We must sound like the world's slowest stutterers."
"I noticed," said Con. "So yon think they have computers for brains?"
"More like a computer in their head that their brain can access," said Rick.
"It'd sure make school easy," said Con.
'Toddlers could get educated in seconds," said Rick. "It'd change the whole concept of intelligence."
"But how could that happen?"
"It had to be genetic engineering. A change like that wouldn't happen naturally. Natural selection stopped work-ing on humans long ago."
"Creating a new species of people?" said Con. "That seems impossible."
"It's not that far-fetched," said Rick. "You're souped. Joe worked on neural interfaces. Eventually, someone took it to the next level."
"But why would people want to change?"
"I doubt most did," said Rick. "New species usually start out as small, isolated populations."
"But that means there would be two kinds of people in the world and..." Con paused in alarm. "Rick!
Jane said Homo sapiens are extinct!"
Rick sighed. "That's the pattern for our genus. When was the last time you encountered a Homo neanderthalensis or a Homo erectus? They used to share the world with us."
"Jane talked about a discontinuity in the record, but I think it's more than that. She doesn't seem to understand us at all."
"People wouldn't have volunteered to become extinct."
"So you think they destroyed everything?" said Con, ap-palled by the very idea.
"When the Spanish encountered the Indian civilizations," said Rick, "they not only destroyed them, they burned all their books as well."
Con shivered. "What's going to happen to us?"
"I don't know," he said, "but I have one hopeful theory. They asked me a lot of questions about my plans after our trip. Did they do the same to you?"
"Yes. What do you think that means?"
"Joe said they've discovered that actions downwhen alter the future. That's why they banned time travel—they're afraid of changing their own present. I think they're in a touchy situation. They know wha
t they do to us will affect them."
"How?"
"History will be different if we don't return to our own time," said Rick.
"So they have to take us back. Then why haven't they?"
"Because history will be different if we do return to our own time."
"Now you're not making sense."
"Their problem is figuring out which course of action their present is based on."
"I get it!" said Con. "That's why they asked all those ques-tions about public records."
"I think Hitler and Stalin are off doing research, and Jane's minding the cages."
"And she let the animals out," said Con with bitter humor.
"Jane Goodall came to care for the chimps she studied," said Rick. "She became their advocate." Con sighed. "I doubt this Jane will ever care for us."
38
CON AND RICK CUDDLED AND TALKED FOR A BLISSFUL
hour before the barrier between the columns vanished. Jane was standing outside in the snow. She carried the weapon in her hand, but she did not aim it. Looking at Con, she said, "It is time for you to return to your room."
Con pointed to the weapon. "That's not necessary," she said. "I'll go." Con gave Rick a parting kiss, then rose with a heavy heart. Attempting to play the model prisoner, she walked quickly back to her quarters. Once she passed between the stone col-umns, she turned to face Jane. "Thank you," she said. "It meant a lot to me to see him." Jane said something in her own language, and the barrier formed between them.
Con was left staring at the opalescent colors that separated her from Rick. Seeing Rick made his absence all the more painful. Her recent joy only deepened her current sorrow. She threw herself down on the bed and sobbed.
When she had cried herself out, she began to brood about the future. There seemed to be two possibilities. One was blissful—she and Rick would return to their own time to continue their lives together. The other was bleak. They'll dispose of us. When Con tried to decide which was most likely, her heart sank. They must do what they've done be-fore. It was very confusing, but the worst part was that she couldn't imagine that these people had ever sent them back. Still, she reasoned, there was one version of time where they built this observatory. Perhaps, there are infinite variations of the future. That idea was little help. Which variation am I in? Her prospects did not look good. I'm in the one where our captors are nicknamed Hitler and Stalin.