‘The situation?’ Tom said thickly.
‘As she goes into action.’ The clerk began writing rapidly. ‘And I mean action - this model warms up and closes in on its adversary within fifteen seconds of the time it’s activated. You can’t find faster reaction in any single-unit models, ours or anybody else’s. Six months ago, they said fifteen seconds closing was a pipe dream.’ The clerk laughed excitedly. ‘But science goes on.’
A strange cold numbness settled over Tom Fields. ‘Listen,’ he said hoarsely. Grabbing the clerk by the lapel he yanked him closer. The order pad fluttered away; the clerk gulped with surprise and fright. ‘Listen to me,’ Tom grated, ‘you’re building these things bigger all the time - aren’t you? Every year, new models, new weapons. You and all the other companies - building them with improved equipment to destroy each other.’
‘Oh,’ the clerk squeaked indignantly. ‘Allied Domestic’s models are never destroyed. Banged up a little now and then, perhaps, but you show me one of our models that’s been put out of commission.’ With dignity, he retrieved his order pad and smoothed down his coat. ‘No, sir,’ he said emphatically, ‘our models survive. Why, I saw a seven-year-old Allied running around, an old Model 3-S. Dented a bit, perhaps, but plenty of fire left. I’d like to see one of those cheap Protecto-Corp. models try to tangle with that.’
Controlling himself with an effort, Tom asked: ‘But why? What’s it all for? What’s the purpose in this - competition between them?’
The clerk hesitated. Uncertainly, he began again with his order pad. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Competition; you put your finger right on it. Successful competition, to be exact. Allied Domestic doesn’t meet competition - it demolishes it.’
It took a second for Tom Fields to react. Then understanding came. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘In other words, every year these things are obsolete. No good, not large enough. Not powerful enough. And if they’re not replaced, if I don’t get a new one, a more advanced model—’
‘Your present Nanny was, ah, the loser?’ The clerk smiled knowingly. ‘Your present model was, perhaps, slightly anachronistic? It failed to meet present-day standards of competition? It, ah, failed to come out at the end of the day?’
‘It never came home,’ Tom said thickly.
‘Yes, it was demolished … I fully understand. Very common. You see, sir, you don’t have a choice. It’s nobody’s fault, sir. Don’t blame us; don’t blame Allied Domestic.’
‘But,’ Tom said harshly, ‘when one is destroyed, that means you sell another one. That means a sale for you. Money in the cash register.’
‘True. But we all have to meet contemporary standards of excellence. We can’t let ourselves fall behind … As you saw, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so, you saw the unfortunate consequences of falling behind.’
‘Yes,’ Tom agreed, in an almost inaudible voice. ‘They told me not to have her repaired. They said I should replace her.’
The clerk’s confident, smugly beaming face seemed to expand. Like a miniature sun, it glowed happily, exaltedly. ‘But now you’re all set up, sir. With this model you’re right up there in the front. Your worries are over, Mr …’ He halted expectantly. ‘Your name, sir? To whom shall I make out this purchase order?’
*
Bobby and Jean watched with fascination as the delivery men lugged the enormous crate into the living room. Grunting and sweating, they set it down and straightened gratefully up.
‘All right,’ Tom said crisply. ‘Thanks.’
‘Not at all, mister.’ The delivery men stalked out, noisily closing the door after them.
‘Daddy, what is it?’ Jean whispered. The two children came cautiously around the crate, wide-eyed and awed.
‘You’ll see in a minute.’
‘Tom, it’s past their bedtime,’ Mary protested. ‘Can’t they look at it tomorrow?’
‘I want them to look at it now.’ Tom disappeared downstairs into the basement and returned with a screwdriver. Kneeling on the floor beside the crate he began rapidly unscrewing the bolts that held it together. ‘They can go to bed a little late, for once.’
He removed the boards, one by one, working expertly and calmly. At last the final board was gone, propped up against the wall with the others. He unclipped the book of instructions and the 90-day warranty and handed them to Mary. ‘Hold onto these.’
‘It’s a Nanny!’ Bobby cried.
‘It’s a huge, huge Nanny!’
In the crate the great black shape lay quietly, like an enormous metal tortoise, encased in a coating of grease. Carefully checked, oiled, and fully guaranteed. Tom nodded. ‘That’s right. It’s a Nanny, a new Nanny. To take the place of the old one.’
‘For us?’
‘Yes.’ Tom sat down in a nearby chair and it a cigarette. ‘Tomorrow morning we’ll turn her on and warm her up. See how she runs.’
The children’s eyes were like saucers. Neither of them could breathe or speak.
‘But this time,’ Mary said, ‘you must stay away from the park. Don’t take her near the park. You hear?’
‘No,’ Tom contradicted. ‘They can go in the park.’
Mary glanced uncertainly at him. ‘But that orange thing might—’
Tom smiled grimly. ‘It’s fine with me if they go into the park.’ He leaned toward Bobby and Jean. ‘You kids go into the park anytime you want. And don’t be afraid of anything. Of anything or anyone. Remember that.’
He kicked the end of the massive crate with his toe.
‘There isn’t anything in the world you have to be afraid of. Not anymore.’
Bobby and Jean nodded, still gazing fixedly into the crate.
‘All right, Daddy,’ Jean breathed.
‘Boy, look at her!’ Bobby whispered. ‘Just look at her! I can hardly wait till tomorrow!’
Mrs Andrew Casworthy greeted her husband on the front steps of their attractive three-story house, wringing her hands anxiously.
‘What’s the matter?’ Casworthy grunted, taking off his hat. With his pocket handkerchief he wiped sweat from his florid face. ‘Lord, it was hot today. What’s wrong? What is it?’
‘Andrew, I’m afraid—’
‘What the hell happened?’
‘Phyllis came home from the park today without her Nanny. She was bent and scratched yesterday when Phyllis brought her home, and Phyllis is so upset I can’t make out—’
‘Without her Nanny? ‘
‘She came home alone. By herself. All alone.’
Slow rage suffused the man’s heavy features. ‘What happened?’
‘Something in the park, like yesterday. Something attacked her Nanny. Destroyed her! I can’t get the story exactly straight, but something black, something huge and black … It must have been another Nanny.’
Casworthy’s jaw slowly jutted out. His thickset face turned ugly dark red, a deep unwholesome flush that rose ominously and settled in place. Abruptly, he turned on his heel.
‘Where are you going?’ his wife fluttered nervously.
The paunchy, red-faced man stalked rapidly down the walk toward his sleek surface cruiser, already reaching for the door handle.
‘I’m going to shop for another Nanny,’ he muttered. ‘The best damn Nanny I can get. Even if have to go to a hundred stores. I want the best - and the biggest.’
‘But, dear,’ his wife began, hurrying apprehensively after him, ‘can we really afford it?’ Wringing her hands together anxiously, she raced on: ‘I mean, wouldn’t it be better to wait? Until you’ve had time to think it over, perhaps. Maybe later on, when you’re a little more - calm.’
But Andrew Casworthy wasn’t listening. Already the surface cruiser boiled with quick, eager life, ready to leap forward. ‘Nobody’s going to get ahead of me,’ he said grimly, his heavy lips twitching. ‘I’ll show them, all of them. Even if I have to get a new size designed. Even if I have to get one of those manufacturers to turn out a new model for me!’
And, oddly, he
knew one of them would.
Jon’s World
Kastner walked around the ship without speaking. He climbed the ramp and entered, disappearing cautiously inside. For a time his outline could be seen, stirring around. He appeared again, his broad face dimly alight.
‘Well?’ Caleb Ryan said. ‘What do you think?’
Kastner came down the ramp. ‘Is it ready to go? Nothing left to work out?’
‘It’s almost ready. Workmen are finishing up the remaining sections. Relay connections and feed lines. But no major problems exist. None we can predict, at least.’
The two men stood together, looking up at the squat metal box with its ports and screens and observation grills. The ship was not lovely. There were no trim lines, no chrome and rexeroid struts to ease the hull into a gradually tapering tear-drop. The ship was square and knobby, with turrets and projections rising up everywhere.
‘What will they think when we emerge from that?’ Kastner murmured.
‘We had no time to beautify it. Of course, if you want to wait another two months—’
‘Couldn’t you take off a few of the knobs? What are they for? What do they do?’
‘Valves. You can examine the plans. They drain off the power load when it peaks too far up. Time travel is going to be dangerous. A vast load is collected as the ship moves back. It has to be leaked off gradually - or we’ll be an immense bomb charged with millions of volts.’
‘I’ll take your word on it.’ Kastner picked up his briefcase. He moved toward one of the exits. League Guards stepped out of his way. ‘I’ll tell the Directors it’s almost ready. By the way, I have something to reveal.’
‘What is it?’
‘We’ve decided who’s going along with you.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m going. I’ve always wanted to know what things were like before the war. You see the history spools, but it isn’t the same. I want to be there. Walk around. You know, they say there was no ash before the war. The surface was fertile. You could walk for miles without seeing ruins. This I would like to see.’
‘I didn’t know you were interested in the past.’
‘Oh, yes. My family preserved some illustrated books showing how it was. No wonder USIC wants to get hold of Schonerman’s papers. If reconstruction could begin—’
‘That’s what we all want.’
‘And maybe we’ll get it. I’ll see you later.’
Ryan watched the plump little businessman depart, his briefcase clutched tightly. The row of League Guards stepped aside for him to pass, filling in behind him as he disappeared through the doorway.
Ryan returned his attention to the ship. So Kastner was to be his companion. USIC - United Synthetic Industries Combine - had held out for equal representation on the trip. One man from the League, one from USIC. USIC had been the source of supply, both commercial and financial, for Project Clock. Without its help the Project would never have got out of the paper stage. Ryan sat down at the bench and sent the blueprints racing through the scanner. They had worked a long time. There was not much left to be done. Only a few finishing touches here and there.
The vidscreen clicked. Ryan halted the scanner and swung to catch the call.
‘Ryan.’
The League monitor appeared on the screen. The call was coming through League cables. ‘Emergency call.’
Ryan froze. ‘Put it through.’
The monitor faded. After a moment an old face appeared, florid and lined. ‘Ryan—’
‘What’s happened?’
‘You had better come home. As soon as you can.’
‘What is it?’
‘Jon.’
Ryan forced himself to be calm. ‘Another attack?’ His voice was thick.
‘Yes.’
‘Like the others?’
‘Exactly like the others.’
Ryan’s hand jerked to the cut-off switch. ‘All right. I’ll be home at once. Don’t let anyone in. Try to keep him quiet. Don’t let him out of his room. Double the guard, if necessary.’
Ryan broke the circuit. A moment later he was on his way to the roof, toward his inter-city ship parked above him, at the roof field of the building.
His inter-city ship rushed above the unending gray ash, automatic grapples guiding it toward City Four. Ryan stared blankly out the port, only half-seeing the sight below.
He was between cities. The surface was wasted, endless heaps of slag and ash as far as the eye could see. Cities rose up like occasional toadstools, separated by miles of gray. Toadstools here and there, towers and buildings, men and women working. Gradually the surface was being reclaimed. Supplies and equipment were being brought down from the Lunar Base.
During the war human beings had left Terra and gone to the moon. Terra was devasted. Nothing but a globe of ruin and ash. Men had come back gradually, when the war was over.
Actually there had been two wars. The first was man against man. The second was man against the claws - complex robots that had been created as a war weapon. The claws had turned on their makers, designing their own new types and equipment.
Ryan’s ship began to descend. He was over City Four. Presently the ship came to rest on the roof of his massive private residence at the center of the city. Ryan leaped quickly out and crossed the roof to the lift.
A moment later he entered his quarters and made his way toward Jon’s room.
He found the old man watching Jon through the glass side of the room, his face grave. Jon’s room was partly in darkness. Jon was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped tightly together. His eyes were shut. His mouth was open a little, and from time to time his tongue came out, stiff and rigid.
‘How long has he been like that?’ Ryan said to the old man beside him.
‘About an hour.’
‘The other attacks followed the same pattern?’
‘This is more severe. Each has been more severe.’
‘No one has seen him but you?’
‘Just the two of us. I called you when I was certain. It’s almost over. He’s coming out of it.’
On the other side of the glass Jon stood up and walked away from his bed, his arms folded. His blond hair hung down raggedly in his face. His eyes were still shut. His face was pale and set. His lips twitched.
‘He was completely unconscious at first. I had left him alone for awhile. I was in another part of the building. When I came back I found him lying on the floor. He had been reading. The spools were scattered all around him. His face was blue. His breathing was irregular. There were repeated muscular spasms, as before.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I entered the room and carried him to the bed. He was rigid at first, but after a few minutes he began to relax. His body became limp. I tested his pulse. It was very slow. Breathing was coming more easily. And then it began.’
‘It?’
‘The talk.’
‘Oh.’ Ryan nodded.
‘I wish you could have been here. He talked more than ever before. On and on. Streams of it. Without pause. As if he couldn’t stop.’
‘Was - was it the same talk as before?’
‘Exactly the same as it’s always been. And his face was lit up. Glowing. As before.’
Ryan considered. ‘Is it all right for me to go into the room?’
‘Yes. It’s almost over.’
Ryan moved to the door. His fingers pressed against the code lock and the door slid back into the wall.
Jon did not notice him as he came quietly into the room. He paced back and forth, eyes shut, his arms wrapped around his body. He swayed a little, rocking from side to side. Ryan came to the center of the room and stopped.
‘Jon!’
The boy blinked. His eyes opened. He shook his head rapidly. ‘Ryan? What - what did you want?’
‘Better sit down.’
Jon nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ He sat down on the bed uncertainly. His eyes were wide and blue. He pushed his hair back out of
his face, smiling a little at Ryan.
‘How do you feel?’
‘I feel all right.’
Ryan sat down across from him, drawing a chair over. He crossed his legs, leaning back. For a long time he studied the boy. Neither of them spoke. ‘Grant says you had a little attack,’ Ryan said finally.
Jon nodded.
‘You’re over it now?’
‘Oh, yes. How is the time ship coming?’
‘Fine.’
‘You promised I could see it, when it’s ready.’
‘You can. When it’s completely done.’
‘When will that be?’
‘Soon. A few more days.’
‘I want to see it very much. I’ve been thinking about it. Imagine going into time. You could go back to Greece. You could go back and see Pericles and Xenophon and - and Epictetus. You could go back to Egypt and talk to Ikhnation.’ He grinned. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’
Ryan shifted. ‘Jon, do you really think you’re well enough to go outside? Maybe—’
‘Well enough? What do you mean?’
‘Your attacks. You really think you should go out? Are you strong enough?’
Jon’s face clouded. ‘They’re not attacks. Not really. I wish you wouldn’t call them attacks.’
‘Not attacks? What are they?’
Jon hesitated. ‘I - I shouldn’t tell you, Ryan. You wouldn’t understand.’
Ryan stood up. ‘All right, Jon. If you feel you can’t talk to me I’ll go back to the lab.’ He crossed the room to the door. ‘It’s a shame you can’t see the ship. I think you’d like it.’
Jon followed him plaintively. ‘Can’t I see it?’
‘Maybe if I knew more about your - your attacks I’d know whether you’re well enough to go out.’
Jon’s face flickered. Ryan watched him intently. He could see thoughts crossing Jon’s mind, written on his features. He struggled inwardly.
‘Don’t you want to tell me?’
Jon took a deep breath. ‘They’re visions.’
‘What?’
‘They’re visions.’ Jon’s face was alive with radiance. ‘I’ve known it a long time. Grant says they’re not, but they are. If you could see them you’d know, too. They’re not like anything else. More real than, well, than this.’ He thumped the wall. ‘More real than that.’
Paycheck (2003) Page 7