CHAPTER IX
His name was Temple and it was the year 1960. Hectic end of a decade,1960. Ancient Joe Stalin was still alive, drugged half senselessagainst the tortures of an incurable stomach cancer, although theworld thought he died in 1953. He would hang on grimly another yearand a half, yielding the reins of empire to stout Malenkov who in thespace of a few years would lose them to a crafty schoolteacherishwhiplash called Beria. 1960--eleventh year of the fantastic Koreansituation, in which the Land of the Morning Sun had become, with nopretentions to the contrary, a glorified training camp for the armiesof both sides.
The Cold War flared hot in Burma by mid-1960. Indo-China was a RedFortress and with Tibet hopelessly behind the Iron Curtain, Indiaawoke to the fact that neutrality was an impossibility in the era ofpushbuttonry, lending her chaotic bulk to the West. Mao Tse Tung fellbefore an assassin's bullet in Peking, but a shining new politicalsewage system cleared the streets of celebration before it fairly gotunder way. Inside of forty-eight hours, China had a new Redboss--imported from Moscow.
For some reason, it took until 1960 for the first batch ofHiroshima-Nagasaki mutants not to miscarry, and Sunday Supplementeditors had a field day with the pathetic little creatures, one ofwhich was born with two heads and actually survived for ten years. In1960 the first manned spaceship reached Luna, but the public knewnothing of this for another fourteen months. In the United States theincrease in taxes and prices was matched everywhere except in thepocketbook of the white collar worker by an increase in wages.Shortages in all branches of engineering forced the government tosubsidize engineering students and exempt them permanently from thedraft and the soon-to-be-started Nowhere Journey, while engineers'salaries rose to match those of top business executives. Big news inthe world of sports was the inclusion in the baseball Major Leagues ofeight teams from the Pacific Coast, replacing the World Series withwhat was to become a mathematician's nightmare, the Triangle Game.
But Christopher Temple had his own problems. He had his own life, too,which had nothing to do with the life of the real Christopher Temple,departed thirty-odd years later on the Nowhere Journey. Or rather,this _was_ Christopher Temple, living his second E.C.R.... Temple whohad lost once, and who, if he lost again, would take the dreams andhopes of the Western world down into the dust of defeat with him. Butas the fictional (although in a certain sense, real) ChristopherTemple of 1960, he knew nothing of this.
The world could go to pot. The world was going to pot, anyway. Templeshuddered as he poured a fourth Canadian, downing it in a tasteless,burning gulp. Temple was a thermo-nuclear engineer with governmentsubsidized degrees from three universities including the fine new oneat Desert Rock. Temple was a thermo-nuclear engineer with top-secretgovernment clearance. Temple was a thermo-nuclear engineer with moremilitary secrets buzzing around inside his head than in a warehouse ofburned Pentagon files.
Temple was also a thermo-nuclear engineer whose wife spied for theRussians.
* * * * *
He'd found out quite by accident, not meaning to eavesdrop at all.Returning home early one afternoon because the production engineercalled a halt while further research was done on certain unstableisotopes, Temple was surprised to find his wife had a gentlemancaller. He heard their voices clearly from where he stood out in thesun-parlor, and for a ridiculous instant he was torn between slinkingupstairs and ignoring them altogether or barging into the living roomlike a high school boy flushed with jealousy. The mature thing to do,of course, was neither, and Temple was on the point of walkingpolitely into the living room, saying hello and waiting for anintroduction, when snatches of the conversation stopped him cold.
"Silly Charles! Kit doesn't suspect a thing. I would _know_."
"How can you be sure?"
"Intuition."
"On a framework of intuition you would place the fate of Red Empire?"
"Empire, Charles?" Temple could picture Lucy's raised eyebrow. Helistened now, hardly breathing. For one wild moment he thought hewould retreat upstairs and forget the whole thing. Life would be muchsimpler that way. A meaningless surrender to unreality, however, andit couldn't be done.
"Yes, Empire. Oh, not the land-grabbing, slave-dominating sort ofthings the Imperialists used to attempt, but a more subtle and hencemore enduring empire. Let the world call us Liberator, we shall haveEmpire."
Lucy laughed, a sound which Temple loved. "You may keep your ideology,Charles. Play with it, bathe in it, get drunk on it or drown yourselfin it. I want my money."
"You are frank."
Temple could picture Lucy's shrug. "I am a paid, professional spy. Bynow you have most of the information you need. I shall have the resttonight."
"I'll see you in hell first!" Temple cried in rage, stalking into theroom and almost smiling in spite of the situation when he realized howmelodramatic his words must sound.
"Kit! Kit...." Lucy raised hand to mouth, then backed away flinchingas if she had been struck.
"Yeah, Kit. A political cuckold, or does Charles get other servicesfrom you as well?"
"Kit, you don't...."
The man named Charles motioned for silence. Dapper, clean-cut,good-looking except for a surly, pouting mouth, he was a head shorterthan either Temple or Lucy. "Don't waste your words, Sophia. Templeoverheard us."
_Sophia?_ thought Temple. "Sophia?" he said.
Charles nodded coolly. "The real Mrs. Temple was observed, studied,her every habit and whim catalogued by experts. A plastic surgeon, apsychologist, a sociologist, a linguist, a whole battery of expertsmolded Sophia here into a new Mrs. Temple. I must congratulate them,for you never suspected."
"Lucy?" Temple demanded dully. Reason stood suspended in a limbo ofobjective acceptance and subjective disbelief.
"Mrs. Temple was eliminated. Regrettable because we don't deal insenseless mayhem, but necessary."
Temple was not aware of leaving limbo until he felt the bruisingcontact of his knuckles with Charles' jaw. The short man toppled, fellat his feet. "Get up!" Temple cried, then changed his mind and tensedhimself to leap upon the prone figure.
"Hold it," Charles told him quietly, wiping blood from his lips withone hand, drawing an automatic from his pocket with the other. "You'dbetter freeze, Temple. You die if you don't."
* * * * *
Temple froze, watched Charles slither away across the high-piled greencarpet until, safely away across the room, he came upright groggily.He turned to the dead Lucy's double. "What do you think, Sophia?"
"I don't know. We could get out of here, probably get along withoutthe final information."
"That isn't what I mean. Naturally, we'll never receive the finalfacts. I mean, what do you think about Temple?"
Sophia said she didn't know.
"Left alone, he would go to the police. Kidnapped, he would be worsethan useless. Harmful, actually, for the authorities would suspectsomething. Even worse if we killed him. The point is, we don't wantthe authorities to think Temple gave information to anybody."
"Gave is hardly the word," said Sophia. "I was a good wife, but also agood gleaner. One hundred thousand dollars, Charles."
"You bitch," Temple said.
"Later," Charles told the woman. "The solution is this, Sophia: wemust kill Temple, but it must look like suicide."
Sophia frowned in pretty concern. "Do we have to ... kill him?"
"What's the matter, my dear? Have you been playing the wifely role toolong? If Temple stands in the way of Red Empire, Temple must die."
Temple edged forward.
"Uh-uh," said Charles, "mustn't." He waved the automatic and Templesubsided.
"Is that right?" Sophia demanded. "Well, you listen to me. I havenothing to do with your Red Empire. I fled the Iron Curtain, came hereto live voluntarily--"
"Do you really think it was on a voluntary basis that you went? Weallowed you to go, Sophia. We encouraged it. That way, the job of ourtechnicians was all the simpler. Whet
her you like it or not, you havebeen a cog in the machine of Red Empire."
"I still don't see why he has to die."
"Leave thinking to those who can. You have a smile, a body, a certainway with men. I will think. I think that Temple should die."
"I don't," Sophia said.
"We're delaying needlessly. The man dies." And Charles raised hisautomatic, sufficiently irked to forget his suicide plan.
A gap of eight or nine feet separated the two men. It might as wellhave been infinity--and it would be soon, for Temple. He saw Charles'small hand tighten about the automatic, saw the trigger finger growwhite. The weapon pointed at a spot just above his navel and brieflyhe found himself wondering what it would feel like for a slug to ripinto his stomach, burning a path back to his spine. He decided to makethe gesture at least, if he could do no more. He would jump forCharles.
Sophia beat him to it--and because Lucy was dead and Sophia lookedexactly like her and Temple could not quite accept the fact, it seemedthe most natural thing in the world. Cat-quick, Sophia leaped uponCharles' back and they went down together in a twisting, thrashingtangle of arms and legs.
Temple did not wait for an invitation. He launched himself down afterthem, and then things began to happen ... fast.
Sophia rolled clear, rose to her hands and knees, panting. Charles satup cursing, nursing a badly scratched face. Temple hurtled at him,stretched him on his back again, began to pound hard fists into hisface.
Charles did not have the automatic. Neither did Temple.
Something exploded against the back of Temple's head violently,throwing him off Charles and tumbling him over. Dimly he saw Sophiafollowing through, the automatic in her hand, butt foremost. Temple'ssenses reeled. He tried to rise, succeeded only in a kind ofshuddering slither before he subsided. He wavered betweenconsciousness and unconsciousness, heard as in a dream snatches ofconversation.
"Shoot him ... shoot him!"
"Shut up ... I have ... gun ... go to hell."
"... kill ... only way."
"My way is different ... out of here ... discuss later."
"... feel...."
"I said ... out of here...."
The voices became a meaningless liquid torrent cascading into a blackpit.
* * * * *
Now Temple sat with a water-glass a third full of Canadian in hishand, every once in a while reaching up gingerly to explore thebruised swelling on his head, the blood-matted hair which covered it.To be a cuckold was one thing, but to be the naive, political pawnsort of cuckold who is not a cuckold at all, he told himself, is farworse. To live with his woman, eat the meals she cooked for him, talkto her, think she understood him, sympathize with him, to make love toher with passion while she responds with play-acting for a hundredthousand dollar salary was suddenly the most emasculating thing in theworld for Temple. He had not thought to ask how long it had been goingon. Better, perhaps, if he never knew. And somewhere lost in the mazeof his thoughts was the grimmest, bleakest reality of them all: Lucywas dead. Lucy--dead. But where did Lucy leave off, where did Sophiabegin? Was Lucy dead that night they returned more than a little drunkfrom the Chamber's party, that night they danced in the living roomuntil dawn obscured the stars and he carried Lucy upstairs. Lucy orSophia? And the day they motored to the lake, their secret lake,hardly more than a dammed, widened stream and dreamed of the thingsthey could do when the Cold War ended? Lucy--or Sophia? Had he evernoticed a difference in the way Lucy-Sophia cooked, in the way shespoke, the way she let him make love to her? He thought himself into aman-sized headache and found no answers. This way at least the loss ofhis wife was not as traumatic as it might have been. He knew not whenshe died or how and, in fact, Lucy-Sophia seemed so much like the realthing that he did not know where he could stop loving and starthating.
And the girl, the Russian girl, had saved his life. Why? He couldn'tanswer that one either, unless if it were as Charles suggested: Sophiahad studied Lucy so carefully, had learned her likes and dislikes, herwants and desires, had memorized and practised every quirk of hercharacter to such an extent that Sophia was Lucy in essence.
Which, Temple thought, would make it all the harder to seek out Sophiaand kill her.
That was the answer, the only answer. Temple felt a dull ache wherehis heart should have been, a pressure, a pounding, an unpleasant,unfamiliar lack of feeling. If he took his story to the F.B.I. he hadno doubt that Charles, Sophia and whoever else worked this thing withthem would be caught, but he, Temple, would find himself with alifelong, unslakable emotional thirst. He had to quench it now andthen feel sorry so that he might heal. He had to quench it withSophia's blood ... alone.
* * * * *
He found her a week later at their lake. He had looked everywhere andhad about given up, almost, in fact, ready to turn his story over tothe police. But he had to think and their lake was the place for that.
Apparently Sophia had the same idea. Temple parked on the highway halfa mile from their lake, made his way slowly through the woods, goldendappled with sunlight. He heard the waters gushing merrily, heard thesounds of some small animal rushing off through the woods. He sawSophia.
She lay on their sunning rock in shorts and halter, completelyrelaxed, an opened magazine face down on the rock beside her, a pairof sunglasses next to it. She had one knee up, one leg stretched out,one forearm shielding her eyes from the sun, one arm down at her side.Seeing her thus, Temple felt the pressure of his automatic in itsholster under his arm. He could draw it out, kill her before she wasaware of his presence. Would that make him feel better? Five minutesago, he would have said yes. Now he hesitated. Kill her, who seemed ascompletely Lucy as he was Temple? Send a bullet ripping through thebody which he had known and loved, or the body that had seemed so muchlike it he had failed to tell the difference?
Murder--Lucy?
"No," he said aloud. "Her name is Sophia."
The girl sat up, startled. "Kit," she said.
"Lucy."
"You can't make up your mind, either." She smiled just like Lucy.
Dumbly, he sat down next to her on the rock. Strong sunlight hadbrought a fine dew of perspiration to the bronzed skin of her face.She got a pack of cigarettes out from under the magazine, lit one,offered it to Temple, lit another and smoked it. "Where do we go fromhere?" she wanted to know.
"I--"
"You came to kill me, didn't you? Is that the only way you can everfeel better, Kit?"
"I--" He was going to deny it, then think.
"Don't deny it. Please." She reached in under his jacket, withdrawingher hand with the snub-nosed automatic in it. "Here," she said, givingit to him.
He took the gun, hefted it, let it fall, clattering, on the rock.
"Listen," she said. "I could have told you I was Lucy. If I said nowthat I am Lucy and if I kept on saying it, you'd believe me. You'dbelieve me because you'd want to."
"Well," said Temple.
"I am not Lucy. Lucy is dead. But ... but I was Lucy in everything butbeing Lucy. I thought her thoughts, dreamed her dreams, loved herloves."
"You killed her."
"No. I had nothing to do with that. She was killed, yes. Not by me.Kit, if I asked you when Lucy stopped, and ... when I began, could youtell me?"
He had often thought about that. "No," he said truthfully. "You're asmuch my wife as--she was."
* * * * *
She clutched at his hand impulsively. Then, when he failed torespond, she withdrew her own hand. "Then--then I _am_ Lucy. If I amLucy in every way, Lucy never died."
"You betrayed me. You stood by while murder was committed. You areguilty of espionage."
"Lucy loved you. I am Lucy...."
"... Betrayed me...."
"For a hundred thousand dollars. For the chance to live a normal life,for the chance to forget Leningrad in the wintertime, watery potatosoup, rags for clothing, swaggering commissars, poverty,
disease. Doyou think I realized I could fall in love with you so completely? If Idid, don't you think that would have changed things? I am not Sophia,Kit. I was, but I am not. They made me Lucy. Lucy can't be dead, notif I am she in every way."
"What can we do?"
"I don't know. I only want to be your wife...."
"Well, then tell me," he said bitterly. "Shall I go back to the plantand continue working, knowing all the time that our most closelyguarded secret is in Russian hands and that my wife is responsible?"He laughed. "Shall I do that?"
"Your secrets never went anywhere."
"Shall I ... _what_?"
"Your secrets never went anywhere. Charles is dead. I have destroyedall that we took. I am not Russian any longer. American. They made meAmerican. They made me Lucy. I want to go right on being Lucy, yourwife."
Temple said nothing for a long time. He realized now he could not killher. But everything else she suggested.... "Tell me," he said. "Tellme, how long have you been Lucy? You've got to tell me that."
"How long have we been married?"
"You know how long. Three years."
Sophia crushed her cigarette out on the rock, wiped perspiration(tears?) from her cheek with the back of her hand. "You have neverknown anyone but me in your marriage bed, Kit."
"You--you're lying."
"No. They did what they did on the eve of your marriage. I have beenyour wife for as long as you have had one."
Temple's head whirled. It had been a quick courtship. He had knownLucy only two weeks in those hectic post-graduate days of 1957. Butfor fourteen brief days, it was Sophia he had known all along.
"Sophia, I--"
"There is no Sophia, not any more."
He had hardly known Lucy, the real Lucy. This girl here was his wife,always had been. Had the first fourteen days with Lucy been anythingbut a dream? He was sorry Lucy had died--but the Lucy he had thoughtdead was Sophia, very much alive.
He took her in his arms, almost crushing her. He held her that way,kissed her savagely, letting passion of a different sort take theplace of murder.
_This is my woman_, he thought, and awoke on his white pallet inNowhere.
* * * * *
"I am awake," said Temple.
"We see that. You shouldn't be."
"No?"
"No. There is one more dream."
Temple dozed restfully but was soon aware of a commotion. Strangely,he did not care. He was too tired to open his eyes, anyway. Letwhatever was going to happen, happen. He wanted his sleep.
But the voice persisted.
"This is highly irregular. You came in here once and--"
"I did you a favor, didn't I?" (That voice is familiar, Templethought.)
"Well, yes. But what now?"
"Temple's record is now one and one. In the second sequence he was thevictor. The Soviet entry had to extract certain information from himand turn it over to her people. She extracted the information wellenough but somehow Temple made her change her mind. The informationnever went anyplace. How Temple managed to play counterspy I don'tknow, but he played it and won."
"That's fine. But what do you want?"
"The final E.C.R. is critical." (The voice was Arkalion's!) "Howcritical, I can't tell you. Sufficient though, if you know that youlose no matter how Temple fares. If the Russian woman defeats Temple,you lose."
"Naturally."
"Let me finish. If Temple defeats the Russian woman, you also lose.Either way, Earth is the loser. I haven't time to explain what youwouldn't understand anyway. Will you cooperate?"
"Umm-mm. You did save Temple's life. Umm-mm, yes. All right."
"The third dream sequence is the wrong dream, the wrong contest withthe wrong antagonist at the wrong time, when a far more importantcontest is brewing ... with the fate of Earth as a reward for thevictor."
"What do you propose?"
"I will arrange Temple's final dream. But if he disappears from thisroom, don't be alarmed. It's a dream of a different sort. Temple won'tknow it until the dream progresses, you won't know it untileverything is concluded, but Temple will fight for a slave or a freeEarth."
"Can't you tell us more?"
"There is no time, except to say that along with the rest of theGalaxy, you've been duped. The Nowhere Journey is a grim, tragicfarce.
"Awaken, Kit!"
Temple awoke into what he thought was the third and final dream.Strange, because this time he knew where he was and why, knew alsothat he was dreaming, even remembered vividly the other two dreams.
* * * * *
"Stealth," said Arkalion, and led Temple through long, white-walledcorridors. They finally came to a partially open door and pausedthere. Peering within, Temple saw a room much like the one he hadleft, with two white-gowned figures standing anxiously over a table.And prone on the table was Sophia, whom Temple had loved short momentsbefore, in his second dream. Moments? Years. (Never, except in adream.)
"She's lovely," Arkalion whispered.
"I know." Like himself, Sophia was garbed in a loose jumper andslacks.
"Stealth," said Arkalion again. "Haste." Arkalion disappeared.
"Well," Temple told himself. "What now? At least in the other dreams Iwas thrust so completely into things, I knew what to do." He rubbedhis jaw grimly. "Not that it did much good the first time."
Temple poked the partially-ajar door with his foot, pushing it open.The two white-smocked figures had their backs to him, leaned intentlyover the table and Sophia. Without knowing what motivated him, Templeleaped into the room, grasped the nearer figure's arm, whirled himaround. Startled confusion began to alter the man's coarse features,but his face went slack when Temple's fist struck his jaw withterrible strength. The man collapsed.
The second man turned, mouthing a stream of what must have beenRussian invective. He parried Temple's quick blow with his left hand,crossing his own right fist to Temple's face and almost ending thefight as quickly as it had started. Temple went down in a heap and wasvaguely aware of the Russian's booted foot hovering over his face. Hereached out, grabbed the boot with both hands, twisted. The manscreamed and fell and then they were rolling over and over, strikingeach other with fists, knees, elbows, gouging, butting, cursing.Temple found the Russian's throat, closed his hands around it,applied pressure. Fists pounded his face, nails raked him, but slowlyhe succeeded in throttling the Russian. When Temple got to his feet,trembling, the Russian stared blankly at the ceiling. He would go onstaring that way until someone shut his eyes.
Not questioning the incomprehensible, Temple knew he had done what hemust. Hardly seeking for the motive he could not find he lifted theunconscious Sophia off the table, slung her long form across hisshoulder, plodded with her from the room. Arkalion had said haste. Hewould hurry.
He next was aware of a spaceship. Remembering no time lag, he simplystood in the ship with Arkalion. And Sophia.
* * * * *
He knew it was a spaceship because he had been in one before andalthough the sensation of weightlessness was not present, they were indeep space. Stars you never see through an obscuring atmosphere hungsuspended in the viewports. Cold-bright, not flickering against theplush blackness of deep space, phalanxes and legions of stars withoutnumbers, in such wild profusion that space actually seemed threedimensional.
"This is a different sort of dream," said Sophia in English. "Iremember. I remember everything. Kit--"
"Hello." He felt strangely shy, became mildly angry when Arkalionhardly tried to suppress a slight snicker. "Well, that second dreamwasn't our idea," Temple protested. "Once there, we acted ... and--"
"And...." said Sophia.
"And nothing," Arkalion told them. "You haven't time. This is aspaceship, not like the slow, blumbling craft your people use to reachMars or Jupiter."
"Our people?" Temple demanded. "Not yours?"
"Will you let me finish? Light is a laggard crawl
er by comparison withthe drive propelling this ship. Temple, Sophia, we are leaving yourGalaxy altogether."
"Is that a fact?" said Sophia, her Jupiter-found knowledge telling herthey were traveling an unthinkable distance. "For some final contestbetween us, no doubt, to decide whether the U. S. S. R. or the U. S.represents Earth? Kit, I l-love you, but...."
"But Russia is more important, huh?"
"No. I didn't say that. All my training has been along those lines,though, and even if I'm aware it is indoctrination, the fact stillremains. If your country is truly better, but if I have seen yourcountry only through the eyes of Pravda, how can I ... I don't know,Kit. Let me think."
"You needn't," said Arkalion, smiling. "If the two of you would let meget on with it you'd see this particular train of thought ismeaningless, quite meaningless." Arkalion cleared his throat.
"Strange, but I have much the same problem as Sophia has. Myindoctrination was far more subtle though. Far more convincing, basedupon eons of propaganda methods. Temple, Sophia, those who initiatedthe Nowhere Journey for hundreds of worlds of your galaxy did so witha purpose."
"I know. To decide who gets their vast knowledge."
"Wrong. To find suitable hosts in a one-way relationship which ishardly symbiosis, really out and out parasitism."
"What?"
And Sophia: "What are you talking about?"
"The sick, decadent, tired old creatures you consider your superiors.Parasites. They need hosts in order to survive. Their old hosts havebeen milked dry, have become too highly specialized, are now incapablephysically or emotionally of meeting a wide variety of environmentalchallenges. The Nowhere Journey is to find a suitable new host. Theyhave found one. You of Earth."
"I don't understand," Temple said, remembering the glowing accounts ofthe 'superboys' he had been given by his brother Jason. "I just don'tget it. How can we be duped like that? Wouldn't someone have figuredit out? And if they have all the power everyone says, there isn't muchwe can do about it, anyway."
Arkalion scowled darkly. "Then write Earth's obituary. You'll needone."
"Go ahead," Sophia told Arkalion. "There's more you want to say."
"All right. Temple's thought is correct. They have tremendous power.That is why you could be duped so readily. But their power is notconcentrated here. These much-faster-than-light ships are an extremerarity, for the power-drive no longer exists. Five ships in all, Ibelieve. Hardly enough to invade a planet, even for them. It takesthem thousands of years to get here otherwise. Thousands. Just as ittook me, when I came to Mars and Earth in the first place."
"What?" cried Temple. "You...."
"I am one of them. Correct. I suppose you would call me a subversive,but I have made up my mind. Parasitism is unsatisfactory, when theMaker got us started on symbiosis. Somewhere along the line, evolutiontook a wrong turn. We are--monsters."
"What do you look like?" Sophia demanded while Temple stood thereshaking his head and muttering to himself.
* * * * *
"You couldn't see me, I am afraid. I was the representative here tosee how things were going, and when my people found you of the Earthdivided yourselves into two camps they realized they had beenconsidering your abilities in halves. Put together, you are probablythe top culture of your galaxy."
"So, we win," said Temple.
"Right and wrong. You lose. Earthmen will become hosts. Know what aback-seat driver is, Temple? You would be a back seat driver in yourown body. Thinking, feeling, wanting to make decisions, but unable to.Eating when the parasite wants to, sleeping at his command, fighting,loving, living as he wills it. And perishing when he wants a newgarment. Oh, they offer something in return. Their culture, their wayof life, their scientific, economic, social system. It's good, too.But not worth it. Did you know that their economic struggle betweendemocratic capitalism and totalitarian communism ended almost half amillion years ago? What they have now is a system you couldn't evenunderstand."
"Well," Temple mused, "even if everything you said were true--"
"Don't tell me you don't believe me?"
"If it were true and we wanted to do something about it, what could wedo?"
"Now, nothing. Nothing but delay things by striking swiftly andletting fifty centuries of time perform your rearguard action. Destroythe one means your enemy has of reaching Earth within foreseeable timeand you have destroyed his power to invade for a hundred centuries. Hecan still reach Earth, but the same way you journeyed to Nowhere. Tenthousand years of space travel in suspended animation. You saw me thatway once, Temple, and wondered. You thought I was dead, but that isanother story.
"Anyway, let my people invade your planet, ten thousand years hence.If Earth takes the right direction, if democracy and free thought andindividual enterprise win over totalitarian standardization as I thinkthey will, your people will be more than a match for the decadentparasites who may or may not have sufficient initiative to cross spacethe slow way and attempt invasion in ten thousand years."
"Ten thousand?" said Temple.
"Five from Earth to Nowhere. The distance to my home is far greater,but the rate of travel can be increased. Ten thousand years."
"Tell me," Temple demanded abruptly, "is this a dream?"
Arkalion smiled. "Yes and no. It is not a dream like the othersbecause I assure you your bodies are not now resting on a pair ofidentical white tables. Still in the other dreams physical thingscould happen to you, while now you'll find you can do things as in adream. For example, neither one of you knows the intricacies of aspaceship, yet if you are to save your planet, you must know theoperation of the most intricate of all space ships, a giant spacestation."
"Then we're not dreaming?" asked Temple.
"I never said that. Consider this sequence of events about half waybetween the dream stage you have already seen and reality itself.Remember this: you'll have to work together; you'll have to functionlike machines. You will be handling totally alien equipment with onlythe sort of knowledge which can be played into your brains to guideyou."
Sophia sighed. "Being an American, Kit is too much of an individual tohelp in such a situation."
Temple snorted. "Being a cog in a simple, state-wide machine is onething--orienting yourself in a totally new situation is another."
"Yes, well--"
"See?" Arkalion cautioned. "See? Already you are arguing, but you mustwork together completely, with not the slightest conflict between you.As it is, you hardly have a chance."
"What about you?" said Sophia practically. "Can't you help?"
* * * * *
Arkalion shook his head. "No. While I'd like to see you come out ofthis thing on top, I would not like to sacrifice my life for it--whichis exactly what I'd do if I remained with you and you lost.
"So, let's get down to detail. Imagine space being folded, imagineyour time sense slowing, imagine a new dimension which negates theneed for extensive linear travel, imagine anything you want--but weare in the process of moving nine hundred thousand light years throughdeep space. There is a great galaxy at that distance, almost a twin ofyour Milky Way: you call it the Andromeda Nebula. Closer to your ownsystem are the two Magellanic Clouds, so called, something else whichyou table NGC 6822, and finally the Triangulum Galaxy. All havebillions of stars, but none of the stars have life. To find lifeoutside your galaxy you must seek it across almost a million lightyears. My people live in Andromeda.
"Guarding the flank of their galaxy and speeding throughinter-galactic space at many light years per minute is what you mightcall a space station--but on a scale you've never dreamed of. Five ofyour miles in diameter, it is a fortress of terrible strength, astorehouse of half a million years of weapon development. It has beenarranged that the one man running this station--"
"Just one?" Temple asked.
"Yes. You will see why when you get there. It has been arranged thathe will leave, ostensibly on a scouting expedition. You see, I am no
talone in this venture. At any rate, he will report that the spacestation has been taken--as, indeed, it will be, by the two of you. Theonly ships capable of overtaking your station in its flight will bethe only ships capable of reaching your galaxy before culturaldevelopment gives you a chance to survive. They will attack you. Youwill destroy them--or be destroyed yourselves. Any questions?"
The whole thing sounded fantastic to Temple. Could the fate of allEarth rest on their shoulders in a totally alien environment? Couldthey be expected to win? Temple had no reason to doubt the former, aswild as it sounded. As for the latter, all he could do was hope. "Tellme," he said, "how will we learn the use of all the weapons you claimare at our disposal?"
"Can you answer that for him, Sophia?" Arkalion wanted to know.
"Umm, I think so. The same way I had all sorts of culture crammed intome on Jupiter."
"Precisely. Only take it from me our refinement is far better, and theamount you have to learn actually is less."
"What I'd like to know--" Sophia began.
"Forget it. I want some sleep and you'll learn everything that'snecessary at the space station."
And after that, ply Arkalion as they would with questions, he slumpeddown in his chair and rested. Temple could suddenly understand andappreciate. He felt like curling up into a tight little ball himselfand sleeping until everything was over, one way or the other.
CHAPTER X
"It's all so big! So incredible! We'll never understand it! Never...."
"Relax, Sophia. Arkalion said--"
"I know what Arkalion said, but we haven't learned anything yet."
Hours before, Arkalion had landed them on the space station, agleaming, five-mile in diameter globe, and had quickly departed. Soonafter that they had found themselves in a veritable labyrinth oftunnels, passageways, vaults. Occasionally they passed a great glowingscreen, and always the view of space was the same. Like a magnificent,elongated shield, sparkling with a million million points of light,pale gold, burnished copper, blue of glacial ice and silver white, theAndromeda Galaxy spanned space from upper right to lower left. Off atthe lower right hand corner they could see their space station;apparently the viewer itself stood far removed in space, projectingits images here at the globe.
Awed the first time they had seen one of the screens, Temple said,"All the poets who ever wrote a line would have given half their livesto see this as we see it now."
"And all the writers, musicians, artists...."
"Anyone, who ever thought creatively, Sophia. How can you say it'sbreathtaking or anything like that when words weren't ever spokenwhich can...."
"Let's not go poetic just yet," Sophia admonished him with a smile."We'd better get squared away here, as the expression goes, beforeit's too late."
"Yes.... Hello, what's this?" A door irised open for them in a solidwall of metal. Irised was the only word Temple could think of, for atiny round hole appeared in the wall spreading evenly in alldirections with a slow, uniform, almost liquid motion. When it waslarge enough to walk through, they entered a completely bare room andTemple whirled in time to see the entrance irising shut.
"Something smells," said Sophia, sniffing at the air.
Sweet and cloying, the odor grew stronger. Temple may have heard afaint hissing sound. "I'm getting sleepy," he said.
Nodding, Sophia ran, banged on the wall where the door had opened sosuddenly, then closed. No response. "Is it a trap?"
"By whom? For what?" Temple found it difficult to keep his eyes fromclosing. "Fight it if you want, Sophia. I'm going to sleep." And hesquatted in the center of the floor, staring vacantly at the barewall.
Just as Temple was drifting off into a dream about complex machineryhe did not yet understand but realized he soon would, Sophia joinedhim the hard way, collapsing alongside of him, unconscious andsprawling gracelessly on the floor.
Temple slept.
* * * * *
"Sleepy-head, get up." Sophia stirred as he spoke and shook her. Sheyawned, stretched, smiled up at him lazily. "How do you feel now?"
"Hungry, Kit."
"That's a point. It's all right now, though. I know exactly where thefood concentrates are kept. Three levels below us, second segment ofthe wall. You can make those queer doors iris by pressing the walltwice, with about a one second interval."
They found the food compartment, discovered row on row of cans, boxes,jars. Temple opened one of the cans, gazed in disappointment on asorry looking thing the size of his thumb. Brown, shriveled, dry andalmost flaky, it might have been a bird.
Sophia turned up her nose. "If that's the best this place has tooffer, I'm not so hungry anymore."
Suddenly, she gaped. So did Temple. A savory odor attracted theirattention, steam rising from the small can added to their interest.Amazing things happened to the withered scrap of food on exposure tothe air. Temple barely had time to extract it from the can, burninghis fingers in the process, when it became twice the can's size. Itgrew and by the time it finished, it was as savory looking a fivepound fowl as Temple had ever seen. Roasted, steaming hot, ready toeat.
They tore into it with savage gusto.
"Stephanie should see me now," Temple found himself saying andregretted it.
"Stephanie? Who's that?"
"A girl."
"Your girl?"
"What's the difference? She's a million light years and fiftycenturies away."
"Answer me."
"Yes," said Temple, wishing he could change the subject. "My girl." Hehadn't thought of Stephanie in a long time, perhaps because it wasmeaningless to think of someone dead fifty centuries. Now that thethoughts had been stirred within him, though, he found them poignantlypleasant.
"Your girl ... and you would marry her if you could?"
He had grown attached to Sophia, not in reality, but in the second oftheir dream worlds. He wished the memory of the dream had not lingeredfor it disturbed him. In it he had loved Sophia as much as he nowloved Stephanie although the one was obtainable and the other was afive-thousand year pinch of dust. And how much of the dream lingeredwith him, in his head and his heart?
"Let's forget about it," Temple suggested.
"No. If she were here today and if everything were normal, would youmarry her?"
"Why talk about what can't be?"
"I want to know, that's why."
"All right. Yes, I would. I would marry Stephanie."
"Oh," said Sophia. "Then what happened in the dream meant ...nothing."
"We were two different people," Temple said coolly, then wished hehadn't for it was only half-true. He remembered everything about thedream-which-was-more-than-a-dream vividly. He had been far moreintimate with Sophia, and over a longer period of time, than he hadever been with Stephanie. And even if Stephanie appeared impossibly onthe spot and he spent the rest of his life as her husband, still hewould never forget his dream-life with Sophia. In time he could lethimself tell her that. But not now; now the best thing he could dowould be to change the subject.
"I see," Sophia answered him coldly.
"No, you don't. Maybe some day you will."
"There's nothing but what you told me. I see."
"No ... forget it," he told her wearily.
"Of course. It was only a dream anyway. The dream before that I almostkilled you out of hatred anyway. Love and hate, I guess theyneutralize. We're just a couple of people who have to do a jobtogether, that's all."
"For gosh sakes, Sophia! That isn't true. I loved Stephanie. I stillwould, were Stephanie alive. But she's--she's about as accessible asthe Queen of Sheba."
"So? There's an American expression--you're carrying a torch."
Probably, Temple realized, it was true. But what did all of that haveto do with Sophia? If he and Sophia ... if they ... would it be fairto Sophia? It would be exactly as if a widower remarried, with thememory of his first wife set aside in his heart ... no, different, forhe had never wed Stephanie, and always in him
would be the desire forwhat had never been.
"Let's talk about it some other time," Temple almost pleaded, wantingthe respite for himself as much as for Sophia.
"No. We don't have to talk about it ever. I won't be second best, Kit.Let's forget all about it and do our job. I--I'm sorry I brought thewhole thing up."
Temple felt like an unspeakable heel. And, anyway, the whole thingwasn't resolved in his mind. But they couldn't just let it go at that,not in case something happened when the ships came and one or both ofthem perished. Awkwardly, for now he felt self-conscious abouteverything, he got his arms about Sophia, drew her to him, placed hislips to hers.
That was as far as he got. She wrenched free, shoved clear of him. "Ifyou try that again, you will have another dislocated jaw."
Temple shrugged wearily. If anything were to be resolved between them,it would be later.
When the ships came moments afterwards--seven, not the five Arkalionpredicted--they were completely unprepared.
* * * * *
Temple spotted them first on one of the viewing screens, half waybetween the receiver and the space station itself, silhouetted againstthe elongated shield of Andromeda. They soared out of the picture,appeared again minutes later, zooming in from the other direction intwo flights of four ships and three.
"Come on!" Sophia cried over her shoulder, irising the door andplunging from the room. Temple followed at her heels but her Jupitertrained muscles pushed her lithe legs in long, powerful strides andsoon she outdistanced him. By the time he reached the armaments vault,breathless, she was seated at the single gun-emplacement, her fingerson the controls.
"Watch the viewing screen and tell me how we're doing," Sophia toldhim, not taking her eyes from the dials and levers.
Temple watched, fascinated, saw a thin pencil of radiant energy leapout into space, missing one of the ships by what looked like a scantfew miles. He called the corrective azimuth to her, hardly surprisedby the way his mind had absorbed and now could use its new-foundknowledge.
Temple understood and yet did not understand. For example, he knew thestation had but one gun and Sophia sat at it now, yet in certain waysit didn't make sense. Could it cover all sectors of space? His mindsupplied the answer although he had not been aware of the knowledge aninstant before: yes. The space station did not merely rotate. Itssurface was a spherical projection of a moving Moebius strip andalthough he tried to envision the concept, he failed. The weapon couldbe fired at any given point in space at twenty second intervals,covering every other conceivable point in the ensuing time.
Sophia was firing again and Temple watched the thin beam leap acrossspace. "Hit!" he roared. "Hit!"
Something flashed at the front end of the lead ship. The light blindedhim, but when he could see again only six ships remained inspace--casting perfect shadows on the Andromeda Galaxy! The source oflight, Temple realized triumphantly, was out of range, but he couldpicture it--a glowing derelict of a ship, spewing heat, light andradioactivity into the void.
"One down," Sophia called. "Six to go. I like your Americanexpressions. Like sitting ducks--"
She did not finish. Abruptly, light flared all around them. Somethingshrieked in Temple's ears. The vault shuddered, shook. Girdersclattered to the floor, stove it in, revealing black rock. Sophia wasthrown back from the single gun, crashing against the wall, flippingin air and landing on her stomach.
Temple ran to her, turned her over. Blood smeared her face, trickledfrom her lips. Although she did not move, she wasn't dead. Temple halfdragged, half carried her from the vault into an adjoining room. Hestretched her out comfortably as he could on the floor, ran back intothe vault.
Molten metal had collected in one corner of the room, crept sluggishlytoward him across the floor, heating it white-hot. He skirted it,climbed over a twisted girder, pushed his way past other debris, foundhimself at the gun emplacement.
"How dumb can I get?" Temple said aloud. "Sophia ran to the gun, musthave assumed I set up the shields." Again, it was an item ofinformation stored in his mind by the wisdom of the space station.Protective shields made it impossible for anything but a direct hit onthe emplacement to do them any harm, only Temple had never set theshields in place. He did so now, merely by tripping a series oflevers, but glancing at a dial to his left he realized with alarm thatthe damage possibly had already been done. The needle, which measuredlethal radiation, hovered half way between negative and the criticalarea marked in red and, even as Temple watched it, crept closer to thered.
* * * * *
How much time did he have? Temple could not be sure, bent grimly overthe weapon. It was completely unfamiliar to his mind, completelyunfamiliar to his fingers. He toyed with it, released a blast ofradiant energy, whirled to face the viewing screen. The beam streakedout into the void, clearly hundreds of miles from its objective.
Cursing, Temple tried again, scoring a near miss. The ships weretrading a steady stream of fire with him now, but with the shieldingup it was harmless, striking and then bouncing back into space. Templescored his first hit five minutes after sitting down at the gun,whooped triumphantly and fired again. Five ships left.
But the dial indicated an increase in radioactivity as newly createdneutrons spread their poison like a cancer. Behind Temple, the vaultwas a shambles. The pool of molten metal had increased in size, almostcutting off any possibility of escape. He could jump it now, Templerealized, but it might grow larger. Consolidating its gains now, ithad sheared a pit in the floor, had commenced vaporizing the rockbelow it, hissing and lapping with white-hot insistence.
Something boomed, grated, boomed again and Temple watched anothergirder bounce off the floor, dip one end into the molten pool andclatter out a stub. Apparently the damage was extensive; a structuralweakness threatened to make the entire ceiling go.
Temple fired again, got another ship. He could almost feel deathbreathing on his shoulder, in no great hurry but sure of its prize. Hefired the weapon.
If one ship remained when they could no longer use the gun, they wouldhave failed. One ship might make the difference for Earth. One....
Three left. Two.
They raked the space station with blast after blast--futilely. Theyspun and twisted and streaked by, offering poor targets. Temple waitedhis chance ... and glanced at the dial which measured radioactivity.He yelped, stood up. The needle had encroached upon the red area.Death to remain where he was more than a moment or two. Not quickdeath, but rather slow and lingering. He could do what he had to, thenperish hours later. His life--for Earth? If Arkalion had known all theanswers, and if he could get both ships and if there weren't anotheralternative for the aliens, the parasites.... Temple stabbed out withhis pencil beam, caught the sixth ship, then saw the needle dipcompletely into the red. He got up trembling, stepped back, halftripped on the stump of a girder as his eyes strayed in fascination tothe viewing screen. The seventh ship was out of range, hovering off inthe void somewhere, awaiting its chance. If Temple left the gun theship would come in close enough to hit the emplacement despite itsprotective shielding. Well, it was suicide to remain there--especiallywhen the ship wasn't even in view.
Temple leaped over the molten pool and left the vault.
* * * * *
He found Sophia stirring, sitting up.
"What hit me?" she said, and laughed. "Something seems to have gonewrong, Kit ... what...?"
"It's all right now," he told her, lying.
"You look pale."
"You got one. I got five. One ship to go."
"What are you waiting for?" And Sophia sprang to her feet, heading forthe vault.
"Hold it!" Temple snapped. "Don't go in there."
"Why not. I'll get the last ship and--"
"_Don't go in there!_" Temple tugged at her arm, pulled her away fromthe vault and its broken door which would not iris closed any more.
"What's the matter, Kit?"
>
"I--I want to finish the last one myself, that's all."
Sophia got herself loose, reached the circular doorway, peered inside."Like Dante's Inferno," she said. "You told me nothing was the matter.Well, we can get through to the emplacement, Kit."
"No." And again he stopped her. At least he had lived in freedom allhis life and although he was still young and did not want to die,Sophia had never known freedom until now and it wouldn't be right ifshe perished without savoring its fruits. He had a love, dust fiftycenturies, he had his past and his memories. Sophia had only thefuture. Clearly, if someone had to yield life, Temple would do it.
"It's worse than it looks," he told her quietly, drawing her back fromthe door again. He explained what had happened, told her theradioactivity had not quite reached critical point--which was a lie."So," he concluded, "we're wasting time. If I rush in there, fire, andrush right out everything will be fine."
"Then let me. I'm quicker than you."
"No. I--I'm more familiar with the gun." Dying would not be too bad,if he went with reasonable certainty he had saved the Earth. No manever died so importantly, Temple thought briefly, then felt cold fearwhen he realized it would be dying just the same. He fought it down,said: "I'll be right back."
Sophia looked at him, smiling vaguely. "Then you insist on doing it?"
When he nodded she told him, "Then,--kiss me. Kiss me now, Kit--incase something...."
Fiercely, he swept her to him, bruising her lips with his. "Sophia,Sophia...."
At last, she drew back. "Kit," she said, smiling demurely. She tookhis right hand in her left, held it, squeezed it. Her own right handshe suddenly brought up from her waist, fist clenched, driving itagainst his jaw.
Temple fell, half stunned by the blow, at her feet. For the space ofa single heartbeat he watched her move slowly toward the rounddoorway, then he had clambered to his feet, running after her. He gothis arms on her shoulders, yanked at her.
When she turned he saw she was crying. "I--I'm sorry, Kit. Youcouldn't fool me about.... Stephanie. You can't fool me about this."She had more leverage this time. She stepped back, bringing her small,hard fist up from her knees. It struck Temple squarely at the point ofthe jaw, with the strength of Jovian-trained muscle behind it.Temple's feet left the floor and he landed with a thud on his back.His last thought of Sophia--or of anything, for a while--made himsmile faintly as he lost consciousness. For a kiss she had promisedhim another dislocated jaw, and she had kept her promise....
Later, how much later he did not know, something soft cushioned hishead. He opened his eyes, stared through swirling, spinning murk. Hefocussed, saw Arkalion. No--_two_ Arkalions standing off at adistance, watching him. He squirmed, knew his head was cushioned in awoman's lap. He sighed, tried to sit up and failed. Soft handscaressed his forehead, his cheeks. A face swam into vision, butmistily. "Sophia," he murmured. His vision cleared.
It was Stephanie.
* * * * *
"It's over," said Arkalion. "We're on our way back to Earth, Kit."
"But the ships--"
"All destroyed. If my people want to come here in ten thousand years,let them try. I have a hunch you of Earth will be ready for them."
"It took us five thousand to reach Nowhere," Temple mused. "It willtake us five thousand to return. We'll come barely in time to warnEarth--"
"Wrong," said Arkalion. "I still have my ship. We're in it now, soyou'll reach Earth with almost fifty centuries to spare. Why don't youforget about it, though? If human progress for the next five thousandyears matches what has been happening for the last five, the parasiteswon't stand a chance."
"Earth--five thousand years in the future," Stephanie said dreamily."I wonder what it will be like.... Don't be so startled, Kit. I was apilot study on the Nowhere Journey. If I made it successfully, otherwomen would have been sent. But now there won't be any need."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," said the real Alaric Arkalion III."I suspect a lot of people are going to feel just like me. Why not goout and colonize space. We can do it. Wonderful to have a frontieragain.... Why, a dozen billionaires will appear for every one like myfather. Good for the economy."
"So, if we don't like Earth," said Stephanie, "we can always go out."
"I have a strong suspicion you will like it," said Arkalion's double.
Alaric III grinned. "What about you, bud? I don't want a twin brotherhanging around all the time."
Arkalion grinned back at him. "What do you want me to do, young man?I've forsaken my people. This is now my body. Tell you what, I promiseto be always on a different continent. Earth isn't so small that I'llget in your hair."
Temple sat up, felt the bandages on his jaw. He smiled at Stephanie,told her he loved her and meant it. It was exactly as if she hadreturned from the grave and in his first exultation he hadn't eventhought of Sophia, who had perished all alone in the depths of spacethat a world might live....
He turned to Arkalion. "Sophia?"
"We found her dead, Kit. But smiling, as if everything was worth it."
"It should have been me."
"Whoever Sophia was," said Stephanie, "she must have been a wonderfulwoman, because when you got up, when you came to, her name was...."
"Forget it," said Temple. "Sophia and I have a very strangerelationship and...."
"All right, you said forget it. Forget it." Stephanie smiled down at him."I love you so much there isn't even room for jealousy.... Ummm....Kit...."
"Break up that clinch," ordered Arkalion. "We're making one more stopat Nowhere to pick up anyone who wants to return to Earth. Some of 'emprobably won't but those who do are welcome...."
"Jason will stay," Temple predicted. "He'll be a leader out among thestars."
"Then he'll have to climb over my back," Alaric III predicted happily,his eyes on the viewport hungrily.
Temple's jaw throbbed. He was tired and sleepy. But satisfied. Sophiahad died and for that he was sad, but there would always be a placedeep in his heart for the memory of her: delicious, somehow exotic,not a love the way Stephanie was, not as tender, not as sure ... but afeeling for Sophia that was completely unique. And whenever thestrangeness of the far-future Earth frightened Temple, whenever hefelt a situation might get the better of him, whenever doubt cloudedjudgment, he would remember the tall lithe girl who had walked to herdeath that a world might have the freedom she barely had tasted. Andtogether with Stephanie he would be able to do anything.
Unless, he thought dreamily as he drifted off to sleep, his headpillowed again on Stephanie's lap, he'd wind up with a bum jaw therest of his life.
THE END
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