Far From This Earth

by Chad Oliver

  “Patient!” Her body shook with sobs. “I’m forty years old, Larry! I can’t be patient. I don’t want to be patient. I want my Bobby, I want a baby….”

  He kissed her neck, stroking her with his hand. “Do you want me to make love to you?”

  She pulled away, her body as cold as ice. “That’s no good. You know it isn’t any good. I want a baby.”

  Larry sighed. “According to reliable reports—”

  She got out of bed. Her hair was wild, her fists clenched tightly. “You know I won’t get pregnant again. I don’t care what they say. It’s all lies! You know it’s nothing but lies.”

  “Come back to bed, Helen.”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to stay up with you?”

  “No. I don’t care. Go back to sleep.”

  Larry punched his pillow and rammed his head back into it. “Thanks for a lovely evening.”

  Helen walked over and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “I’m sorry too. But you won’t have to wait forever. You’re one of the lucky ones.”

  ”Yes, I’m one of the lucky ones.”

  “Take a pill, won’t you?”

  “I will. Later. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  “Okay. Good night.”

  “Good night,” she said. The conventional words were stale and bitter in her mouth.

  She walked out of the bedroom. Her gown was thin but there was no need for a robe or slippers. The apartment was always the same temperature and the floor was self-cleaning. She walked from room to room. It took her a long time.

  They had plenty of space in the apartment. They could have all the space they wanted….

  There were no windows, of course. She thought of activating the wall screens. She had picked out the pictures so carefully, once. The translucent green of the undersea lagoon, with the real fish darting in streaks of color around the coral reef. The wind-swept mountain where the white snow drifted down like soft feathers above the dark line of the trees. The shifting reds and oranges and yellows of the Martian sands….

  Briefly, she wondered what the real sea looked like. It was a strange thought. She had seen it countless times on television. It had surrounded her in the dome of their television room, she had heard the surf breaking in foamy rolls against the empty beach, she had seen the long-beaked birds dive into the water after fish. She had seen it all.

  Helen Sanderson had never been out of the City.

  Her legs carried her to where she had to go, to Bobby’s room.

  Nothing had changed there. She had left everything exactly the way it had been, despite what the doctor had told her. The little bed with the blue cover was neatly made, waiting. The soft brown bear, eyes shut now, was sitting next to the pillow. The dresser with the smiling clown had not faded. The toys were all in their places.

  Poor Bobby, she thought. Her eyes were dry now; she felt calmer. Poor little Bobby. He had only lived for two years. He hadn’t played much with his toys. Bobby had been sick almost from the start, sick like all the rest of them, sick and quiet and muddy-eyed. It had been hard to get his attention, hard to get him to play or to laugh or even to smile.

  Still, she had had a child. And he had lived for two years. Bobby had been theirs for two years.

  And now, perhaps …

  Larry was right. She had been one of the lucky ones.

  There was no need to cry, not any longer.

  She did not want another pill.

  She wanted to stay right where she was. She wanted to be awake, savoring her knowledge.

  Helen Sanderson sat down on the little bed in the silent twenty-room apartment. She put her head in her hands and stared at nothing, nothing at all.

  In what was almost the exact center of the City, a door scanned Alex Norfolk and opened immediately. The door did not open for many people. Alex Norfolk stepped into the brightly-lit room first, but then he waited for Randall Wade to catch up with him.

  Owen Meissner, the commander of the City’s security forces, yanked his feet off his desk and stood up. He looked surprised for a fleeting moment but he recovered himself quickly. Alex Norfolk had a habit of dropping in when a man least expected him. He had been doing it a lot lately.

  “Sit down, Owen,” Alex said.

  Owen Meissner sat down.

  Alex Norfolk pulled a chair up to the desk and seated himself. Randall Wade waited until Alex was settled and then he sat down. Alex fished out his pipe, filled it with great deliberation, and puffed on it until it lit.

  “Damned tobacco’s no good,” he announced. “I’d sooner smoke grass if I could get out to get any.”

  He said nothing else. The office filled with smoke and silence in about equal proportions. Alex Norfolk’s long, lanky body was completely relaxed in the chair. He might have been asleep except for the alert brown eyes under his heavy brows.

  “Well,” Owen Meissner said finally. “Is this a social call, or what?”

  “When a man is a hundred years old,” Alex Norfolk said, “he makes damned few social calls. This isn’t one of them.”

  “Okay. Business, then. What can I do for you?”

  “You can’t do anything for me. For the rest, you can do your job.” Alex blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling.

  Owen Meissner flushed. “Look here, Alex—”

  The old man, who didn’t look a day older than Randall Wade, who was fifty-five, did as he was told. He looked at Owen Meissner, hard.

  The silence came again.

  This time, Randall Wade broke it. “No need to get excited, Owen.” His voice was strong and controlled. He was one of those men who do not stand out in a group until they act. Once they take action, they inspire confidence. Owen Meissner turned his attention to him. If Randall Wade didn’t have anything on the ball he wouldn’t have been the heir apparent to Alex Norfolk. Alex didn’t make many mistakes about men—or about anything else for that matter.

  “Let’s begin again,” Owen said. “What’s up?”

  “That’s what we thought you might be able to tell us,” Randall Wade said. He smiled. “You’re the policeman.”

  “You’re talking in riddles, Randy. You’ve been around the old man too long.”

  “Maybe. I’ll try to be more specific. What are your men working on?”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  Owen Meissner considered. “Nothing much that would be of interest to you.”

  “Try us. We’re interested in lots of things.”

  “Well, we’ve got a murder on our hands. Happened last night, but we’ve kept it out of the news for the present. One of the fringe cults, a little more violent than the rest. You know how it is.”

  “Sex killing?”

  “Yes. Not the usual sort of thing, though. I don’t think the girl was supposed to die. Things just got out of hand, as far as we know. Regular cult meeting—the girl was chained up and tortured, and she just conked out. The men were all masked; they call themselves Fathers. We know who was there, but we can’t find out which one did the actual killing. We’ll get him, though.”

  “So what?” asked Alex Norfolk.

  “So what?” Owen Meissner looked shocked, and he did not shock easily. “You’re always talking about population. If someone is murdered, that’s one less person. If we get the man who did it, we can have him treated and he won’t kill again. That’s so what.”

  “Your logic is flawless.” The old man puffed on his pipe. “How many of those cults—to use your own term—are operating in the City?”

  “Maybe fifty.”

  “Those are just the public ones?”

  “Yes. We don’t have any control over what goes on in a man’s own home.”

  “I am familiar with the law, Owen. What causes those cults?”

  “Well, you know what the psychologists say. It’s a time of stress between the sexes. The men blame the women, the women blame the men. It’s only natural that s
ome of them—”

  “Exactly. So if you catch this one man, this one poor fool with his knife or whip or whatever it was, what have you solved?”

  “I’ve solved a killing. That’s my job, isn’t it? I don’t pretend to deal with final causes. That’s your job.”

  “Yes. That’s my job.”

  Alex Norfolk sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. His pipe went out and he did not refill it.

  “What else, Owen?” asked Randall Wade.

  “I don’t have any rabbits to pull out of my hat. There was a raid on Lab Four, but it was a pretty sloppy job. They didn’t get anywhere near the embryo tanks. You know all about that, of course.”

  “We know about that.”

  “There was a report of a liner flying too low over the restricted area—Section 31, it was—on a flight from the City to New Rome. Air Control has checked it out, and there’s nothing to it.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  “What do you know about a man named Earl Stuart?”

  Owen Meissner looked blank. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the name.”

  “Check his record, will you?”

  Meissner pulled out a panel in his desk and rapidly punched out his instructions. In thirty seconds a wall screen blinked on. The data on Earl Stuart weren’t very startling. He had been born in the City twenty-eight years ago. His father, Graham Stuart, had made a lot of money in electronics. That was fairly unusual; it was hard to make money in a shrinking economy. Both Graham Stuart and his wife were dead now. Earl, of course, had been an only child, and he had inherited a small fortune. He didn’t have to work. He was more of a playboy than anything else. He knew how to swim, which was curious, and he was interested in guns. He had been absent from his apartment for periods longer than a week on a number of different occasions. He had no known sexual peculiarities. He had never been arrested. He had been attended by doctors only twice in his life, once for a broken arm and once for measles.

  His picture was somewhat more interesting. Earl Stuart was a big man, an even six feet, and he was solidly built. His hair was jet black and cut very short. His cheekbones were high and flaring, his nose strong and a trifle broad, his mouth firm but full-lipped. His eyes were very dark, almost black. His skin was either swarthy or—possibly—tanned. Earl Stuart would have looked tough and capable at any period of history. Now, in the City, he looked almost freakish.

  “Well?” said Owen Meissner.

  “Two things,” Randall Wade said. “First, I want a complete check on that man’s birth. I want a record of Mrs. Stuart’s pregnancy, and I want the name of the attending physician.”

  “He wasn’t adopted,” Meissner said. “The lab report would be on there if he wasn’t Mrs. Stuart’s natural child.”

  “Check it out. Second, I want the exact dates of Earl Stuart’s absences from his apartment during the past five years. I want to know where he was and what he was doing.”

  “That won’t be easy.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  Alex Norfolk opened his eyes and smiled. Randy was doing very well. That was important, very important.

  “Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” Meissner asked. “What’s this man done?”

  Randall Wade stood up. “One of our computers has put the finger on him. There’s a very high degree of probability that Earl Stuart has been leading expeditions outside the City. We want to know how he’s getting out without detection. We want to know what he’s doing out there. We want him stopped.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Alex Norfolk slowly refilled his pipe, got it going, and uncoiled to stand beside Randall Wade. “That’s not good enough, Owen. This is important. I want every available man on Earl Stuart, starting right now.”

  “I’ve got a murder on my hands. I can’t just—”

  “To hell with your murder. I want Earl Stuart, and I want him wrapped up with no loose ends. Get him.”

  “That’s an order?”

  “What does it sound like? Casual conversation?”

  “Okay. We’ll get him if he’s the man you think he is.”

  “He’s the man.”

  Alex Norfolk walked out through the door again without saying goodbye. Randall Wade hesitated. “Easy does it, Owen,” he said. “So long.”

  Owen Meissner stood up, nodded, and attempted a smile. As soon as the door slid shut behind the two men he sank back into his chair. The smile vanished. He jabbed a red button on his desk.

  When they were settled in their tube car, Randall Wade turned to the old man. “You were pretty rough on him, Alex.”

  “He needs someone to build a fire under him.”

  “He’s a good cop. He’ll get Stuart.”

  “He has no imagination. He can do what he’s told to do and handle routine cases. Is that good enough, Randy?”

  “You’re not being fair.”

  “I haven’t got time to be fair.”

  “You can’t expect a man to work in the dark. Owen doesn’t understand why men like Stuart are so dangerous. You’ve either got to fill him in more completely or you’ve got to expect less of him.”

  “Your alternatives are impossible. I can’t tell Owen Meissner what is really going on. He’s not built that way. He’d fight it all the way, and in his position he could be deadly. And I’ve got to expect more from him, not less. If these expeditions get out of control, we’re finished.”

  “You need another solution, then.”

  “You need another solution. I’m not going to be here forever, despite all the jokes. What are you going to do about it?”

  Randall Wade considered. “I want to be fair. Meissner is okay as far as he goes.”

  “He doesn’t go far enough.”

  “Try this, then. We’ve still got a few capable younger men at the Institute. Let’s take one of them—maybe Hashimoto from biology, he’s still young enough—and train him in police work. We can create a new position—Commissioner of Security, or something like that—and put Hashimoto in over Meissner. Owen can handle all the routine stuff, and Hashy can keep tabs on threats like Stuart. We can arrange it so that Owen won’t lose any status.”

  “That will take some doing.”

  “I can do it if I have to.”

  “Okay. I like it, Randy. Go ahead.”

  “You agree on Hashimoto?”

  “You’re the one who will have to work with him.”

  Randall Wade had made up his mind. “I’ll go talk to him right now.”

  “Fine. Drop me off at the Archives, will you?”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?”

  “Damn it, I’m not an invalid. I’ll rest when I get tired.”

  “You’re the boss, Alex.”

  The tube car pulled up at the Archives. “Good night, Randy.”

  “See you tomorrow, sir.”

  “Don’t bet on it. And don’t call me sir.”

  The tube car pulled away. Alex Norfolk looked after it fondly for a moment. “Thanks, Randy,” he said quietly.

  The old man was alone.

  He walked into the Archives.

  The building that housed the Archives was unlike any other in the City. On the outside it looked conventional enough, and the outside was all that most people ever got to see. On the inside it was radically different.

  The structure was actually a hollow shell, a tall casing unbroken by floor levels. Rising from the bottom, concealed by the outer walls, was a solid tower of shining metal. The tower was one hundred feet high and it was sunk into the earth another hundred feet below ground level.

  The tower was built to last.

  It would be there long after the outer building had crumbled to dust.

  There was nothing in the tower.

  For a long minute, Alex Norfolk stood and looked at the shining column. He had seen it many times, but it was so much a part of his life that he seldom stopped to examine it. The tower had
been built before Alex had been born.

  He looked at it now, conscious of the fact that he might never see it again. He tried to picture it as it would one day be—a bright finger of metal standing under an open sky. It would know the rain and the winds and the cold and the sun, but it would endure. It had to endure. Surely, when the time came, it would not be overlooked. It would be Stonehenge and the pyramids and Easter Island, and it would draw the curious. The Archives—he hated that name, but those who came late into the world were stuck with the names that existed—would be opened. In time, they would be read.

  And then—

  Well, then they would know as much as he did.

  It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. But added to what they themselves had been able to find out, it might be something. It might chart a few dead ends. It might make a difference.

  Alex Norfolk sighed. Physically, he did not feel old. Mentally he felt as sharp as ever, although he supposed that most old men deluded themselves that way. But spiritually—there was no other word for it—he was tired. The years had piled up on him.

  If only he could be sure—

  He straightened. Self pity was a sure sign of senility. The hell with it. He would do what he had to do. Then, if his courage did not fail him, he would do what he wanted to do.

  He started down the tunnel that led to the Archives. There were no steps, but the tunnel had a gentle slope. It was meant to be easy, easy to find and easy to descend.

  His thoughts turned to Earl Stuart. He would have liked to have known that man. Almost, he could wish him well. Was it possible that Earl Stuart did not know who he was?

  Alex Norfolk shook his head and walked on under the earth.

  The sleds landed just as dawn began to streak the eastern sky with flame.

  Earl Stuart stepped out, his rifle at the ready. “Let’s go,” he said. “They can’t be more than a couple of miles away.”

  Doc Ochoa fingered the stubble of beard on his face. “The mothers are pretty tired, Earl. They haven’t had much sleep the past two days.”

  “Next time they’ll know better, Doc. Pass out some more pills for anyone who wants them. If they get wind of us we may be chasing around out here for weeks. I know where they are. If we hurry we can catch them in the caves before they wake up. I’m moving out right now and I’m taking my men with me. If the girls want to wait here alone, that’s their problem.”