Adam Stone grew testy: “Yes, alone. Go back and check your scanner’s register if you do not believe me. You never put me in a bottle to cross Space.”
Mantel’s face was radiant. “I believe you now. It is true. No more scanners. No more habermans. No more cranching.”
Stone looked significantly toward the door.
Martel did not take the hint. “I must tell you that—”
“Sir, tell me in the morning. Go enjoy your cranch. Isn’t it supposed to be pleasure? Medically I know it well. But not in practice.”
“It is pleasure. It’s normality—for a while. But listen. The scanners have sworn to destroy you, and your work.”
“What!”
“They have met and have voted and sworn. You will make scanners unnecessary, they say. You will bring the ancient wars back to the world, if scanning is lost and the scanners live in vain!”
Adam Stone was nervous but kept his wits about him: “You’re a scanner. Are you going to kill me—or try?”
“No, you fool. I have betrayed the Confraternity. Call guards the moment I escape. Keep guards around you. I will try to intercept the killer.”
Mantel saw a blur in the window. Before Stone could turn, the wirepoint was whipped out of his hand. The blur solidified and took form as Parizianski.
Martel recognized what Parizianski was doing: High speed.
Without thinking of his cranch, he thrust his hand to his chest, set himself up to High speed too. Waves of fire, like the great pain, but hotter, flooded over him. He fought to keep his face readable as he stepped in front of Parizianski and gave the sign,
Top emergency.
Parizianski spoke, while the normally moving body of Stone stepped away from them as slowly as a drifting cloud: “Get out of my way. I am on a mission.”
“I know it. I stop you here and now. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stone is right.”
Parizianski’s lips were barely readable in the haze of pain which flooded Martel. (He thought:God, God, God of the ancients! Let me hold on! Let me live under Overload just long enough!) Parizianski was saying: “Get out of my way. By order of the Confraternity, get out of my way!” And Parizianski gave the sign, Help I demand in the name of my duty!
Martel choked for breath in the syruplike air. He tried one last time: “Parizianski, friend, friend, my friend. Stop. Stop.” (No scanner had ever murdered scanner before.)
Parizianski made the sign: You are unfit for duty, and I will take over.
Mantel thought, For the first time in the world! as he reached over and twisted Parizianski’s brainbox up to Overload. Parizianski’s eyes glittered in terror and understanding. His body began to drift down toward the floor.
Mantel had just strength to reach his own Chestbox. As he faded into haberman or death, he knew not which, he felt his fingers turning on the control of speed, turning down. He tried to speak, to say, “Get a scanner, I need help, get a scanner … “
But the darkness rose about him, and the numb silence clasped him.
Martel awakened to see the face of Luci near his own.
He opened his eyes wider, and found that he was hearing—hearing the sound of her happy weeping, the sound of her chest as she caught the air back into her throat.
He spoke weakly: “Still cranched? Alive?”
Another face swam into the blur beside Luci’s. It was Adam Stone. His deep voice rang across immensities of space before coming to Mantel’s hearing. Martel tried to read Stone’s lips, but could not make them out. He went back to listening to the voice: “—not cranched. Do you understand me? Not cranched!”
Mantel tried to say: “But I can hear! I can feel!” The others got his sense if not his words.
Adam Stone spoke again:
“You have gone back through the haberman. I put you back first. I didn’t know how it would work in practice, but I had the theory all worked out. You don’t think the Instrumentality would waste the scanners, do you? You go back to normality. We are letting the habermans die as fast as the ships come in. They don’t need to live any more. But we are restoring the scanners. You are the first. Do you understand? You are the first. Take it easy, now.”
Adam Stone smiled. Dimly behind Stone, Mantel thought that he saw the face of one of the chiefs of the Instrumentality. That face, too, smiled at him, and then both faces disappeared upward and away.
Mantel tried to lift his head, to scan himself. He could not. Luci stared at him, calming herself, but with an expression of loving perplexity. She said,
“My darling husband! You’re back again, to stay!”
Still, Mantel tried to see his box. Finally he swept his hand across his chest with a clumsy motion. There was nothing there. The instruments were gone. He was back to normality but still alive.
In the deep weak peacefulness of his mind, another troubling thought took shape. He tried to write with his finger, the way that Luci wanted him to, but he had neither pointed fingernail nor scanner’s tablet. He had to use his voice. He summoned up his strength and whispered:
“Scanners?”
“Yes, darling? What is it?”
“Scanners?”
“Scanners. Oh, yes, darling, they’re all right. They had to arrest some of them for going into High speed and running away. But the Instrumentality caught them all—all those on the ground—and they’re happy now. Do you know, darling,” she laughed, “some of them didn’t want to be restored to normality. But Stone and the chiefs persuaded them.”
“Vomact?”
“He’s fine, too. He’s staying cranched until he can be restored. Do you know, he has arranged for scanners to take new jobs. You’re all to be deputy chiefs for Space. Isn’t that nice? But he got himself made chief for Space. You’re all going to be pilots, so that your fraternity and guild can go on. And Chang’s getting changed right now. You’ll see him soon.”
Her face turned sad. She looked at him earnestly and said: “I might as well tell you now. You’ll worry otherwise. There has been one accident. Only one. When you and your friend called on Adam Stone, your friend was so happy that he forgot to scan, and he let himself die of Overload.”
“Called on Stone?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember? Your friend.”
He still looked surprised, so she said:
“Parizianski.”
They were obviously refugees - but from what? Where? When?
SUCH INTERESTING NEIGHBORS
By Jack Finney
I can’t honestly say I knew from the start that there was something queer about the Hellenbeks. I did notice some strange things right away, and wondered about them, but I shrugged them off. They were nice people, I liked them, and everyone has a few odd little tricks.
We were watching from our sun-parlor windows the day they arrived; not snooping or prying, you understand, but naturally we were curious. Nell and I are pretty sociable and we were hoping a couple around our own ages would move into the new house next door.
I was just finishing breakfast — it was a Saturday and I wasn’t working — and Nell was running the vacuum cleaner over the sun-parlor rug. I heard the vacuum shut off, and Nell called out, Here they are, Al! and I ran in and we got our first look at the Hellenbeks.
He was helping her from a cab, and I got a good look at him and his wife. They seemed to be just about our ages, the man maybe thirty-two or so and his wife in her middle twenties. She was rather pretty, and he had a nice, agreeable kind of face.
Newlyweds? Nell said, a little excited.
Why?
Their clothes are all brand-new. Even the shoes. And so’s the bag.
Yeah, maybe you’re right. I watched for a second or so, then said, Foreigners, too, I think,showing Nell I was pretty observant myself.
Why do you think so?
He’s having trouble with the local currency. He was, too. He couldn’t seem to pick out the right change, and finally he held out his hand and let the driver find the right coins.
Bu
t we were wrong on both counts. They’d been married three years, we found out later, had both been born in the States, and had lived here nearly all their lives.
Furniture deliveries began arriving next door within half an hour; everything new, all bought from local merchants. We live in San Rafael, California, in a neighborhood of small houses. Mostly young people live here, and it’s a friendly, informal place. So after a while I got into an old pair of flannels and sneakers and wandered over to get acquainted and lend a hand if I could, and I cut across the two lawns. As I came up to their house, I heard them talking in the living room. Here’s a picture of Truman, he said, and I heard a newspaper rattle.
Truman, she said, kind of thoughtfully. Let’s see now; doesn’t Roosevelt come next?
No. Truman comes after Roosevelt.
I think you’re wrong, dear, she said. It’s Truman, then Roosevelt, then —
When my feet hit their front steps, the talk stopped. At the door I knocked and glanced in; they were sitting on the living-room floor, and Ted Hellenbek was just scrambling to his feet. They’d been unpacking a carton of dishes and there was a bunch of wadded-up old newspapers lying around, and I guess they’d been looking at those. Ted came to the door. He’d changed to a T-shirt, slacks and moccasins, all brand-new.
I’m Al Lewis from next door, I said. Thought maybe I could give you a hand.
Glad to know you. He pushed the door open, then stuck out his hand. I’m Ted Hellenbek, and he grinned in a nice friendly way. His wife got up from the floor, and Ted introduced us. Her name was Ann.
Well, I worked around with them the rest of the morning, helping them unpack things, and we got the place into pretty good order. While we were working, Ted told me they’d been living in South America — he didn’t say where or why — and that they’d sold everything they had down there, except the clothes they traveled in and a few personal belongings, rather than pay shipping expenses. That sounded perfectly reasonable and sensible, except that a few days later Ann told Nell their house in South America had burned down and they’d lost everything.
Maybe half an hour after I arrived, some bedding was delivered — blankets, pillows, linen, stuff like that. Ann picked up the two pillows, put cases on them, and turned toward the bedroom. Now, it was broad daylight, the bedroom door was closed, and it was made of solid wood. But Ann walked straight into that door and fell. I couldn’t figure out how she came to do it; it was as though she expected the door to open by itself or something. That’s what Ted said, too, going over to help her up.Be careful, honey, he said, and laughed a little, making a joke of it. You’ll have to learn, you know, that doors won’t open themselves.
Around eleven thirty or so, some books arrived, quite a slew of them, and all new. We were squatting on the floor, unpacking them, and Ted picked up a book, showed me the title, and said,Have you read this?
It was The Far Reaches, by a Walter Braden. No, I said. I read the reviews a week or so ago, and they weren’t so hot.
I know, Ted said, and he had a funny smile on his face. And yet it’s a great book. Just think, he went on, and shook his head a little, you can buy this now, a new copy, first edition, for three dollars. Yet in — oh, a hundred and forty years, say, a copy like this might be worth five to eight thousand dollars.
Could be, I said, and shrugged; but what kind of a remark is that? Sure, any book you want to name might be valuable someday, but why that book? And why a hundred and forty years? And why five to eight thousand dollars, particularly? Well, that’s the kind of thing I mean about the Hellenbeks. It wasn’t that anything big or dramatic or really out of the way happened that first day. It was just that every once in a while one or the other would do or say something that wasn’t quite right.
Most of the time, though, things were perfectly ordinary and normal. We talked and laughed and kidded around a lot, and I knew I was going to like the Hellenbeks and that Nelly would, too.
In the afternoon we got pretty hot and thirsty, so I went home and brought back some beer. This time Nelly came with me, met the new people, and invited them over for supper. Nelly complimented Ann on the nice things she had, and Ann thanked her and apologized, the way a woman will, because things were kind of dusty. Then she went out to the kitchen, came back with a dustcloth, and started dusting around. It was a white cloth with a small green pattern, and it got pretty dirty, and when she wiped off the window sills it was really streaked.
Then Ann leaned out the front window, shook the cloth once, and — it was clean again. I meancompletely clean; the dirt, every trace of it, shook right out. She did that several times, dusting around the room and then shaking the cloth out, and it shook out white every time.
Well, Nelly sat there with her mouth hanging open, and finally she said, Where in the world did you get that dustcloth?
Ann glanced down at the cloth in her hand, then looked up at Nelly again and said, Why, it’s just an old rag, from one of Ted’s old suits. Then suddenly she blushed.
I’d have blushed too; did you ever see a man’s suit, white with a little green pattern?
Nell said, Well, I never saw a dustcloth before that would shake out perfectly clean. Mine certainly don’t.
Ann turned even redder, looking absolutely confused, and — I’d say scared. She mumbled something about cloth in South America, glanced at Ted, and then put the back of her wrist up against her forehead, and for an instant I’d have sworn she was going to cry.
But Ted got up fast, put his arm around Ann’s waist and turned her a little so her back was toward us, and said something about how she’d been working too hard and was tired. His eyes, though, as he stood looking at us over Ann’s shoulder, were hard and defiant. For a moment you almost got the feeling that it was the two of them against the world, that Ted was protecting Ann against us.
Then Nelly ran a hand admiringly over the top of the end table beside her and said how much she liked it, and Ann turned and smiled and thanked her. Nelly got up and led Ann off to the bedroom, telling her not to try to do too much all in one day, and when they came out a little later everything was all right.
We got to know the Hellenbeks pretty well. They were casual, easygoing, and always good company. In no time Nelly and Ann were doing their marketing together, dropping in on each other during the day, and trading recipes.
At night, out watering our lawns or cutting the grass or something, Ted and I would usually bat the breeze about one thing or another till it got dark. We talked politics, high prices, gardening, stuff like that. He knew plenty about politics and world events, and it was surprising the way his predictions would turn out. At first I offered to bet with him about a few things we disagreed about, but he never would and I’m glad he didn’t; he was seldom wrong when it came to guessing what was going to happen.
Well, that’s the way things were. We’d drop in on each other, take Sunday drives together and go on picnics, play a little bridge at night and on week ends.
Odd little things would still happen occasionally, but less and less often as time went by — and none of them were ever repeated. When Ted bought something now, he never had trouble finding the right change, and he didn’t discover any more rare old new books and Ann stopped walking into doors.
They were always interesting neighbors, though. For one thing, Ted was an inventor. I don’t know why that should have surprised me, but it did. There are such things as inventors; they have to live somewhere, and there’s no good reason why one shouldn’t move in next door to us. But Ted didn’tseem like an inventor; why, the first time he cut their grass, I had to show him how to adjust the set screw that keeps the blades in alignment.
But just the same he was an inventor and a good one. One evening I was picking tomatoes in the little garden we have, and Ted wandered over, tossing something into the air and catching it again. I thought it was a paper clip at first. Ted stood watching me for a minute or so, and then he squatted down beside me and held out this thing in his hand and
said, Ever see anything like this before?
I took it and looked at it; it was a piece of thin wire bent at each end to form two egg-shaped loops. Then the wire had been bent again at the middle so that the two loops slid together. I can’t explain it very well, but I could make you one easy in half a minute. What is it? I said, and handed it back to him.
A little invention — the Saf-T-Clip, he said. You use it wherever you’d ordinarily use a safety pin. Here. He unbuttoned one of my shirt buttons and slid the thing onto the two layers of cloth.
Well, do you know that I couldn’t unfasten my shirt where that little thing gripped it? Even when I took hold of both sides of my shirt and pulled, that little piece of twisted wire just dug in and held. Yet when Ted showed me how to undo it — you just pressed the wire at a certain place — it slid right off. It was just the kind of simple thing you wonder, Now, why didn’t somebody ever think of that before?
I told Ted I thought it was a hell of a good idea. How’d you happen to think of it? I asked.
He smiled. Oh, it was surprisingly easy. That’s how I’m planning to make a living, Al — inventing little things.: First thing I did, the day we arrived in San Rafael, was get a patent application sent off on this thing. Then I mailed a sample to a wire company. He grinned happily and said, I got a reply today; they’ll buy it outright for fifteen hundred dollars.
You going to take it?
Sure. I don’t think it’s the best offer in the world and I might do better if I shopped around. But I’ve been a little worried, frankly, about how we were going to pay for the furniture and stuff we bought, and the house rent. He shrugged. So I’m glad to get this money. We’ll be okay, now, till I finish the next project.
What’s the next one? I said. If you can tell me, that is. I set the tomatoes down and sat down on the grass.
Sure, I can tell you, he said. Picture a flashlight with a little dial set in just above the button. There’s a lens, but it curves inward, and it’s painted black except for a tiny round hole in the center. Press the button and a little beam of light — a special kind of light — no thicker than a pencil lead, shoots out. The beam doesn’t spread, either; it stays the same thickness. You get the idea?
Beyond the End of Time (1952) Anthology Page 23
