by Earl
The greetings had been semi-jovial, but almost immediately Hackworth looked grave again. Terry touched his arm.
“You still have time to. . . . to see Lila, if we all hurry.”
“We must see her, must stop her,” returned Hackworth.
Terry opened his eyes wide and looked from one to the other.
“But the summons! She received them a week ago. If we stop her, the Unidum guards will come after her!”
“We’re wasting time,” said Williams fiercely. “Let’s go after Lila and explain things later. What’s the quickest way of reaching her?”
“Electro-car to an air terminal—”
“All right,” said Williams firmly. “You and I, Earl, will go there. You, Terry, and my servant must go to your laboratory.” He pulled from his pocket a crude clay box whose cover had been sealed with latex rubber. “Make any tests you can of the alcoholic extraction of the vegetable fiber within this box. Everything depends on that!”
Williams whirled on M’bopo, flung a rapid flood of dialect at him, and nodded to Hackworth for them to go. Hackworth had taken the opportunity, while his cousin talked to M’bopo, to offer a hurried but more complete explanation to Terry of the intended use of the drug.
“Bring her back, then,” cried Terry, his face lighting. The lurking fires in his eyes flashed to sudden life. There was a man with spirit, reflected Williams. They separated, the two older men, Hackworth in the lead, taking an escalator upward to the electro-car station.
To Williams it was all confusion and madness, this New York of 1973, strange, unreal. . . . incredible. Bright clothes, great crowds, many voices, droning loudspeakers; yet how subdued was the city noise! The old crashes and bangs and shrill whistles were gone. And where was traffic? He could see none of the ground there. . . . Sarto!. . . . that wasn’t the ground! They were on a sort of aerial highway. The escalator took them upward and upward till Williams was nervous. Those bees and flies—were aircraft! This must be the center of the universe to judge by its activity!
Hackworth was pointing to an open door. They were on a long, wide enclosed platform. Williams could see neither ground nor sky nor ocean, There were voices babbling inside, calm and soft; and there were comfortable seats. They sat down. Williams started as two semi-flexible bands seemed to jump out of nowhere and enfold his thighs and lower chest. Hackworth sat beside him, worried and preoccupied.
A low whine sobbed through the air. A slight jerk. A feeling of pressure. Past the windows a blur of striated metal swept. They were moving, and fast. At times brief glimpses came to Williams from the window of bottomless chasms and leaning heights. Gentle curves pressed him to one side of the seat. Several times the vehicle stopped. People getting off and on.
Later there was a swift stop, a complete swing, and then more motion that must be blinding speed, thought Williams. Je Bru il Bra! Forty years of Africa had certainly not prepared him for this. Would he ever be able to feel at ease in this supercivilization?
Suddenly he saw Hackworth on his feet and started to jump up, only to find the thigh and chest bands holding him back. Hackworth bent down and pressed on the elbow rest with his hand. The stiff bands swung back flat to the seat. They stepped out on a platform, again enclosed like an island in space. Escalators—down, down to a wide level space that seemed to be the flat roof of a building.
“The air terminal,” informed Hackworth, motioning forward.
There were yawning apertures with lighted depths at one side of the level space, which was a landing field. As they traversed a pedestrian walk bounded by latticework rails, a humming monster fell from the sky not a hundred yards away—a sudden roar of propellers, then silence. People stepped out calm and indifferent, laughing.
Hackworth pointed to a huge clock hanging on a wall.
“We’ve got five minutes to find Lila!”
He led the way to an elevator that took them below to the loading depot for passengers. A hurried series of questions to a man in a booth labeled “Information,” and Hackworth half ran across the huge chamber toward the numbered air-liner berths. Past three they went and then entered the next in which people were milling, some entering the giant flying wing with four engines.
Hackworth frantically searched about in the crowd. His lips were unconsciously saying “Lila! Lila!” softly. Then he ran forward, almost rude to others in his haste.
“Lila!”
A young woman with magnificent auburn hair turned, startled in the process of walking toward the cabin of the ship. Her eyes caught theirs and she stood stock-still. Hackworth ran to her eagerly and embraced her.
After a few smothered endearments, Williams heard Lila say: “I’m so glad you were able to get here in time to see me before—”
“Not just to see you,” said Hackworth. He looked around nervously before continuing. “But to take you back home!”
“Why. . . . why. . . . oh, no! The summons! I must hurry—the ship leaves in a few minutes.”
l Hackworth grasped her arm and gently pulled her away from the cabin and to the wall where the crowd was thin.
“Lila, dear girl! You’re coming with us. Mr. Williams here—”
Lila noticed him for the first time. In great surprise she extended her hand and then flashed him a smile.
“Mr. Williams here,” went on Hackworth rapidly and in a whisper, “wants you to let him help us all. . . . we’ve met Terry already. . . . he’s waiting.”
The girl’s face reflected great astonishment and indecision.
“But, father, I must go with this ship! Don’t you understand that I’ve had three summons already? They threatened to send guards if I still failed to arrive. That would be a terrible disgrace.”
“Lila,” spoke Williams for the first time, “will you trust me that I can help you and Terry in this matter?”
Their eyes met, sturdy blue and limpid brown. Something seemed to emanate from the blue, something to be trusted. Womanly intuition caught the suggestion. Yes, Mr. Williams.”
Good. Lead the way,” said Williams quickly to Hackworth. “Terry’s laboratory.”
A long electro-car ride with one transfer took them to the suburban plant of the food products Branch E, in which Terry worked as a chemist. Williams was surprised to notice that suburban New York had hardly changed at all in comparison to the down-town business section. It looked here more like 1933.
They descended from the electro-car station to the street level. There were sidewalks and pavements and quiet residences, and for a moment Williams thought he was a young boy of eighteen again, roaming the streets. But he merely had to look up at the electro-car gathering tremendous speed, looking like a long silver needle in the distance, to realize that it was 1973.
Hackworth, who had visited Terry’s laboratory several times before, led the way to a side entrance in the long, low plant and opened the door. They passed down a long hallway whose various doors were numbered and from behind which came strong chemical odors. Finally they stopped before a closed door and Hackworth knocked.
After asking who it was, Terry’s voice came to them. “Come in.”
He was standing before a chemical bench covered with glassware and bottled materials. In his rubber-gloved hand he held a test-tube half filled with a delicate green solution, at which he peered intently. It suddenly frothed and spilled over his hand.
Terry turned with a puzzled expression that immediately became a look of tenderness as he stepped toward Lila with outstretched arms. While they clung to each other mutely, Williams quietly closed the door and turned a key in the lock. He had already seen that Terry had been the only one in the room. Secrecy would be vital in everything they did from now on.
“Terry,” said Lila, finally extricating herself gently from his embrace, “what is this all about? Why are we all here in your laboratory?”
“I hardly know myself. Mr. Williams—”
Hackworth interrupted. “I’ll explain, Dan conceived a plan for keeping Lila
from being married to a Unidum scientist and convinced me that it was worth a trial. But I won’t give the final decision. That rests between you, Terry, and Lila. Dan, you tell about the drug.”
Williams pointed to the opened clay box lying on the bench, half-filled with a dry, flaky material like rough-cut tobacco.
“What did you find out about it?” he asked Terry.
“Well, the time has been short and the tests simple, but it is related to the narcotics like opium and morphine. It should have a similar effect on the human body, producing a sleepy state. But it has a reaction that puzzles me exceedingly. Is it widely distributed in Africa, Mr. Williams?”
“No. The man who collected that vegetable Sake told me that it is a rare plant, apparently existing only in central Congo. He planned on carrying a lot of it back to civilization and testing its narcotic principle. His name was D’Lawoef—”
“D’Lawoef!” echoed Terry excitedly. “Well-known physiologist of two generations ago! Did he tell you anything more about this substance?”
“He told me this,” replied? Williams, “that it would produce a comatose state in any living being for periods of time depending on the dose. It is not a dream state or semi-consciousness like opium—it is actual, complete repose. According to D’Lawoef, there is no common antidote. He knew that because he tried it on a native and failed to rouse him with any of the simple compounds in his portable chemical kit. He believed, too, that probably there was no antidote at all, for it is a remarkable substance, he said.”
Terry nodded. Then he held up a small flask with a colorless liquid.
“Here it is in a ten-to-one alcohol and water solution. . . . ready for injection?”
Williams started. Then Terry would not hesitate for a moment to take the gamble. He had thereby given his consent. But Life?
Williams turned resolutely to the girl whose eyes showed bewilderment.
“Lila, an injection of that liquid Terry showed us will put you into a coma or induced sleep. Then we will inform the Unidum that you are strangely unconscious and cannot therefore be married. What they will do then we can’t say, but it will prevent what none of us here want to happen—your forced marriage to a scientist. After that, we will see if that fate can be turned aside altogether.”
“Oh, I. . . . I don’t dare,” said the girl. She saw the immediate look of veiled scorn in Williams’ eyes, showing that he thought her spiritless, and continued: “Not because I’m afraid for myself with that drug, but because the Unidum will probably investigate and make things miserable for you three men.”
Williams’ look of admiration was sufficient apology for his previous glance of scorn. The three men looked at one another.
Terry was the first to speak. “For our love’s sake, take it, Lila. If the Unidum does find out, I’ll take all the blame and your father and Mr. Williams will be safe.”
Both the older men began to remonstrate, but Terry went on firmly. “This is all a big gamble which concerns primarily Lila and myself and. . . . our happiness in the future. I am already indebted to both of you for your part in this. The rest must be my responsibility. Lila, darling”—he turned to her—“you will take the drug in the hope that it will bring us together in the future? Perhaps we can flee the Unidum . . .
Lila gave her consent by throwing herself into his arms.
“When will the Unidum begin finding out that Lila has disobeyed the summons?” asked Williams of Hackworth.
“Possibly tonight. The summons demanded Lila’s appearance at the Unidum Subheadquarters in Philadelphia before 8 p.m. By nine or ten, they will begin to lose patience.”
“It is now about six o’clock,” mused Williams. He thought a moment while the others waited respectfully. They had unconsciously accepted him as the leader. A subtle dominance in his character was already making itself felt—the same quality in his character that had made him the chieftain and sole ruler of a thousand natives in Africa for years on end.
Finally he spoke, his words terse and to the point. “We will all go to your home now, Earl. We will give Lila the drug at eight o’clock, since it is unlikely that the Unidum will make any efforts before that. Then we will simply wait for the authorities to make the next move.”
“I have my car outside,” said Terry. “It’ll take longer than electro-car service, but will be more convenient.”
Williams nodded and they left the laboratory after Terry had carefully made a package of the solution and a hypodermic needle. The rest of the vegetable fiber he locked in a cabinet. M’bopo, who had been standing like a robot in a corner of the laboratory, followed them silently.
Terry opened the door of a sleek, satin-finished automobile whose long body seemed to flow in ripples from a blunt rear apex. To Williams it looked like the futuristic advertisements of 1933 come true. The smooth purr of a powerful motor was uninterrupted by shifting gears as the vehicle glided forward with magical ease.
l During the half-hour drive from the laboratory to the Hackworth home, little was said. Their nerves were all tense, their throats dry and strained. Williams took in the passing scenery with an eager eye. Change. . . . change. . . . forty years of it. . . . a lifetime of it. Yet here and there he caught brief glimpses of sections startlingly familiar that seemed to have changed hardly at all. The car glided swiftly along in light traffic, seldom stopping. Williams noticed that people walked leisurely and sometimes indolently—the tempo of city life had apparently gone down since 1933. Even the cars, except theirs, merely crawled along as though the drivers had all the time in the world.
“Don’t you recognize the place?” asked Hackworth when they had entered a section of tree-shaded avenues lined with bungalows and small mansions.
“Momingside!” gasped Williams suddenly, seeing several houses that had existed even in 1933. In general the later dwellings were spaced widely and exhibited individual styles. At least 1973 had brought something new and invigorating in residential architecture, reflected Williams. The stereotyped standards of an earlier era had been abolished.
Terry halted the car before a small, neat bungalow surrounded by hedges, flower patches, and wide lawns. The inside was luxurious, almost lavish, but at the same time home-like in arrangement. The furniture was a blend of elegance and comfort. A manservant picked up the suitcases and took them upstairs.
Ordinarily a jovial host, Hackworth was too nervous and apprehensive that evening to show his cousin around the house. Dinner was immediately served, presided over by a maidservant. Lila displayed her sparkling spirit during the meal, despite the chill thought of what would transpire later in the evening. But it would have been far gloomier if M’bopo had not entertained them with his awkward, yet proud, use of tableware. At times when the implements dashed in his undecided hands, he would gaze around with a broad grin, as though sensing that the others were amused.
Williams ate mechanically, deep in thought. At the end of the meal, he suddenly looked up and said: “There’s something more about the drug I haven’t mentioned.”
“In that case,” put in Hackworth, “let’s all go into the parlor and sit down in comfort.”
This done, Williams continued. “D’Lawoef mentioned that during his eight-year stay with the natives, he found them using the drug. The medicine men use it to induce restful sleep in fevers and painful sick beds. Now the Frenchman also claimed that the person under the influence of the drug could be made to respond to impressions given just before the coma overtook him. . . . something like hypnotism, I suppose. If we could be sure of that. . . . we could impress on Lila’s brain the suggestion not to awaken until somebody’s voice, Terry’s preferably, commanded her to!”
“But what would be the purpose of that?” queried Terry.
“In case the Unidum sends doctors to revive her—who might succeed. But the hypnosis ought to last longer than the drug, according to D’Lawoef, who naturally tried it out.”
“It would be a good thing to know,” agreed Hackworth,
“but how test that here and now? And time is getting short—quarter to eight!”
Williams shifted his eyes to M’bopo who sat cross-legged on the rug, and began to speak softly in Bantu dialect. The expression on the black man’s face became frightened once. Further sharp words from his master changed it to resignation. M’bopo muttered a few words with a bow of his head.
“M’bopo is my voluntary slave,” Williams informed them. “I saved his life once. Get the hypodermic, Terry. Give him the smallest dose conceivable, a tiny drop.”
Terry opened his package which had a sterilizing solution as well as the drug and hypodermic. He dipped the needle, wiped it with cotton, and drew in a drop. M’bopo, erect on his feet, bared his arm. Terry plunged the needle in and pushed the plunger.
Williams immediately waved him back and began to speak slowly and emphatically in dialect, gazing all the while into the black man’s eyes. The others watched intently.
A film came over M’bopo’s eyes and they drooped shut after a half-minute. Williams caught his tumbling body and set it in a chair.
“That small dose ought to be ineffective in fifteen minutes,” he said, turning to the others. “Then we’ll see.”
When the clock struck eight, Williams asked Hackworth to shake M’bopo and command him in dialect to awake. But no amount of shaking or talking brought any change to the senseless African. Then Williams motioned his cousin away and stood before his slave.
“Unto gaak, M’bopo!”
For a moment, it seemed the words had no effect. Then the eyelids fluttered and suddenly flicked open. M’bopo looked up at his master with a sigh of relief, as though he had expected never again to see him in the flesh.
“Good Lord!” gasped Terry. “Then it works!”
“Not conclusively,” amended Williams. “The dose might have been just enough to keep him asleep till after Hackworth tried to awaken him. But it gives us a reasonable hope that Lila can be put into a coma from which only one person can awaken her, which will be Terry. So with—”
