He stepped off the curb—and heard a sudden swelling roar. Paranoia took over; he lurched to his right, stumbled, tripped, and fell, kicking wildly to try to regain his balance. The roar filled the world; tires screeched, then the roar was fading into the distance.
Pain stabbed through his ankle, and he cursed; another sprain! Scarcely the first time it had happened.
But why had that car hurtled straight at him?
Imagination, he told himself angrily—just a drunken driver pulling too hard on the wheel and probably shocked and horrified to see someone in his headlights. He had probably pulled over now, and was shaking in his seat, afraid to come back and look to make sure his potential victim was still only potential. Angus used the anger to push himself to his knees, gritting his teeth against the pain, grabbed hold of a passing tree, and pulled himself to his feet. Bracing himself against the trunk, he lifted his right foot carefully, flexed it gingerly, then the knee, then tested the whole leg. It hurt like sunfire, but it moved just fine, nothing broken...
His shoe.
There, the heel was gone, torn away—and there was a gouge out of what remained of the three-inch sole.
He sighed, collapsing against the bark of the tree, thanking whatever Fates there were that had gifted him with a short right leg. If that had been his foot down there...
He shook off the mood, clamped his jaw, and turned his head from side to side, reorienting himself. Let's see... that way. East Liberty. Yorick's apartment. He pulled himself together and limped away. Maybe hiding behind Yorick wouldn't be such a bad idea, after all...
By the time he'd reached 130 East Liberty, he had, of course, changed his mind again. He was his own man and was going to stay that way, damn it! He wasn't about to hide behind anybody, least of all Yorick!
Still, he needed somebody to talk to, and on this particular subject, there was only one person available.
He found Apartment Four, knocked. A muffled bellow answered, "Just a minute!" Then the door swung in, and Yorick broke into a grin. "Ang! Good to see y'! What's new?"
"Murder," Angus rasped. "Somebody just tried to kill me!"
Yorick looked sympathetic. "Gets to be a drag after a while, doesn't it?"
Angus stared.
Then he found his voice. "Aren't you—a little concerned?"
"Oh, yeah, sure, of course."
"You sure as hell don't look it!"
Yorick shrugged. "You get used to it. Besides, you're alive, aren't you?"
Angus grunted surly agreement.
"'Course, I do wish I'd been around." Yorick's lower lip stuck out. "I mean, all you had to do was call, Ang. I'd've been over to escort you in..."
"No!" Angus snapped.
"See?" Yorick spread his hands. "What can I do?"
Angus glared a moment, then lowered his head, nodding, mouth twisting. "Yeah. All right." His head came up. "But what you can do is listen!"
"Talk away." Yorick stepped back, opening the door wider. "I've got all night and a big ear."
Angus stumped in, growling under his breath. He looked around. Three rooms. Small, but two more than he had. "Do pretty well by yourself, don't you?"
"This?" Yorick choked on a laugh. "You call this 'good'?"
"Not bad at all, compared to my one room."
Yorick grinned. "Whatsa matter? You figure the head and founder of the organization oughta have better accommodations than a mere agent?"
"My agents aren't ever going to be 'mere'!" Angus's voice crackled.
Yorick raised his eyebrows; his mouth widened in a delighted smile.
Angus's face froze.
Then his eyes narrowed. "That doesn't mean I'm committed yet. I'll set up your organization, but that's all."
"Sure, Ang," Yorick said brightly. "That's why they tried to kill you tonight." Then quickly, because Angus's face was darkening and his mouth opening: "You didn't answer my question."
Angus looked scrambled a moment, then remembered the question. "Oh. Should I be living better then you? Answer: No. But I oughta be living at least as well, shouldn't I?"
"Sure." Yorick sauntered over to the desk with a nostalgic half-smile, murmuring, "Ah, the idealism of the early days..." He pulled open a drawer. "I've got a checkbook on the local GRIPE account right here—one of our cover corporations, Research Undertaken Regardless, Inc. How much y' want? Couple thousand?"
Angus blinked. He swallowed. He realized he was shivering. So he got angry. "No!"
"Didn't think you would," Yorick said cheerfully, turning back to him. "So..." He shrugged.
"I've got plenty of money! I just don't want to spend it!" Angus glared.
Yorick smiled blithely.
"Oh, hell!" Angus threw himself into an armchair, leaned his forehead into one hand.
Yorick shrugged. "So what can I do?"
"Offer me a drink," Angus said, disgusted. "Then listen."
"Coming right up!" Yorick hustled into the kitchen, came back minute later with a large tumblerful.
"Thanks." Angus took a sip, choked, eyes bulging, and heaved up a huge, racking cough.
Yorick raised his eyebrows. "Don't take bourbon straight?"
"Yeah, yeah, but I'm not used to good whiskey." Angus mopped at his eyes, then stilled. His head snapped up, eyes narrowed, pinioning Yorick. "How'd you know I took straight bourbon?"
Yorick opened his mouth...
"No!" Angus's hands shot up, palm out, to shield his face. He hunched down behind them. "On second thought, don't answer that." He had a notion he didn't want to hear the answer.
Besides, he already knew it. Yorick had learned it from Angus's older self.
Well, there was one consolation: at least he'd be able to afford good bourbon.
Yorick shrugged, folded into the other armchair, took a belt of his own drink. "What's on your mind?"
Angus hunched forward, elbows on his knees. "Somebody went through my papers while I was gone."
The room was very quite for a moment. Then Yorick said, "Anything missing?"
"Yeah." Angus looked up, the corners of his mouth tight. "My notes on my time-trip."
"Mm." Yorick's brows knit. "So they know the ball is rolling..."
Then his face cleared; he shrugged. "Well, we were pretty sure they knew that by this time, anyway. I mean, you're not exactly famous in the far future, Ang—your older se... ah, GRIPE... doesn't want you publicized—but SPITE did manage to get someone to do a biography of you."
"Of me?" For a moment, Angus's face was cherubic in its delight.
Then it tightened, eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. That means SPITE and VETO know everything about me."
"No, only what they can glean from the public records." Yorick pulled out a stogie. "Which isn't much."
"Oh?" Angus raised an eyebrow. "Keep secrets pretty well, do you?"
Yorick looked up from lighting his cigar to nod, his eyes spearing Angus with accusation through the smoke.
Angus tried to glare back for a moment, then looked away, tasting gall. "All right, so I'm not so good on security! But—look, how was I supposed to know I had any secrets to keep!" His eyes snapped back to Yorick, returning the accusation.
Yorick sighed, resigned, and slumped back in his chair, eyeing his cigar ruefully. "Every now and then, Ang, I find it in me to wish you were just a little more paranoid... Well, it's just as well for the world that you're not, I suppose..."
Angus frowned. "How?"
"'How' what?"
"How's it good for the world that I'm not more paranoid?" Angus demanded.
Yorick's frown turned quizzical. "Pretty obvious, isn't it? I mean, if you were really paranoid, you'd have a lust for power, and with a thing like time travel at your disposal..."
Angus stared in horror. Then he found his voice. "Ye gods!" He swallowed. "You... you don't think I'd..."
"No, of course not." For a moment, there was something almost fond in Yorick's look—but only for a moment. "For which, all your enemies, and all
your friends, give a unanimous cheer."
"All?" Angus looked a little befuddled. "But I don't have any. Up until today..." His voice trailed off; he avoided Yorick's gaze.
Yorick grinned and puffed on his cigar.
Friends! Angus thought. Lord!
He shook himself, coming back to the matter at hand. "So. I'm going to have to be more—well, let's say security-conscious."
"Suspicious," Yorick said helpfully.
"Cautious," Angus snapped. "I've got to be more cautious. 'Cause if I'm going to have friends, I'm going to have enemies, too."
"Lots," Yorick said with massive conviction. "I don't happen to know whether or not you're ever going to meet any of them on a personal basis—but you'll be meeting them quite often on, shall we say, a professional level."
"Murder attempts," Angus translated. "And already, they hate me. They hated me before I was born."
"And tried to kill you in the womb." Yorick's eyes were hard. "Radiation—and a few esoteric substances in your mother's food..."
Angus stared.
Then his jaw set and his face turned into cold mayhem. "The bastards! The son-of-a-bitching..."
"It's done." Yorick cut him off, his face grave. "It's done and over with. I don't know all the details, but I do know that whatever they did was why you came out deformed." He smiled with bitter humor. "They found out they couldn't get her with 'accidents' or even guns, 'cause we always had somebody or three protecting her—without her knowing, of course. But we couldn't analyze everything she ate beforehand; we had to make do by making sure our doctors always got there in time. So you and your mother both came out alive—but 'alive' was the best we could do."
Angus smiled sardonically, massaging his right leg. "They outsmarted themselves. If it wasn't for this three-inch sole, that hit-and-run would have broken my leg—and maybe killed me, with physical shock."
Yorick's eyes flicked down to Angus's shoe. He nodded approvingly. "Took quite a gouge out of it, didn't they? Well—the best-laid plans, Ang, the best-laid plans."
Abruptly, he covered his eyes with his palm. "Ang... just a little paranoia, Ang. That's all I'm asking."
"Oh, don't worry." Angus's voice was silk. "I intend to be very careful indeed—and very suspicious. I'm feeling it already." He rubbed his leg, a slight smile on his lips.
Yorick grinned, relieved. "Great! What're you going to do about it?"
"First off..." Angus pursed his lips, checking the thoughts before he put words to them. "I think you and I had better become roommates."
Yorick nodded judiciously. "Not bad; we can pool our funds and get a bigger place—and I can at least make sure things stay safe indoors... I'll walk at your left shoulder any time you go anywhere—if you want, Ang."
"Uh, thanks, but..." Angus felt a little embarrassed at such devotion. Also a little paranoid; not being used to having friends, he felt a sort of emotional claustrophobia. "No, I don't think I want to go that far." He frowned suddenly. "I take it back—we do need to. But I need, even more, for you not to be my watchdog... Uh, it wouldn't hurt for you to teach me a few tricks about, uh, how to stay alive, though."
"Gladly, gladly," Yorick said, nodding. "What else do we do? How about an inch-thick armor-plate door?"
"Uh, that's going a little far. But a burglar alarm, I could go along with. Personal safety, though, I'm not going to sweat all that much."
Yorick looked sour. "I was afraid of that. All right." He cocked an eyebrow. "What are you going to sweat?"
"Papers," Angus answered. "And machinery, when—and if—I invent that time machine."
"Uh..." Yorick's lips turned inward. "'Scuse me, Ang, but—'if'?"
Angus shrugged impatiently. "The only thing I've decided on is setting up GRIPE. As to the time machine—well, I don't even know if I can invent it."
Yorick grinned. "Oh, you can invent it, all right. You can."
"I wish I had as much confidence in me as you do," Angus grumbled.
He made an abrupt chopping motion. "That's aside. The point is, if I do invent it, we're going to need a very safe place to hide it."
"Fine." Yorick spread his hands. "Where?"
Angus smiled with sarcasm. "How about a mile deep in rock, with no doors. That might be safe enough." He frowned suddenly, his eyes losing focus.
Yorick watched, grinning around his cigar.
"Y'know," Angus said slowly, "that's not such a bad idea."
"Fine." There was a hungry glint in Yorick's eye. "Where?"
Angus snapped back to reality. "How the hell should I know! Besides, it's impossible."
"Not so impossible as you might..." Yorick broke off, his eyes losing focus.
Angus watched him with a jaundiced eye.
"So that's where it is!" Yorick breathed.
"Where what is?" Angus was wary.
"GRIPE Headquarters." Yorick's eyes focused again, on Angus. "See, I had to take a few courses to get my degree, and I took Anthro, of course, and a couple geology courses, since I got this thing about rocks—used to chip flints in my boyhood..." Wistfulness and nostalgia rippled across his face and were gone. "Anyway, we took this field trip that summer, to the Grand Teton Mountains in the Rockies, Anthro department was excavating an old Folsom People site—and I took a hike with a sonar unit and a seismograph and some blasting caps, one afternoon. Free time, you understand; I didn't have to report on it to anybody, and I didn't, they'd have thought I was bananas."
"Oh?" Angus's eyes kindled. "What'd you find?"
"Well..." Yorick pursed his lips, blew out a long jet of smoke. "According to the machines, there's this huge cavern there, about two hundred feet in diameter, a half-mile down into bedrock, and it's a perfect sphere."
"What!!?!"
Yorick shrugged. "All's I know's what I read on the graph papers—and that's what they said. Didn't believe it at the time myself, so I didn't tell anybody—but I had the instruments checked, and they were perfectly kosher."
Angus looked dubious. "How?"
"Good question." Yorick sucked on his lower lips, gazing at the wall. "All I can figure is, a huge gas bubble formed when the mountain was molten—only the mountain cooled around it faster than the gas could get out. Better go in with gas masks, the first time or two, till the air's been exchanged."
Angus frowned, puzzled.
"So," Yorick concluded, "there's this huge spherical cavern in there, without an entrance or exit." He grinned triumphantly. "There's your hideout!"
Angus looked skeptical. "If this's where GRIPE headquarters is, how come you didn't know about it?"
Yorick threw up his hands in disgust. "Of all the...! Look, Ang, you may not be much on security, but your friends fortunately are! And you know the old principle, 'what you don't know, you can't tell.' So only Doc—pardon, your older self—knows where HQ is. Well..." He frowned, suddenly thoughtful. "My older self must know, too, come to think of it. But they're the only ones—except you and me, now, of course. And, since we're really them..."
"Uh, never mind," Angus said quickly. He had a notion time paradoxes were better taken in light doses. "I'll take your word for it—but I have one small question."
"Shoot." Yorick sat back, puffing his stogie, steepling his fingers.
"How—do we get—in and out? Since this cavern doesn't have any doors?"
Yorick frowned. "By using the time machine, of course."
"Great!" Angus rolled his eyes up, exasperated. "Now all I have to do is invent it!"
"Sure." Yorick grinned, leaning forward. "See, the thing functions as a matter transmitter as well as a time machine—since it goes through the fifth dimension and it's transmitting matter from past to future anyway, all you have to do is give it spatial co-ordinates, and you've got a matter transmitter. Set the time co-ordinates for 'present,' and you've got only a matter transmitter. So matter-transmitting is sort of a bonus, a secondary characteristic of... uh... Ang?"
Angus's eyes had glazed; his face glowed wi
th a strange sort of exhilaration. "Matter transmitter," he muttered. "Now that... Say, y'know, it might..."
Yorick said, very carefully, "You, uh—got an idea?"
"Sure." Angus nodded, still in rapture. "A time machine, no. How're you going to propel something through time? How're you going to make that much power in a portable power source? No way."
Yorick nodded, eyes glowing.
"But a matter transmitter's easy!" Angus turned back to Yorick, grinning. "You only have to go into the fourth dimension, not the fifth—and you can bounce the object you're transmitting off the interface, the... Well, call it the chronocline, the difference in energy levels between the dimensions, so you can just shoot it in like a bank shot on a pool table, and..."
Yorick nodded eagerly, grinning open-mouthed.
"And that's it!" Angus crowed, catching Yorick's enthusiasm. "All you do is slide your three-dimensional matter into the chronocline, and you... Well, it's like you just—shoot it in at the right angle, and, well, uh... Angle or angles? Uh... complex of angles, with your basic fourth-dimensional matrix... Uh, matrices? Anyway, you... What the hell!" He slammed to his feet. "You got a couple of flashlight batteries and some bell wire?"
KLEIN COILS
Part II
A frantic hour and a half later, they stood gazing down with exhausted satisfaction at what had been Yorick's breadboard. It was now a nightmare jumble of bell wire, resistors, and vacuum tubes (from an innocent, unwitting radio that now lay nearby, ravished), a rheostat (also from the radio), a variable condenser (there wasn't much left of the radio), a transformer (from a poor, defenseless doorbell that had never done anyone any harm), and a small, circular platform (improvised out of a captive quarter, in defiance of Federal law) on three short, one-inch legs (formerly paper clips). At the bottom of Washington's neck and in front of his nose lay two sinister, hand-wound coils, intersecting at Washington's ear to form a ninety-degree angle. Directly above the quarter hung a third coil.
There was something strange about those coils. Only a warped mind could have conceived such convolutions—or a mind that had spent too long looking at Klein bottles.
Mind Out of Time Page 5
