A second month passed. The apparatus he was building in his basement, in the sacrosanct den that neither Blade nor Laira ever dared to enter, was nearing completion. The time was drawing near.
He ran the final tests on a warm midsummer day. The machine responded perfectly. The time had come.
He called upstairs via the intercom. Laira was reading in the study; Blade was watching the video. “Blade? Laira?”
“We’re here, Baird. What do you want?” Laira asked.
Ewing said, “I’ll be running some very delicate experiments during the next twenty minutes or so. Any shift in the room balance might foul things up. Would you both be kind enough to stay put, in whatever room you’re in now, until I give the signal from downstairs?”
“Of course, darling.”
Ewing smiled and hung up. Quite carefully he took a massive crowbar from his tool-chest and propped it up at the side of the wall, near the outer door of the den. He glanced at his watch. The time was 1403:30.
He recrossed the room and made some final adjustments on the apparatus. He stared at his watch, letting the minutes go by. Six … seven … eight …
At 1411:30 he reached up and snapped a switch. The machinery hummed briefly and threw him back ten minutes in time.
Chapter Nineteen
He was hovering inches in the air above his own front lawn. He dropped, landing gently, and looked at his watch. The dial said: 1401:30.
At this very moment, he knew, his earlier self was on the house phone, calling upstairs to Laira. Ewing moistened his lips. This would take careful coordination. Very careful.
On tiptoe he ran round the house, entering at the side door that led to his basement workshop. He moved stealthily down the inner corridor until he was only a few feet from the workshop door. There, he waited.
There was an intercom outlet mounted in the hall. Gently he lifted the receiver from the hook and put it to his ear.
He heard himself say, “Any shift in the room balance might foul things up. Would you both be kind enough to stay put, in whatever room you’re in now, until I give the signal from downstairs?”
“Of course, darling,” Laira’s voice responded.
Outside, in the hall, Ewing looked at his watch. It read 1403:10. He waited a moment. At 1403:30 he heard the faint clink as the crowbar was propped up against the wall near the door.
So far, everything was right on schedule. But here was where he intended to cause a split in the time-track once again.
He edged forward and peered through the partly open door into the workshop. A familiar-looking figure sat with his back to the door, hunched over the time-projector on the table, making fine adjustments preparatory to jumping back in time ten minutes.
His watch said 1405:15.
He stepped quickly into the room and snatched up the crowbar he had so carefully provided for himself. He crossed the room in four quick bounds; his double, absorbed in his work, did not notice until Ewing put his hand on the shoulder of the other and lifted him away from the work bench. In the same motion he swung the crowbar; it smashed into the main section of the time-projector, sending it tumbling to the floor in a tingling crash of breaking tubes and crumbling circuits.
“I hated to do that,” he remarked casually. “It represented a lot of work. But you know why I did it.”
“Y-yes,” the other said uncertainly. The two men faced each other over the wreckage of the projector, Baird Ewing facing Baird Ewing, the only difference between them being that one held a crowbar ready for further use. Ewing prayed Laira had not heard the crash. Everything would be ruined if she chose this moment to violate the sanctity of his workroom.
Slowly, he said to his double, “You know who I am and why I’m here, don’t you? And where I came from?”
The other ruefully stared down at the wreckage. “I guess so. You got there ahead of me, didn’t you? You’re one notch up on me in the Absolute time-track.”
Ewing nodded. “Exactly. And keep your voice down. I don’t want any trouble from you.”
“You’re determined to do it?”
Ewing nodded again. “Listen to me very carefully, now. I’m going to take my—our—car and drive into Broughton. I’m going to make a call to Premier Davidson. Then I’m going to drive out to the spaceport; get into a ship, and leave. That’s the last you’ll ever hear from me.
“In the meantime, you’re to stay down here until at least 1420 or so. Then call upstairs to Laira and tell her you’ve finished the experiment. Sweep up the wreckage, and if you’re a wise man you won’t build any more of these gadgets in the future. From now on, no extra Baird Ewings. You’ll be the only one. And take good care of Laira and Blade. I love them, too.”
“Wait a minute,” the other Ewing said. “You’re not being fair.”
“To whom?”
“To yourself. Look, I’m as much Baird Ewing as you are. And it’s as much my responsibility to—to leave Corwin as it is yours. You don’t have any right to take it upon yourself to give up everything you love. Let’s at least flip a coin to see who goes.”
Ewing shook his head. In a quiet, flat voice he said, “No. I go. I’ve watched too many of my alter egos sacrifice themselves to keep me safe and sound.”
“So have I, remember?”
Ewing shrugged. “That’s tough for you, then: But this is my ride through the time-track, and I’m going. You stay here and nurse your guilty conscience, if you like. But you shouldn’t moan too much. You’ll have Laira and Blade. And Baird Ewing will be doing what he ought to be doing, as well.”
“But—”
Ewing lifted the crowbar menacingly. “I don’t want to skull you, brother. Accept defeat gracefully.”
He looked at his watch. It was 1410. He walked to the door and said, “The car will be parked at the spaceport. You figure out some explanation for how it got there.”
He turned and walked out.
The car was waiting in its garage; he touched his finger to the burglar-proof identiplate that controlled the garage door, and the car came out. He got in, switched on the directional guide, and left via the back route, so no one in the house could see him.
As soon as he was comfortably distant from the house, he snapped on the phone circuit and gave the operator Premier Davidson’s number.
After a short pause, Davidson acknowledged.
“Hello, Baird. What’s on your mind?”
“A favor. You owe me one, remember? I asked for carte blanche the day after the Klodni thing.”
Davidson chuckled. “I haven’t forgotten about it, Baird. Well?”
“I want to borrow a spaceship,” Ewing said quietly. “A one-man ship. The same sort of ship I used to get to Earth in, a few years ago.”
“A spaceship?” The Premier sounded incredulous. “What would you be wanting a spaceship for?”
“That doesn’t matter. An experiment of mine, let’s say. I asked for a favor, and you said you’d grant it. Are you backing down, now?”
“No, no, of course not. But—”
“Yes. I want a spaceship. I’m on my way to Broughton Spacefield now. Will you phone ahead and tell them to release a military-owned one-man job for me, or won’t you?”
It was nearly 1500 when he reached the spacefield. He left his car in the special parking lot and made it on foot across to the trim little building used by the military wing of Corwin’s government.
He asked for and was taken to the commanding officer on duty. The officer turned out to be a wry-faced colonel who looked up questioningly as Ewing entered his office.
“You’re Ewing, of course.”
“That’s right. Did Premier Davidson phone?”
The colonel nodded. “He authorized me to give you one of our one-man ships. I guess I don’t have to ask if you can operate it, do I?”
Ewing grinned and said, “I guess not.”
“The ship’s on Field B right now, being serviced for you. It’ll be fully fueled, of course. How long
are you planning to stay aloft?”
Shrugging, Ewing said, “I really haven’t decided that yet, colonel. But I’ll advise for clearance before I come down.”
“Good.”
“Oh—one more thing. Is the ship I’m getting equipped for suspension?”
The colonel frowned. “All our ships are. Why do you ask? Not planning that long a trip, are you?”
“Hardly,” Ewing lied. “I just wanted to examine the suspension equipment once again. Sentimental reasons, you know.”
The colonel signaled and one of the cadets led him across the field to the waiting ship. It was a twin of the one that had borne him across to Earth; for all he knew, it might have been the very same one. He clambered aboard, switched on the controls, and advised he would be leaving Corwin in eleven minutes.
From memory, he punched out the coordinates for his journey on the autopilot. He activated the unit, stripped, and lowered himself once again into the suspension tank.
He thought:
Firnik thinks I’m dead. He’ll be surprised when a ghost turns up on Earth, leading the underground revolt against the Sirians. And I’ll have to explain everything very carefully to Myreck as soon as I get back—if I can find Myreck.
And he thought:
My double back home is going to have some fancy explaining to do, too. About what happened to the ship he took up with him, and how his car got to the spaceport while he was in the workship. He’ll have plenty of fast talking to do. But he’ll manage. He’s a pretty shrewd sort. He’ll get along.
He paused for a moment to wish a silent good-bye to the wife and son who would never know he had left them. Then he stretched out his feet and switched on the suspension unit. The temperature began to drop.
Darkness swirled up around him.
Chapter Twenty
The time was 1421, of a warm midsummer afternoon on Corwin. Baird Ewing finished sweeping the shattered fragments of his painstakingly constructed projector into the disposal unit, looked around, put the crowbar back in the tool shelf.
Then he snapped on the housephone and said, “Okay, Laira. The experiment’s over. Thanks for helping out.”
He hung up and trotted up the stairs to the study. Laira was bent over her book; Blade stared entranced at the video screen. He crept up behind the boy, caught him suddenly with one big hand at the back of his neck, and squeezed affectionately. Then, leaving him, he lifted Laira’s head from her viewing screen, smiled warmly at her, and turned away without speaking.
Later in the afternoon he was on his way to Broughton Spacefield via public transport to reclaim his car. He was still some miles distant when the sudden overhead roar of a departing spaceship sounded.
“One of those little military jobs taking off,” someone in the bus said.
Ewing looked up through the translucent roof of the bus at the clear sky. No ship was visible, of course. It was well on its way Earthward now.
Good luck, he thought. And Godspeed.
The car was in the special parking field. He smiled to the attendant, unlocked it, climbed in.
He drove home.
Home—to Laira and Blade.
Chapter Twenty-One
Baird Ewing woke slowly, sensing the coldness all about him. It was slowly withdrawing down the length of his body; his head and shoulders had come out of the freeze, and the rest of him was gradually emerging.
He looked at the time-panel. Eleven months, fourteen days, six hours had elapsed since he had left Corwin. He hoped they hadn’t held their breaths while waiting for him to return their ship.
He performed the de-suspending routine and emerged from the tank. He touched the stud and the vision-plate lit up. A planet hung centered in the green depths of the plate—a green planet, with vast seas bordering its continents.
Earth.
Ewing, smiled. They would be surprised to see him, all right. But he could help them, and so he had come back. He could serve as coordinator for the resistance movement. He could spearhead the drive that would end the domination of the Sirians.
Here I come, he thought.
His fingers moved rapidly over the manual-control bank of the ship’s instrument panel. He began setting up the orbit for landing. Already, plans and counterplans were forming in his active mind.
The ship descended to Earth in a wide-sweeping arc. Ewing waited, impatient for the landing, as his ship swung closer and closer to the lovely green world below.
A Biography of Robert Silverberg
Robert Silverberg (b. 1935) is an American author best known for his science fiction titles, including Nightwings (1969), Dying Inside (1972), and Lord Valentine’s Castle (1980). He has won five Nebula Awards and five Hugo Awards. In 2004, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America honored Silverberg with the Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award.
Silverberg was born in Brooklyn, New York, on January 15, 1935, the only child of Michael and Helen Silverberg. An avid reader and writer from an early age, Silverberg began his own fanzine, Spaceship, in 1949. In 1953, at age eighteen, he sold his first nonfiction piece to Science Fiction Adventures magazine. His first novel, Revolt on Alpha C, was published shortly after, in 1955. That same year, while living in New York City and studying at Columbia University, Silverberg met his neighbors and fellow writers Randall Garrett and Harlan Ellison, both of whom went on to collaborate with him on numerous projects. Silverberg and Randall published pieces under the name Robert Randall. In 1956, Silverberg graduated from Columbia University with a bachelor of arts degree in comparative literature, married Barbara Brown, and won the Hugo Award for Most Promising New Author.
Following the whirlwind of his college years, Silverberg continued to write consistently for most of his life. Writing under various pseudonyms, including David Osborne and Calvin M. Knox, Silverberg managed to publish eleven novels and more than two hundred short pieces between 1957 and 1959. Having established himself as a science fiction writer by this time, Silverberg went on to show dexterity in other genres, from historical nonfiction with Treasures Beneath the Sea (1960) to softcore pornography under the pseudonym Don Elliot.
Silverberg continued to write outside science fiction until Frederik Pohl, the editor of Galaxy Science Fiction, convinced him to rejoin the field. It was in this period, from the late 1960s to early 1970s, that Silverberg’s classics, including Tower of Glass (1970), The World Inside (1971), and The Book of Skulls (1972), came to life. After taking a break from writing, Silverberg returned with Lord Valentine’s Castle in 1980.
Though they had been separated for nearly a decade, Silverberg and Barbara officially ended their marriage in 1986. A year later, Silverberg married fellow writer Karen Haber. They went on to collaborate on writing The Mutant Season (1990) and editing several anthologies. Throughout the late 1980s and 1990s, Silverberg published important titles including Star of Gypsies (1986), and continued his established Majipoor series with The Mountains of Majipoor (1995) and Sorcerers of Majipoor (1997). In 1999, Silverberg was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame.
With a career that spans half a century, multiple genres, and more than three hundred titles, Silverberg has made major contributions as a writer. He currently resides in the San Francisco Bay Area with his wife.
Silverberg at six months old with his parents.
Silverberg at summer camp in August 1952, reading the September issue of Galaxy Science Fiction, which featured a story by Theodore Sturgeon.
The first page of Silverberg’s manuscript for his first novel, Revolt on Alpha C, published in 1955.
An early rejection letter dated July 18, 1949.
Silverberg conversing with a nymph at author Brian Aldiss’s home in Oxford, England, after the 1987 Brighton Worldcon. (Courtesy of Andrew Porter.)
Silverberg with his wife, Karen, at the 2004 Nebula Awards in Seattle, where he received his Grand Master Award.
(Unless otherwise noted, all images taken from Other Spaces, Other Times by Robert S
ilverberg, courtesy of Nonstop Press.)
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Introduction copyright © 2011 by Agberg, Ltd.
The Chalice of Death © 1958, 1986 by Agberg, Ltd. (original title: Lest We Forget Thee, Earth).
Starhaven © 1958, 1986 by Agberg, Ltd.
Shadow on the Stars copyright ©1958, 1986 by Agberg, Ltd. (original title: Stepsons of Terra).
Copyright © 2012 by Agberg, Ltd.
Cover design by Kat Lee
ISBN: 978-1-5040-1425-0
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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The Chalice of Death Page 38
