Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Men like myself are the dominant race, and we are about as civilized as you folks, but our culture has followed a difficult course — We live underground about half the time. Our homes are there and a lot of our industry. You see it’s warm underground in our world, and not entirely dark. There is a mild radioactivity; it doesn’t harm us.

  “Nevertheless we are a surface-evolved race, and can’t be healthy nor happy if we stay underground all the time. Now there is a war on and we’ve been driven underground for eight or nine months. The war is going against us. As it stands now, we have lost control of the surface and my race is being reduced to the status of hunted vermin, “You see, we aren’t fighting human beings. I don’t know just what it is we are fighting — maybe beings from outer space. We don’t know. They attacked us several places at once from great flying rings the like of which we had never seen. They burned us down without warning. Many of us escaped underground where they haven’t followed us. They don’t operate at night either — seem to need sunlight to be active. So it’s a stalemate — or was until they started gassing our tunnels.

  “We’ve never captured one and consequently don’t know what makes them tick. We examined a ring that crashed, but didn’t learn much. There was nothing inside that even vaguely resembled animal life, nor was there anything to support animal life. I mean there were no food supplies, nor sanitary arrangements.

  Opinion is divided between the idea that the one we examined was remotely controlled and the idea that the enemy are some sort of non-protoplasmic intelligence, perhaps force patterns, or something equally odd.

  “Our principal weapon is a beam which creates a stasis in the ether, and freezes 'em solid. Or rather it should, but it will destroy all life and prevent molar action — but the rings are simply put temporarily out of control. Unless we can keep a beam on a ring right to the moment it crashes, it recovers and gets away.

  Then its pals come and burn out our position.

  “We’ve had better luck with mining their surface camps, and blowing them up at night. We’re accomplished sappers, of course. But we need better weapons. That’s what I sent Howard after. I’ve got two ideas. If the enemy are simply some sort of intelligent force patterns, or something like that, radio may be the answer. We might be able to fill up the ether with static and jam them right out of existence. If they are too tough for that, perhaps some good old-fashioned anti-aircraft fire might make them say 'Uncle.’ In any case there is a lot of technology here that we don’t have, and which may have the answer. I wish I had time to pass on some of our stuff in return for what I’m taking with me."

  “You are determined to go back, Robert?"

  “Certainly. It’s where I belong. I’ve no family here. I don t know how to make you see it. Doc, but those are my people — that is my world. I suppose if conditions were reversed, I’d feel differently.’

  “I see," said Helen, “you’re fighting for the wife and kids."

  He turned a weary face toward her. “Not exactly. I’m a bachelor over there, but I do have a family to think about; my sister is in command of the attack unit I’m in. Oh, yes, the women are in it — they’re little and tough, like you, Helen."

  She touched his arm lightly. “How did you pick up this?"

  “That burn? You remember we were on the march. We were retreating down that ditch from a surface raid. I thought we had made good our escape when all of a sudden a ring swooped down on us. Most of the detachment scattered, but I’m a junior technician armed with the stasis ray. I tried to get my equipment unlimbered to fight back, but I was burned down before I could finish. Luckily it barely grazed me. Several of the others were fried. I don’t know yet whether or not Sis got hers. That’s one of the reasons why I’m in a hurry.

  “One of the other techs who wasn’t hit got his gear set up and covered our retreat. I was dragged underground and taken to a dressing station. The medicos were about to work on me when I passed out and came to in the Professor’s study."

  The doorbell rang and the Professor got up to answer it. Helen and Robert followed him. It was Howard, bearing spoils.

  “Did you get everything?" Robert asked anxiously.

  “I think so. Stinky was in, but I managed to borrow his books. The gun was harder, but I telephoned a friend of mine and had him call back and ask for Stinky. While he was out of the room, I lifted it. Now I’m a criminal — government property, too."

  “You’re a pal, Howard. After you hear the explanation, you’ll agree that it was worth doing. Won’t he, Helen?"

  “Absolutely!"

  “Well, I hope you’re right," he answered dubiously. “I brought along something else, just in case. Here it is." He handed Robert a book.

  “Aerodynamics and Principles of Aircraft Construction," Robert read aloud. “My God, yes! Thanks, Howard."

  In a few minutes, Monroe had his belongings assembled and fastened to his person. He had announced that he was ready when the Professor checked him:

  “One moment, Robert. How do you know that these books will go with you?"

  “Why not? That’s why I’m fastening them to me."

  “Did your earthly clothing go through the first time?"

  “Noo —" His brow furrowed. “Good grief. Doc, what can I do? I couldn’t possibly memorize what I need to know."

  “I don’t know. Son. Let’s think about it a bit." He broke off and stared at the ceiling. Helen touched his hand.

  “Perhaps I can help. Professor."

  “In what way, Helen?"

  “Apparently I don’t metamorphize when I change time tracks, I had the same clothes with me everywhere I went. Why couldn’t I ferry this stuff over for Bob?"

  “Hm, perhaps you could."

  “No, I couldn’t let you do that," interposed Monroe. “You might get killed or badly hurt."

  “I’ll chance it.’

  “I’ve got an idea," put in Jenkins. “Couldn’t Doctor Frost set his instructions so that Helen would go over and come right back? How about it. Doc?"

  “Mmm, yes, perhaps." But Helen held up a hand.

  “No good. The boodle might come bouncing back with me. I’ll go over without any return instructions. I like the sound of this world of Bob’s anyway. I may stay there. Cut out the chivalry. Bob. One of the things I liked about your world was the notion of treating men and women alike. Get unstuck from that stuff and start hanging it on me. I’m going."

  She looked like a Christmas tree when the dozen-odd books had been tied to various parts of her solid little figure, the automatic pistol strapped on, and the two slide rules, one long and one short, stuck in the pistol belt.

  Howard fondled the large slide rule before he fastened it on. “Take good care of this slipstick, Bob," he said, “I gave up smoking for six months to pay for it."

  Frost seated the two side by side on the sofa in the study. Helen slipped a hand into Bob’s. When the shining ball had been made to spin. Frost motioned for Jenkins to leave, closed the door after him and switched out the light. Then he started repeating hypnotic suggestions in a monotone.

  Ten minutes later he felt a slight swish of air and ceased. He snapped the light switch. The sofa was empty, even of books.

  Frost and Jenkins kept an uneasy vigil while awaiting Estelle’s return. Jenkins wandered nervously around the study, examining objects that didn’t interest him and smoking countless cigarets. The Professor sat quietly in his easy chair, simulating a freedom from anxiety that he did not feel. They conversed in desultory fashion.

  “One thing I don’t see," observed Jenkins, “is why in the world Helen could go a dozen places and not change, and Bob goes just one place and comes back almost unrecognizable — shorter, heavier, decked out in outlandish clothes. What happened to his ordinary clothes anyhow? How do you explain those things, Professor?"

  “Eh? I don’t explain them — I merely observe them. I think perhaps he changed, while Helen didn’t, because Helen was just a visitor to the places she we
nt to, whereas Monroe belonged over there — as witness he fitted into the pattern of that world. Perhaps the Great Architect intended for him to cross over."

  “Huh? Good heavens, Doctor, surely you don’t believe in divine predestination!"

  “Perhaps not in those terms. But, Howard, you mechanistic skeptics make me tired. Your naive ability to believe that things 'jest growed’ approaches childishness. According a you a fortuitous accident of entropy produced Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony."

  “I think that’s unfair. Doctor. You certainly don’t expect a man to believe in things that run contrary to his good sense without offering him any reasonable explanation."

  Frost snorted. “I certainly do — if he has observed it with his own eyes and ears, or gets it from a source known to be credible. A fact doesn’t have to be understood to be true. Sure, any reasonable mind wants explanations, but it’s silly to reject facts that don’t fit your philosophy.

  “Now these events tonight, which you are so anxious to rationalize in orthodox terms, famish a clue to a lot of things that scientists have been rejecting because they couldn’t explain them. Have you ever heard the tale of the man who walked around the horses? No? Around 1810 Benjamin Bathurst, British Ambassador to Austria, arrived in his carriage at an inn in Perleberg, Germany. He had his valet and secretary with him. They drove into the lighted courtyard of the inn.

  Bathurst got out, and, in the presence of bystanders and his two attaches, walked around the horses. He hasn’t been seen since."

  “What happened?"

  “Nobody knows. I think he was preoccupied and inadvertently wandered into another time track. But there are literally hundreds of similar cases, way too many to laugh off. The two-time-dimensions theory accounts for most of them. But I suspect that there are other as-yet-undreamed-of natural principles operating in some of the rejected cases."

  Howard stopped pacing and pulled at his lower hp. “Maybe so. Doctor. I’m too upset to think. Look here — it’s one o’clock. Oughtn’t she to be back by now?"

  “I’m afraid so. Son."

  “You mean she’s not coming back."

  “It doesn’t look like it."

  The younger man gave a broken cry and collapsed on the sofa. His shoulders heaved. Presently he calmed down a little. Frost saw his lips move and suspected that he was praying. Then he showed a drawn face to the Doctor.

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?"

  “That’s hard to answer, Howard. We don’t know where she’s gone; all we do know is that she left here under hypnotic suggestion to cross over into some other loop of the past or future."

  “Can’t we go after her the same way and trace her?"

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had any experience with such a job."

  “I’ve got to do something or I’ll go nuts."

  “Take it easy, son. Let me think about it." He smoked in silence while Howard controlled an impulse to scream, break furniture, anything!

  Frost knocked the ash off his cigar and placed it carefully in a tray. “I can think of one chance. It’s a remote one."

  “Anything!"

  “I’m going to listen to the record that Estelle heard, and cross over. I’ll do it wide awake, while concentrating on her. Perhaps I can establish some rapport, some extra-sensory connection, that will serve to guide me to her." Frost went immediately about his preparations as he spoke. “I want you to remain in the room when I go so that you will really believe that it can be done."

  In silence Howard watched him don the headphones. The Professor stood still, eyes closed. He remained so for nearly fifteen minutes, then took a short step forward. The earphones clattered to the floor. He was gone.

  Frost felt himself drift off into the timeless limbo which precedes transition.

  He noticed again that it was exactly like the floating sensation that ushers in normal sleep, and wondered idly, for the hundredth time, whether or not the dreams of sleep were real experiences. He was inclined to think they were. Then he recalled his mission with a guilty start, and concentrated hard on Estelle.

  He was walking along a road, white in the sunshine. Before him were the gates of a city. The gateman stared at his odd attire, but let him pass. He hurried down the broad tree-lined avenue which (he knew) led from the space port to Capitol Hill. He turned aside into the Way of me Gods and continued until he reached the Grove of the Priestesses. There he found the house which he sought, its marble walls pink in the sun, its fountains tinkling in the morning breeze. He turned in.

  The ancient janitor, nodding in the sun, admitted him to the house. The slender maidservant, barely nubile, ushered him into the inner chamber, where her mistress raised herself on one elbow and regarded her visitor through languid eyes. Frost addressed her, “It is time to return, Estelle."

  Her eyesbrows showed her surprise. “You speak a strange and barbarous tongue, old man, and yet, here is a mystery, for I know it. What do you wish of me?"

  Frost spoke impatiently. “Estelle, I say it is time to return!"

  “Return? What idle talk is this? Return where? And my name is Star-Light, not Ess Tell. Who are you, and from where do you come?" She searched his face, then pointed a slender finger at him. “I know you now! You are out of my dreams. You were a Master and instructed me in the ancient wisdom."

  “Estelle, do you remember a youth in those dreams?"

  “That odd name again! Yes, there was a youth. He was sweet — sweet and straight and tall like pine on the mountain. I have dreamed of him often," She swung about with a flash of long white limbs. “What of this youth?"

  “He waits for you. It is time to return."

  “Return! — There is no return to the place of dreams!"

  “I can lead you there."

  “What blasphemy is this? Are you a priest, that you should practice magic? Why should a sacred courtesan go to the place of dreams?"

  “There is no magic in it. He is heartsick at your loss. I will lead you back to him."

  She hesitated, doubt in her eyes, then she replied, “Suppose you could; why should I leave my honorable sacred station for the cold nothingness of that dream?"

  He answered her gently, “What does your heart tell you, Estelle?"

  She stared at him, eyes wide, and seemed about to burst into tears. Then she flung herself across the couch, and showed him her back. A muffled voice answered him, “Be off with you! There is no youth, except in my dreams. I’ll seek him there!"

  She made no further reply to his importunities. Presently he ceased trying and left with a heavy heart.

  Howard seized him by the arm as he returned. “Well, Professor? Well? Did you find her?"

  Frost dropped wearily into his chair. “Yes, I found her."

  “Was she all right? Why didn’t she come back with you?"

  “She was perfectly well, but I couldn’t persuade her to return."

  Howard looked as if he had been slapped across the mouth. “Didn’t you tell her I wanted her to come back?"

  “I did, but she didn’t believe me."

  “Not believe you?"

  “You see she’s forgotten most of this life, Howard. She thinks you are simply a dream."

  “But that’s not possible!"

  Frost looked more weary than ever. “Don’t you think it is about time you stopped using that term, son?"

  Instead of replying he answered, “Doctor, you must take me to her!" Frost looked dubious.

  “Can’t you do it?"

  “Perhaps I could, if you have gotten over your disbelief, but still —"

  “Disbelief? — I’ve been forced to believe. Let’s get busy."

  Frost did not move. “I’m not sure that I agree. Howard, conditions are quite different where Estelle has gone. It suits her, but I’m not sure that it would be a kindness to take you through to her."

  “Why not? Doesn’t she want to see me?"

  “Yes — I think she does. I’m sure she would welcome you, but conditions
are very different."

  “I don’t give a damn what the conditions are. Let’s go."

  Frost got up. “Very well. It shall be as you wish." He seated Jenkins in the easy chair and held the young man’s eyes with his gaze. He spoke slowly in calm, unmodulated tones — Frost assisted Howard to his feet and brushed him off. Howard laughed and wiped the white dust of the road from his hands.

  “Quite a tumble. Master. I feel as if some lout had pulled a stool from under me."

  “I shouldn’t have had you sit down."

  “I guess not." He pulled a large multi-flanged pistol from his belt and examined it. “Lucky the safety catch was set on my blaster or we might have been picking ourselves out of the stratosphere. Shall we be on our way?"

  Frost looked his companion over; helmet, short military kilt, short sword and accoutrements slapping at his thighs. He blinked and answered, “Yes. Yes, of course."

  As they swung into the city gates. Frost inquired,“Do you know where you are headed?"

  “Yes, certainly. To Star-Light’s villa in the Grove."

  “And you know what to expect there?"

  “Oh, you mean our discussion. I know the customs here.

  Master, and am quite undismayed, I assure you. Star-Light and I understand each other. She’s one of these 'Out of sight, out of mind’ girls. Now that I’m back from Ultima Thule, she’ll give up the priesthood and we’ll settle down and raise a lot of fat babies."

  “Ultima Thule? Do you remember my study?"

  “Of course I do — and Robert and Helen and all the rest."

  “Is that what you meant by Ultima Thule?"

  “Not exactly. I can’t explain it. Master. I’m a practical military man. I’ll leave such things to you priests and teachers."

  They paused in front of Estelle’s house. “Coming in, Master?"

  “No, I think not. I must be getting back."

  “You know best." Howard clapped him on the shoulder. “You have been a true friend. Master. Our first brat shall be named for you."

  “Thank you, Howard. Goodbye, and good luck to both of you."

  “And to you." He entered the house with a confident stride.