Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  Frost walked slowly back toward the gates, his mind preoccupied with myriad thoughts. There seemed to be no end to the permutations and combinations; either of matter, or of mind. Martha, Robert, Helen — now Howard and Estelle. It should be possible to derive a theory that would cover them all.

  As he mused, his heel caught on a loose paving block and he stumbled across his easy chair.

  The absence of the five students was going to be hard to explain. Frost knew — so he said nothing to anyone. The weekend passed before anyone took the absences seriously. On Monday a policeman came to his house, asking questions.

  His answers were not illuminating, for he had reasonably refrained from trying to tell the true story. The District Attorney smelled a serious crime, kidnapping or perhaps a mass murder. Or maybe one of these love cults — you can never tell about these professors!

  He caused a warrant to be issued Tuesday morning, Sergeant Izowski was sent to pick him up.

  The professor came quietly and entered the black wagon without protest, “Look, Doc," said the sergeant, encouraged by his docile manner, “why don’t you tell us where you hid 'em? You know we’re bound to dig them up in time."

  Frost turned, looked him in the eyes, and smiled, “Time," he said softly, “ah, time … yes, you could dig them up, in Time." He then got into the wagon and sat down quietly, closed his eyes, and placed his mind in the necessary calm receptive condition.

  The sergeant placed one foot on the tailboard, braced his bulk in the only door, and drew out his notebook. When he finished writing he looked up.

  Professor Frost was gone.

  Frost had intended to look up Howard and Estelle. Inadvertently he let his mind dwell on Helen and Robert at the crucial moment. When he “landed" it was not in the world of the future he had visited twice before. He did not know where he was — on earth apparently, somewhere and somewhen.

  It was wooded rolling country, like the hills of southern Missouri, or New Jersey. Frost had not sufficient knowledge of botany to be able to tell whether the species of trees he saw around him were familiar or not. But he was given no time to study the matter.

  He heard a shout, an answering shout. Human figures came bursting out of the trees in a ragged line. He thought that they were attacking him, looked wildly around for shelter, and found none. But they kept on past him, ignoring him, except that the one who passed closest to him glanced at him hastily, and shouted something. Then he, too, was gone.

  Frost was left standing, bewildered, in the small natural clearing in which he had landed.

  Before he had had time to integrate these events one of the fleeing figures reappeared and yelled to him, accompanying the words with a gesture unmistakable — he was to come along.

  Frost hesitated. The figure ran toward and hit him with a clean tackle. The next few seconds were very confused, but he pulled himself together sufficiently to realize that he was seeing the world upside down; the stranger was carrying him at a strong dogtrot, thrown over one shoulder.

  Bushes whipped at his face, then the way led downward for several yards, and he was dumped casually to the ground. He sat up and rubbed himself.

  He found himself in a tunnel which ran upwards to daylight and downward the Lord knew where. Figures milled around him but ignored him. Two of them were setting up some apparatus between the group and the mouth of the tunnel. They worked with extreme urgency, completing what they were doing in seconds, and stepped back. Frost heard a soft gentle hum.

  The mouth of the tunnel became slightly cloudy. He soon saw why — the apparatus was spinning a web from wall to wall, blocking the exit. The web became less tenuous, translucent, opaque. The hum persisted for minutes thereafter and the strange machine continued to weave and thicken the web. One of the figures glanced at its belt, spoke one word in the tone of command, and the humming ceased.

  Frost could feel relief spread over the group like a warm glow. He felt it himself and relaxed, knowing intuitively that some acute danger had been averted.

  The member of the group who had given the order to shut off the machine turned around, happened to see Frost, and approached him, asking some questions in a sweet but peremptory soprano. Frost was suddenly aware of three things; the leader was a woman, it was the leader who had rescued him, and the costume and general appearance of these people matched that of the transformed Robert Monroe.

  A smile spread over his face. Everything was going to be all right!

  The question was repeated with marked impatience. Frost felt that an answer was required, though he did not understand the language and was sure that she could not possibly know English. Nevertheless —

  “Madame," he said in English, getting to his feet and giving her a courtly bow, “I do not know your language and do not understand your question, but I suspect that you have saved my life. I am grateful."

  She seemed puzzled and somewhat annoyed, and demanded something else — at least Frost thought it was a different question; he could not be sure. This was getting nowhere. The language difficulty was almost insuperable, he realized. It might take days, weeks, months to overcome it. In the meantime these people were busy with a war, and would be in no frame of mind to bother with a useless incoherent stranger.

  He did not want to be turned out on the surface.

  How annoying, he thought, how stupidly annoying! Probably Monroe and Helen were somewhere around, but he could die of old age and never find them. They might be anywhere on the planet. How would an American, dumped down in Tibet, make himself understood if his only possible interpreter were in South America? Or whereabouts unknown? How would he make the Tibetans understand that there even was an interpreter? Botheration!

  Still, he must make a try. What was it Monroe had said his name was here? Egan — no, Igor. That was it — Igor.

  “Igor," he said.

  The leader cocked her head. “Igor?" she said, Frost nodded vigorously. “Igor."

  She turned and called out, “Igor!" giving it the marked gutteral, the liquid “r" that Monroe had given it. A man came forward. The professor looked eagerly at him, but he was a stranger, like the rest. The leader pointed to the man and stated, “Igor."

  This is growing complicated, thought Frost, apparently Igor is a common name here — too common. Then he had a sudden idea:

  If Monroe and Helen got through, their badly — needed chattels might have made them prominent. “Igor," he said, “Helen Fisher."

  The leader was attentive at once, her face alive. “Elen Feesher?" she repeated.

  “Yes, yes — Helen Fisher."

  She stood quiet, thinking. It was plain that the words meant something to her.

  She clapped her hands together and spoke, commandingly. Two men stepped forward.

  She addressed them rapidly for several moments.

  The two men stepped up to Frost, each taking an arm — They started to lead him away. Frost held back for a moment and said over his shoulder, “Helen Fisher?"

  " 'Elen Feesher’!" the leader assured him. He had to be content with that.

  Two hours passed, more or less. He had not been mistreated and the room in which they had placed him was comfortable but it was a cell — at least the door was fastened. Perhaps he had said the wrong thing, perhaps those syllables meant something quite different here from a simple proper name.

  The room in which he found himself was bare and lighted only by a dim glow from the walls, as had all of this underground world which he had seen so far. He was growing tired of the place and was wondering whether or not it would do any good to set up a commotion when he heard someone at the door.

  The door slid back; he saw the leader, a smile on her rather grim, middle-aged features. She spoke in her own tongue, then added, “Igor … Ellenfeesher."

  He followed her.

  Glowing passageways, busy squares where he was subjected to curious stares, an elevator which startled him by dropping suddenly when he was not aware that it was an elevator
, and finally a capsule-like vehicle in which they were sealed airtight and which went somewhere very fast indeed to judge by the sudden surge of weight when it started and again when it stopped — through them all he followed his guide, not understanding and lacking means of inquiring. He tried to relax and enjoy the passing moment, as his companion seemed to bear him no ill-will, though her manner was brusque — that of a person accustomed to giving orders and not in the habit of encouraging casual intimacy.

  They arrived at a door which she opened and strode in. Frost followed and was almost knocked off his feet by a figure which charged into him and grasped him with both arms. “Doctor! Doctor Frost!"

  It was Helen Fisher, dresser in the costume worn by both sexes here. Behind her. stood Robert — or Igor, his gnome — like face widened with a grin.

  He detached Helen’s arms gently. “My dear." he said inanely, “imagine finding you here."

  “Imagine finding you here," she retorted. “Why, professor — you’re crying!"

  “Oh, no, not at all," he said hastily, and turned to Monroe. “It’s good to see you, too, Robert."

  “That goes double for me. Doc," Monroe agreed.

  The leader said something to Monroe. He answered her rapidly in their tongue and turned to Frost. “Doctor, this is my elder sister, Margri, Actoon Margri — Major Margri, you might translate it roughly,"

  “She has been very kind to me," said Frost, and bowed to her, acknowledging the introduction. Margri clapped her hands smartly together at the waist and ducked her head, features impassive.

  “She gave the salute of equals," explained Robert — Igor. “I translated the title doctor as best I could which causes her to assume that your rank is the same as hers."

  “What should I do?"

  “Return it."

  Frost did so, but awkwardly.

  Doctor Frost brought his erstwhile students up to “date" — using a term which does not apply, since they were on a different time axis. His predicament with the civil authorities brought a cry of dismay from Helen. “Why, you poor thing! How awful of them!"

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say so," protested Frost. “It was reasonable so far as they knew. But I’m afraid I can’t go back."

  “You don’t need to," Igor assured him. “You’re more than welcome here."

  “Perhaps I can help out in your war."

  “Perhaps — but you’ve already done more than anyone here by what you’ve enabled me to do. We are working on it now." He swung his arm in a gesture which took in the whole room.

  Igor had been detached from combat duty and assigned to staff work, in order to make available earth techniques. Helen was helping. “Nobody believes my story but my sister," he admitted, “But I’ve been able to show them enough for them to realize that what I’ve got is important, so they’ve given me a free hand and are practically hanging over my shoulder, waiting to see what we can produce. I’ve already got them started on a jet fighter and attack rockets to arm it."

  Frost expressed surprise. How could so much be done so fast? Were the time rates different? Had Helen and Igor crossed over many weeks before, figured along this axis?

  No, he was told, but Igor’s countrymen, though lacking many earth techniques, were far ahead of earth in manufacturing skill. They used a single general type of machine to manufacture almost anything. They fed into it a plan which Igor called for want of a better term the blueprints — it was in fact, a careful scale model of the device to be manufactured; the machine retooled itself and produced the artifact. One of them was, at that moment, moulding the bodies of fighting planes out of plastic, all in one piece and in one operation.

  “We are going to arm these jobs with both the stasis ray and rockets," said Igor. “Freeze 'em and then shoot the damn things down while they are out of control."

  They talked a few minutes, but Frost could see that Igor was getting fidgety. He guessed the reason. and asked to be excused. Igor seized on the suggestion. “We will see you a little later," he said with relief. “I’ll have some one dig up quarters for you. We are pretty rushed. War work — I know you’ll understand."

  Frost fell asleep that night planning how he could help his two young friends, and their friends, in their struggle.

  But it did not work out that way. His education had been academic rather than practical; he discovered that the reference books which Igor and Helen had brought along were so much Greek to him — worse, for he understood Greek. He was accorded all honor and a comfortable living because of Igor’s affirmation that he had been the indispensable agent whereby this planet had received the invaluable new weapons, but he soon realized that for the job at hand he was useless, not even fit to act as an interpreter.

  He was a harmless nuisance, a pensioner — and he knew it.

  And underground life got on his nerves. The ever present light bothered him. He had an unreasoned fear of radioactivity, born of ignorance, and Igor’s reassurances did not stifle the fear. The war depressed him. He was not temperamentally cut out to stand up under the nervous tension of war. His helplessness to aid in the war effort, his lack of companionship, and his idleness all worked to increase the malaise.

  He wandered into Igor and Helen’s workroom one day, hoping for a moment’s chat, if they were not too busy. They were not. Igor was pacing up and down, Helen followed them with worried eyes.

  He cleared his throat — “Uh — I say, something the matter?"

  Igor nodded, answered, “Quite a lot," and dropped back into his preoccupation.

  “It’s like this," said Helen. “In spite of the new weapons, things are still going against us. Igor is trying to figure out what to try next."

  “Oh, I see. Sorry." He started to leave.

  “Don’t go. Sit down." He did so, and started mulling the matter over in his mind. It was annoying, very annoying!

  “I’m afraid I’m not much use to you." he said at last to Helen. “Too bad Howard Jenkins isn’t here."

  “I don’t suppose it matters," she answered, “We have the cream of modern earth engineering in these books."

  “I don’t mean that. I mean Howard himself, as he is where he’s gone. They had a little gadget there in the future called a blaster. I gathered that it was a very powerful weapon indeed."

  Igor caught some of this and whirled around. “What was it? How did it work?"

  “Why, really," said Frost, “I can’t say. I’m not up on such things, you know. I gathered that it was sort of a disintegrating ray."

  “Can you sketch it? Think, man, think!"

  Frost tried. Presently he stopped and said, “I’m afraid this isn’t any good. I don’t remember clearly and anyhow I don’t know anything about the inside of it."

  Igor sighed, sat down, and ran his hand through his hair.

  After some minutes of gloomy silence, Helen said, “Couldn’t we go get it?"

  “Eh? How’s that? How would you find him?"

  “Could you find him. Professor?"

  Frost sat up. “I don’t know," he said slowly, “— but I’ll try!"

  There was the city. Yes, and there was the same gate he had passed through once before. He hurried on.

  Star Light was glad to see him, but not particularly surprised. Frost wondered if anything could surprise this dreamy girl. But Howard more than made up for her lack of enthusiasm. He pounded Frost’s back hard enough to cause pleurisy.

  “Welcome home, Master! Welcome home! I didn’t know whether or not you would ever come, but we are ready for you. I had a room built for you and you alone, in case you ever showed up. What do you think of that? You are to live with us, you know. No sense in ever going back to that grubby school."

  Frost thanked him, but added, “I came on business. I need your help, urgently."

  “You do? Well, tell me, man, tell me!"

  Frost explained. “So you see, I’ve got to take the secret of your blaster back to them. They need it. They must have it."

  “And they sha
ll have it," agreed Howard.

  Some time later the problem looked more complicated. Try as he would Frost was simply not able to soak up the technical knowledge necessary to be able to take the secret back. The pedagogical problem presented was as great as if an untutored savage were to be asked to comprehend radio engineering sufficiently to explain to engineers unfamiliar with radio how to build a major station. And Frost was by no means sure that he could take a blaster with him through the country of Time.

  “Well," said Howard at last, “I shall simply have to go with you."

  Star Light, who had listened quietly, showed her first acute interest. “Darling!

  You must not —"

  “Stop it," said Howard, his chin set stubbornly. “This is a matter of obligation and duty. You keep out of it."

  Frost felt the acute embarrassment one always feels when forced to overhear a husband and wife having a difference of opinion.

  When they were ready. Frost took Howard by the wrist. “Look me in the eyes," he said, “You remember how we did it before?"

  Howard was trembling. “I remember. Master, do you think you can do it — and not lose me?"

  “I hope so," said Frost, “now relax."

  They got back to the chamber from which Frost had started, a circumstance which Frost greeted with relief. It would have been awkward to have to cross half a planet to find his friends. He was not sure yet just how the spatial dimensions fitted into the time dimensions. Someday he would have to study the matter, work out an hypothesis and try to check it.

  Igor and Howard wasted little time on social amenities. They were deep into engineering matters before Helen had finished greeting the professor.

  At long last — “There," said Howard, “I guess that covers everything. I’ll leave my blaster for a model. Any more questions?"

  “No," said Igor, “I understand it, and I’ve got every word you’ve said recorded. I wonder if you know what this means to us, old man? It unquestionably will win the war for us."

  “I can guess," said Howard. “This little gadget is the mainstay of our systemwide pax. Ready, Doctor. I’m getting kinda anxious,"