The Time Masters

by Wilson Tucker

  Carolyn regarded him with distaste. “Your thinking patterns have fallen into human channels, mule. Slovenly. You and I aren’t human, remember? We can force our will on others, or have you forgotten.? Peenemunde was well guarded too, fantastically guarded. That madman’s military and secret police shot men out of hand for merely being in the vicinity of the place. And yet I stood fifteen feet away, on the arm of an officer, watching the assembly of a firing mechanism while the rocket lay in its launching cradle.” She was laughing at him again. “The bold and open approach is the most successful—the seemingly honest one. I will not go near your wonderful fence, not be found on the desert by radar. Give me more credit than that, Gilbert.”

  He said humourously, “Going to walk right up and say good morning, I suppose.”

  “I am, yes.” There was a defiance in her manner. “Or something very near to that. I’ve had ten years to establish a second identity.” Nash did not try to conceal the jolt of that. He sat up on the chair, peering at her. He realised very belatedly that he had underestimated Carolyn Hodgkins. He gave her full credit for the force that had caused her husband to design and build a reaction motor, although he knew it wasn’t as good as she thought because she simply didn’t have the training. And he gave her due credit for propelling her husband into the right places, to enable him to work on such a motor. Carolyn had accomplished much that was both good and evil in ten thousand years. But he had underestimated her in this one particular; it had never occurred to him that she might have just as carefully prepared a place for herself at White Sands, as she had prepared a ship for her expected journey. He was thinking in human patterns! If Carolyn had waited ten thousand years for this moment, and had spent ten years in planning it, she would certainly not leave the final step to blind chance.

  “So that’s why you take those vacations away from your husband,” he said wonderingly. “And that’s why he never knew where you were going or how long you would be gone.” Of course. Her free and un-challenged entry into the place had been previously prepared, had come before the ship and the motor to allay suspicion. You were out there, playing another role.”

  “Gilbert,” she exclaimed with evident surprise, “that shook you?”

  “Did, yes,” he admitted. “I don’t see—”

  “Oh, you poor plodding mule!” she jeered. “You have become like these savages. It’s just as well I’m not taking you back with me—you really belong here.” She pretended a false pity for his waning intelligence, making a small face for him. “I prepared another identity for myself years ago, as soon as I found an opening. Prepared it well and it is unquestioned today. Humans are terrible weaklings—they seem to believe that strength lies in secrecy and are blind to the weaknesses that walk hand in hand with secrecy. Surely you know human weaknesses, mule? How else do you move about so freely?”

  “I’ve purchased passports,” he answered, “and forged them too. They worship money.” He gestured beyond her toward the door. “But still

  “My presence on the desert is unquestioned,” she replied to his unspoken thought. “And my long absences are unremarked—thanks to the secrecy fetish. You would be quite surprised to observe how easily I may enter and leave White Sands, old mule. Quite surprised!”

  “Airtight?” he demanded. “Leakproof?”

  “That other identity? Absolutely. As trustworthy as the ship I’m going to hurl into space, Gilbert. The two are inseparable.”

  Nash gaped at her.

  The quick second shock followed hard on the heels of the first, knocking him off his mental balance. She was in at White Sands. “Why—Carolyn!” he exclaimed in involuntary astonishment. He could not conceal the glint of dawning admiration in his eyes, admiration for the sheer audacity of the scheming woman. And then, unaccountably, he laughed. Laughed aloud at what she had said and what it meant. He knew, with sudden and smashing certainty, what that second identity was. In truth, Carolyn had taken advantage of the secrecy fetish, placing herself in a position where few others could possibly recognise her as Hodgkins’s wife.

  What a rude shock one of Cummings’s fellow supervisors was in for.

  “Well I’ll be double damned!” he declared, and then apologised. “That’s another phrase they use around here.” He stood up. “Carolyn, you’re a wonder—and too much for me. You’ll never know what you’ve just done to me.” He moved toward the door. “I’m leaving.”

  Carolyn whipped up the gun on steady line with his eyes. “You are not leaving.” Slowly she arose from the divan, taking care to keep him covered with the automatic.

  “I’m leaving,” he repeated. “This is finished.”

  “You can’t leave! You’ll talk, Gilbert; you’ll ruin my chances of escape. You’re staying here.”

  “I promised you—” he began.

  “I can’t afford to accept your promises,” she cut him off curtly. “Not now, not this late. You refused to kiss me, you wouldn’t let me see what I wanted to see.” Her index finger caressed the. trigger. “My one hope of continuing life is sitting out there on the desert, waiting for me to seize it. My ship will be complete in a matter of days, complete and ready to jump, and then I’ll be on my way home after an eternity of waiting. I can’t afford to accept your promises, Gilbert Nash—I can’t afford any more risks. I’m going and you are staying. Here, in this cabin.”

  “Through the mouth?” he asked quietly, “like your dear departed husband?”

  “Where you stand!”

  They faced each other, tense and waiting. With her own growing tension Carolyn tightened the grip on the trigger. Nash dropped his eyes, concentrated on the muscles of that hand. When he spoke he did not raise his eyes to her face.

  “I can kill you in self-defence, Carolyn.”

  “You can’t move faster than a bullet.”

  He knew that, knew she was taunting him. “Just the two of us, out of a crew of three hundred,” he warned her. “I don’t want to be the last survivor.”

  “You won’t be, mule!”

  Her voice betrayed her. He realised that she was squeezing the trigger. Nash jumped. Not at her, as she expected, but sideways toward the door. His body hit the frail panel with a resounding thud and the booming explosion of the automatic was like an echo. The slug tore into his ear, bit into the side of his skull.

  Nash tumbled through the doorway to fall on the crushed rock spread outside. Someone screamed.

  XV.

  Ether and flowers.

  The flowers were pink roses, a large bunch of them standing in a yellowed vase. The vase rested on a window sill and beyond the sill were the graceful swaying tops of trees, of blue summer sky. A face hung somewhere near the roses and the window, hung over the back of a chair, a face which smelled of ether and pink roses. Nash squinted at it, blinked and looked again.

  Cummings said, “It’s about time.”

  He sat on a chair that had been turned about, staring at the bed. His arms were folded across the chair top and his face seemed to be resting on his arms.

  “Good morning,” Nash said to the face. He looked at the blue sky beyond the window. “Good afternoon?”

  “Good afternoon,” Cummings reported. “You certainly took your time about it.”

  “Sorry to have troubled you,” Nash said weakly.

  “People around here are a little worried.”

  “About me?” Nash guessed.

  “About you. Something about nonconformity.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Nash confessed.

  “I’m also concerned with the same, very much concerned.” There was a faint touch of bitterness to his voice. “But I have to wait; the damned doctors hold jurisdiction here. I’m generously allowed fifteen minutes when you wake up.”

  Nash tried to nod. “When I do.”

  “You haven’t yet. My fifteen minutes haven’t started. And so I’m concerned about this nonconformity. People here are somewhat upset by a double heart and a double circulatory system. The
y fail to understand the absence of a vermiform appendix. One or two of them were extremely agitated over the activity or nonactivity of certain endocrine glands.” Cummings pursed his lips. “Now me, I’m not too much bothered by details like that because they don’t mean much to me. The details are only that—details, added to the whole. The nonconformity of the whole puzzles me.” The head moved on the crossed arms, peering at the man on the bed.

  “I’ll probably disappoint you,” Nash replied, “but I can’t help it ©r explain it. That’s the way it is.”

  “That’s the way what is?”

  “Whatever you’re talking about.”

  Cummings fell silent for a moment, and then tried a different track. “Wife took a shot at you, eh?”

  “Not my wife.”

  “No? My apologies. Sister, maybe?”

  “No relation—for which I’m thankful.”

  “Where did she go?” Cummings asked then.

  “I didn’t have time to watch,” Nash retorted dryly. “Things moved rather fast last night.”

  “Last night?” The face hanging over the chair lit up in amusement. “Last night was eight days ago.”

  “What?”

  “Eight days ago. You seem to have been out of touch with the world; maybe I’d better bring you up to date. You lack a complete ear now, you know, and a bit of your skull. On the other hand you’ve gained a silver plate—back here.” He indicated a spot on the side of his head. “Oh yes—and you had a mouthful of crushed rock. That must have been quite a farewell party last night. It all added up to eight days.”

  Nash burst out with, “Did the—”

  “Did the what?” Cummings followed curiously.

  “Nothing.”

  “Did the something,” the other persisted. “Did the woman get away from us again? Yes, she did. We don’t seem very efficient, do we? Did the trailer-court proprietor raise hell? Yes, he did; you frightened away some of the tenants. Did the farm boy up the hill tell us the story about your ditched car? Yes, he did—he went up to have a look for himself and the location was wrong. Did the what?”

  “Did the lady take her trailer with her?”

  “The lady took nothing but the clothes on her back—if she was dressed. Was she?” he asked curiously. “It would make a nice love nest for the newspapers.” He considered that for a moment. “That’s what they’re printing, you know.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed. I didn’t consider it fitting that they should pry into our affairs—so, the love nest. There was some loose talk of a rape charge against you.”

  Nash laughed weakly and found that it hurt.

  Cummings shushed him. “Our fifteen minutes haven’t started yet. You aren’t awake.”

  “Thanks.” He looked toward the window. “Roses?”

  “Hoffman.”

  “Nice girl.”

  “Useless girl. Thanks to you.”

  “I’m sorry—really am.”

  “She went in head over heels.”

  “I suspected that, and intended to stop it.”

  “Why?” Cummings asked candidly.

  “Hell,” Nash said, “I’m old enough to be her grandfather!”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” the supervisor said quietly. Not more than forty-something, according to your police papers.”

  “All right then, father.”

  “I’d judge about thirty, looking at you.”

  “I feel like an old man.”

  “My friend,” the agent said confidently, leaning forward, “you’re going to feel one hell of a lot older when I get through with you! When this hospital releases you. One hell of a lot older!”

  “Cheerful prospect,” Nash assured him. “Makes me want to get out of bed now.”

  “Oh, take your time, take your time. Relax and enjoy yourself, let the pretty nurses wait on you. It’ll be your last rest for a long, long time, my friend. I’m going to put you through the works, I promise you!” The head remained motionless over the back of the chair but a smile appeared, a hollow, ghastly smile. “I’m going to ask questions and you are going to. answer them—believe me, you’ll answer them. You’ll start by telling me where you came from, and why. You’ll tell me how and where you landed in this country, and when. You’ll furnish minute detail of each and every hour of your life from the moment you were born until ‘last night’ eight days ago when an ambulance driver picked you off the ground. You’ll tell me your “exact purpose for being here and exact reason for locating in this city. You’ll tell me everything you know about the woman who married Gregg Hodgkins; why she married him, what her connection is to you, and why the two of you conspired to murder him. You’ll tell me why the two of you murdered Dikty, why the two of you finally quarelled and she attempted to murder you. You’ll tell me why the two of you were interested in the atomic plants, why she married Hodgkins, why Hodgkins came to you and what he said to you. My friend,” Cummings promised, “you’ll talk!”

  Nash looked across at him. “I think you mean it.”

  There was a clatter of quick steps and a flurry of white at the door. A young nurse put her head in to discover Nash awake. “Well! And how is our patient?” She glanced at her watch. “My, but you’ve been sleeping.” She threw a fast glare at Cummings. “Why didn’t you call me?” Back to Nash. “Do you want anything? Resting comfortably?” Again to Cummings. “I think you’d better leave now. You should have called me.” And finally to Nash. “How are you?”

  He answered, “Hello,” and let it go at that.

  Cummings tried to explain. “He just a minute ago woke up. He said to me—”

  “I thought I heard voices in here,” the nurse broke in. “I’ll call doctor. He will be delighted to hear this.” Another glare across the room. “You’d best leave, sir.” Once more the man on the bed received her professional inspection. “Do you want anything?”

  “No.” He moved his head to grin at Cummings. “So long, chum. See you in the morning, no doubt.”

  “And the afternoon, and the evening, and the next morning after that, forever and ever. Don’t forget what I said—I mean’t it all right!” The supervisor got up from the chair to reveal that a body, after all, was attached to the balancing head. “I’ll be here.” He crossed over to the door and paused, turning again to look at Nash. “And just in case you’re entertaining ideas, forget them. You’ll find us in the corridor and all around the building.” He made a circling motion with his finger.

  Nash listened to his fading footfalls outside.

  “Is there a man waiting in the corridor?” he asked the nurse.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And outdoors too?”

  “I think so. I haven’t seen them but some of the girls were talking.” Nash nodded. “Nurse—there is something I want.”

  “I thought so!” she grinned triumphantly, and opened a closet door to bring out a pan. “Visitors can be a nuisance at times.” She came toward him.

  “No, not that!” he protested.

  The ready grin faded. “But I thought—”

  “Sorry, you misunderstood me. I want information, a newspaper. What’s been happening?”

  “Well, I’ll try to find one.” The grin returned to her youthful face. “You were in them—with a mysterious blonde. It’s always a mysterious blonde, isn’t it?” She stood off to examine him. “What did you do to her?”

  “Nothing,” he declaimed with mild exasperation, “and I’m not interested in mysterious blondes. Was there anything in the papers about a rocket ship—a space ship?”

  “A space ship? Well—no. Should there be.?”

  “Are you sure? Nothing at all?”

  “I didn’t see anything.” The nurse considered him for a moment. “Is it going to the moon or something?”

  “I don’t think so,” Nash replied absently, slowly, his thoughts elsewhere. “I don’t know, I can only guess. But I doubt very, very much that it’s going to the moon. I don’t think it was intended fo
r the moon—” he broke off, looked up at the nurse. “May I have a glass of milk? And the papers?”

  “Yes, sir.” She came nearer the bed and lowered her voice. “That policeman is quite angry with you. He’s been storming up and down the corridor for days, just waiting. I hope you haven’t done anything wrong. He seems to be making a lot of fuss just over a mysterious blonde.”

  “That policeman,” Nash said, “wants to know the answers to a thousand questions—that’s why he’s angry with me. And do you know what? If I can’t find a way out, a way to evade him and his men outside, I’ll just have to stay and answer the questions.” He grinned at the girl. “And don’t think that won’t add to his misery.”

  XVI.

  Ground zero.

  The warning signal of red smoke belched from a near-by stack. From one of the underground control bunkers an automatic timer tripped a blaring klaxon each five minutes. There was no movement, no sign of life above ground. Cameras mounted on vertical tracks aimed their lenses at the object; interspersed among them were microphones, already relaying sound back to the tape recorders. The long barrels of the telescopic lenses on television pickups peeped from slots of concrete.

  The object resembled a two-step rocket.

  The lower half was a rocket, a heavy, squat booster designed only for the purpose of getting the sleek monster above it off the ground. The rocket rested quietly on four fins whose tips stood on concrete bases; its vast bulk was nothing more than a huge fuel tank tapering at the bottom to a rounded, bulging firing chamber and exhaust tubes. It had but one purpose, and was expendable. The rocket’s job was to carry its load a certain height where any possible atomic reaction would not harm those who waited below.