The Green Futures of Tycho

by William Sleator

  “Disease?” Ludwig said, sounding baffled. Then suddenly he was angry. “You’re just trying to fool me, aren’t you? To threaten me, to scare me! Well it won’t work. I’m showing them.” He started for the door.

  “But why, Ludwig?” Tycho said. “You’re not making sense. What are you trying to prove?”

  In the doorway, Ludwig turned back. “I’m trying to prove that …” He squeezed his eyes shut. Then he looked briefly at the paper again. “Before it happened, you wrote down here that I would come to your room, and find this paper, and threaten to show it to them,” he murmured. “You couldn’t know I was going to do that, but you predicted it. Your prediction came true. And now you’re telling me …” Then he grabbed Tycho’s shoulder and squeezed it painfully. “What kind of disease? Tell me! What is it? What’s it going to do to me?”

  “Ouch, Ludwig. You’re hurting me!” Tycho pulled away. “You didn’t have to be so rough,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

  “Tell me!”

  Tycho rubbed his eyes, trying to bring forth some tears. “It’s hard to tell you exactly,” he said in a choked voice. “Some things are definite, others are fuzzy and vague. I just see you getting more and more confused, having hallucinations, forgetting things, getting mixed up. And then … I have this picture of you lying in bed, with your body all covered up and … not moving.”

  Ludwig’s face was always pale, but now it had gone almost chalk white. “I wouldn’t believe you … . I wouldn’t believe you at all. Only … you did predict what was going to happen. I … Can’t you tell me any more? Is there any way to prevent it?”

  “Oh, Ludwig, I don’t know any more,” Tycho moaned. He had even managed to get some tears to well up out of his eyes. “I wish I could tell you more, I really do. You start out imagining things, and then it gets worse and worse. Maybe I’ll find out more, when I have another dream. Maybe, if you take care of yourself, it won’t get any worse.”

  “If I take care of myself,” Ludwig said almost inaudibly. He looked numbly at the paper, then let it slip to the floor. “You did predict, you really did. I have to believe it … . I did think there was something. Now I don’t know what. I …” He turned and wandered out of the room.

  With a deep sigh, Tycho sank down onto the bed.

  That night he traveled to the future again.

  13

  TYCHO COULDN’T HELP WONDERING ABOUT what had gone on in Ludwig’s mind. After all, he had read Tycho’s description of the future; he had seen the egg on the floor. Tycho remembered those events himself. But then Tycho had gone into the past and altered things so that those events would not occur. But what did that really mean? Had they happened or not? And how much did Ludwig remember? Had the events been completely wiped out, or did some memory of them still linger in his brain? He had experienced them. That is, if they had ever really happened.

  The situation was paradoxical and confusing. And now that the emergency was over, what he had done made Tycho uncomfortable. He tried to assure himself that all that mattered was the end result: Ludwig was convinced that he was having hallucinations and would no longer be suspicious of Tycho. One of his major problems had been eliminated. In a way, he was relieved. It was just so unfortunate that Ludwig had to believe he was incurably ill. That thought made Tycho feel rather sick himself. But it was Ludwig’s own fault, argued another part of him. If he had just left Tycho alone, it never would have happened.

  Thinking about it all gave Tycho a strange, fuzzy headache. He wanted to get away and forget about the whole disorderly episode. And now, after his realization about chance, the future beckoned invitingly once again. Its pull, in fact, was irresistible. Something still gnawed at him about visiting the future, but he had little trouble pushing it away. It was essential that he keep going back until he found the best possible future—for the rest of his family as well as for himself. It wasn’t selfish at all. If he didn’t go, they might all end up trapped in one of those terrible times. He was the only one who could prevent it.

  Now he knew better than to make the jump from his bedroom. The room would probably be completely different again, and he didn’t want to risk ending up in the same space as some new piece of furniture. What would happen then? There was also the chance that he might arrive at the same future he had visited the last time. If so, he wanted to be well out of the way of his enraged older self.

  When everyone was asleep, he went quietly downstairs and out to his spot behind the oak tree. His last trip had been short, only about half an hour, so he would set the dials to arrive at 3:15. He took the egg out of his pocket—and was hardly surprised to see that it had changed again.

  Deep inside the green jewel, the shapes were now distinct; not drifting, but appearing to move quite purposefully. With difficulty, he dragged his eyes away from them to examine the middle. What he had thought were filaments were actually bands of little glittering cells, protruding slightly from the surface. There were three of them now, silver, red and gold. When he examined them more closely, he saw that there was motion here too. Or perhaps it was just tiny lights flickering on and off, the way blinking lights on a neon sign create the impression of movement. Clearly the egg was be- coming increasingly active. It chilled him. But he didn’t wait to think about what the activity might mean. He was getting better and better at avoiding certain things.

  He pressed down on the jewel, felt faint, and traveled 19 years, 363 days, 16 hours and 15 minutes into the future. He had closed his eyes in preparation for the sudden appearance of the sun. Impatiently he waited for them to adjust. This might be one of the good futures! The glare faded. He opened his eyes eagerly.

  The tree was gone. The grass was gone. He was standing on pavement. One inch from his nose was a solid wall.

  He backed away to get a better look. A new addition to the house filled what had once been the backyard. No attempt had been made to create a pleasing relationship between the old and new. The contrast in styles was jarring; bringing them together this way made each structure look uglier than it would on its own.

  But when Tycho held up his hand to block out the old house, he found that he rather liked the new addition. It was made of some kind of gleaming green plastic and appeared to have been poured. If some thick viscous liquid, seething and boiling and bubbling, had suddenly gone solid, it might look like this. There were ripples and eddies across its surface, and unexpected indentations and protuberances. It made no geometrical sense at all. Tycho wondered briefly who had dreamed it up.

  He couldn’t see anyone watching him from the old part of the house. He set the dials on the egg for a quick return, then slipped it into his pocket and started walking around the new structure. Was it intended to be beautiful, or was its shape determined by some function? And what could that function possibly be? He was hoping to find a window or a door, but he made a complete inspection without discovering either. It was totally sealed off from the outside, connected to the original building where the kitchen door had once been. The only way to get inside was through the old house, which he would now have to enter by the front door.

  No one seemed to have noticed him yet. Maybe the house was empty and he could get inside without any trouble. When he reached the side of the house, he turned back for another look. From this angle he could see the top of the addition. A complex arrangement of curving metal rods, like a silvery spiderweb, arched up toward the sky. As he watched, the rods undulated slightly, like delicate saplings moving in a breeze. Only there was no breeze.

  He walked around the house and hurried up the front steps, to find that the old wooden front door with its large window was gone. In its place was a solid opaque rectangle, painted the same muddy green as the rest of the house. He pushed at the metal handle, then pulled. The door didn’t budge. He tried again, with all his strength. Nothing happened. The door was locked.

  It wasn’t fair! To find that enticing, magical new structure, and then be unable to find out what it was for, or even
to get a glimpse inside, was unbearably frustrating. So far he had seen nothing ominous at all. This might well be one of the good futures. He couldn’t allow himself to leave without finding out what was going on. Was he going to have to take the risk of climbing in one of the windows? He wasn’t sure he even knew how to open them from the outside.

  He pulled and pushed at the door again, grunting. It was useless. Without much hope, he bent down to examine the keyhole under the handle. But was it even a keyhole? It resembled no lock he had ever seen before. It was not shaped like a key, and did not seem to have any parts that could move. It was merely a round indentation in the door, faceted, like a miniature gelatin mold.

  He peered closer. There was something familiar about it. Where had he seen that shape before?

  His hand strayed to his pocket to grip the egg. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he pulled it out. Looking at it might make him feel better. He gazed down into the jewel.

  That was it! The jewel was the same shape as the indentation in the door. He pressed it into the hole. There was a slight sensation of suction, or magnetic attraction, as the jewel slipped snugly into place. He touched the handle. The door slid silently and effortlessly into the wall.

  So it was more than just a time travel device. It was a tool that could do other things as well. Apparently in this future he had discovered what some of them were. If only the house would be empty now! There was probably so much he could find out inside.

  But the first thing he was aware of as he entered was footsteps on the second floor. Unfamiliar footsteps, halting and slow. If he was going to see much before he got caught, he would have to be very quiet and careful.

  This living room had the same bulbous green furniture, sprouting like various fungi out of the floor and walls. But it looked years older now, faded and worn, and not very clean. Lint and dust were everywhere. There was the large video screen, the lamps like tentacles, looking chipped and scratched and rarely used. And the piano was gone. In its place was a large bacteria-shaped sculpture of some green, jellylike material, with little white cacti growing out of it. The piano had been more attractive. Had Ludwig gone away and taken it with him? He could hear sounds that were probably supposed to be music, coming perhaps from a radio.

  Then there were more footsteps above, quicker than the others. They moved to the stairs and started down.

  The sculpture was ugly, but it made a convenient hiding place. Tycho crouched behind it. It was transparent enough to see through, distorting the world like a green fun-house mirror. Tamara appeared on the staircase, gnarled and pulsating through the plastic. She still had her hair in a bun, but her body had grown thick and graceless. She wore heavy practical shoes and a shapeless housedress; and though the day was warm, she was hunched inside a heavy sweater. Preoccupied, she moved through the rooms without a glance in Tycho’s direction and disappeared into the kitchen. Tycho listened for a moment, then moved out from behind the sculpture and followed her. The sounds grew louder as he neared the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold and peered inside.

  The futuristic kitchen he had seen on his first trip already looked worn out: the once gleaming fixtures dull and grimy. An unappetizing smell of old fish and rancid grease lingered there. Tycho wrinkled his nose. Judy’s kitchen had never smelled like that. But what difference did the kitchen make? It was the new addition he was interested in. He moved sideways against the kitchen wall as far as the refrigerator.

  Where the back door had been, there was now an arched green passageway, descending slightly. Pressed against the curving side of the refrigerator, Tycho watched Tamara enter the passage. From his protected vantage point, he could see only the first few feet. Immediately Tamara was lost from view. To see more, he would have to step out from behind his cover and risk exposure. But he had no choice. He had to find out what was inside that thing. If she noticed him, he could always escape. Slowly, slowly he moved out from behind the refrigerator.

  And was so amazed by what he saw that he forgot to be careful at all. He just stood there and stared.

  Sunlight poured through the walls of the domelike room, bathing everything in a green glow. Ludwig, gaunt and aging at thirty-six, with only a thin fringe of pale hair, sat in the center of the room. He was almost completely surrounded by an electronic keyboard growing out of the floor. It had far more keys than a piano, and because of the way it curved around him, he could reach all of them easily. He played lethargically, a pained, stoic expression on his face. And no wonder. A slithering, shrieking noise pulled from the instrument, like fingernails on a blackboard accompanied by the hiss and plop of bubbling mud, with a piercing obbligato of dentist drills. A spiderweb of metal rods, like the ones on the roof outside, hung from the ceiling directly over his head. The rods shivered and twitched with the same gasping, gulping rhythm as the music. Was it a kind of broadcasting device?

  Leonardo was ensconced in an alcove on the left. Though not quite as huge as the Leo Tycho had seen on the satellite, he was still obese. Pasty dewlaps hung from his face, and the flesh of his torso bulged over upon itself in quivering folds. He was working on a sculpture like the one in the living room, taking some slimy green stuff from a vat beside him and shaping it carefully with his pudgy hands. This sculpture was covered with veiny, wrinkled bumps and snoutlike protuberances. There was a finished one on a shelf behind him that looked like a spiky sea anemone with several gaping, thick-lipped mouths.

  Tamara was just sitting down at a kind of counter on the other side of Ludwig. There was only one object on the counter. It was far more glittering and complex than the object in Tycho’s pocket. Still, the jewel at one end of it was easily recognizable. Casually Tamara picked it up, and Tycho felt an uneasy pang. What was Tamara doing with it? And where was, his older self? Why didn’t he have it?

  Leonardo looked up from his work for a moment. “Is Bobby feeling any better?” he asked.

  “No,” Tamara said quietly. “I gave him an even larger dose. The pain seemed a little less when I left him. He was reading. I don’t think it’s going to last much longer.”

  “The sooner the better,” Leonardo said. “Judy was luckier. She gave up right away.”

  “What about him?” Ludwig said grimly, still playing.

  “He’s asleep,” Tamara said, and looked at her watch.

  Instantly, Ludwig lifted his hands from the keyboard.

  “Be careful, Ludwig!” Tamara hissed. “He could wake up any second. You know we’re all linked together now. If he jolts you, I’ll get it too.”

  “I know that,” Ludwig said. “But just listen. Isn’t it worth it?”

  The relief from the sound of the keyboard was indeed blissful. “I know, I know it’s heavenly,” Tamara said tensely. “But as soon as he notices …”

  “And now, just listen to this,” said Ludwig, his face lighting up as he turned a knob and pressed a couple of buttons.

  “Ludwig, no! He’ll hear you,” pleaded Leonardo.

  But Ludwig wasn’t listening. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and plunged into the Revolutionary Étude. Though the electronic sounds were thin and whining in comparison to the rich resonance of a real piano, Ludwig’s passionate playing did give the music some depth. It was frightening to watch the tension of Tamara’s and Leonardo’s faces. But as Ludwig continued to play, and nothing happened, they began visibly to relax.

  In the middle of the piece, Ludwig faltered, played some wrong notes, and stopped. He went back a few bars and tried again, and then again, but could not get beyond a certain point. He dropped his hands weakly to his sides and shook his head. “I’ve forgotten it,” he said dully. “This fake instrument, playing all this garbage … it drives the real stuff out of my head.”

  “Well, you better start playing it again,” said Leonardo, picking up another handful of green stuff. “It was great while it lasted, but every minute the risk gets—”

  “No! Ludwig said vehemently. “Who knows when I’ll
ever get another chance? Here’s a piece I’ll never forget.” And he began playing something soft and wistful and slow, a Gymnopedie by Satie.

  “Oh,” Tamara murmured, and her face softened, the furrows almost vanishing. “Oh, remember that piece? Remember how it was when you used to play that?” She lifted her eyes and turned toward her two brothers.

  “You used to dance around the house when I played it,” said Ludwig, smiling at her, his hands moving gracefully over the keys.

  Leonardo turned from his work with abrupt distaste and wiped off his hands on a cloth. “That was when we had a yard, instead of this ugly thing,” he said. “With grass and trees. And the top floor was mine then, not his. I used to … paint things on the walls.”

  “I remember,” Ludwig said, nodding. “You did a wonderful mural of a school cafeteria, I think. I can still picture the food.”

  “Food,” Leonardo said. He chuckled ironically. “If only we’d known at the time. We never really appreciated enough. When I think of the kinds of things Judy used to make …”

  Tycho heard the creak of a floorboard, far above, and the sound of a door opening. Was it his older self waking up?

  The others didn’t seem to have heard it. “And remember what Bobby and Judy were like then?” Tamara said, her voice growing excited. “They were so full of ideas, and plans and hope. Whoever thought they would just give up like they did, when everything changed?”

  “When did everything start to change, anyway?” said Leonardo, frowning. “It’s so difficult to pinpoint it exactly.”

  “That’s true,” said Ludwig, still playing. “It was so gradual, it had happened before we really noticed anything. But you know, there was a time when even … he was different.”

  “That’s right,” Tamara said, folding her arms across her chest and nodding. “If I think really hard, I can see him as a child.”

  Now, distinctly, Tycho heard footsteps on the attic stairs. It must be his older self coming down. Maybe he should warn them. But how? If only they would listen!