The Variable Man

by Philip K. Dick

  II

  Thomas Cole was sharpening a knife with his whetstone when the tornadohit.

  The knife belonged to the lady in the big green house. Every time Colecame by with his Fixit cart the lady had something to be sharpened.Once in awhile she gave him a cup of coffee, hot black coffee from anold bent pot. He liked that fine; he enjoyed good coffee.

  The day was drizzly and overcast. Business had been bad. An automobilehad scared his two horses. On bad days less people were outside and hehad to get down from the cart and go to ring doorbells.

  But the man in the yellow house had given him a dollar for fixing hiselectric refrigerator. Nobody else had been able to fix it, not eventhe factory man. The dollar would go a long way. A dollar was a lot.

  He knew it was a tornado even before it hit him. Everything wassilent. He was bent over his whetstone, the reins between his knees,absorbed in his work.

  He had done a good job on the knife; he was almost finished. He spaton the blade and was holding it up to see--and then the tornado came.

  All at once it was there, completely around him. Nothing but grayness.He and the cart and horses seemed to be in a calm spot in the centerof the tornado. They were moving in a great silence, gray misteverywhere.

  And while he was wondering what to do, and how to get the lady's knifeback to her, all at once there was a bump and the tornado tipped himover, sprawled out on the ground. The horses screamed in fear,struggling to pick themselves up. Cole got quickly to his feet.

  _Where was he?_

  The grayness was gone. White walls stuck up on all sides. A deep lightgleamed down, not daylight but something like it. The team was pullingthe cart on its side, dragging it along, tools and equipment fallingout. Cole righted the cart, leaping up onto the seat.

  And for the first time saw the people.

  Men, with astonished white faces, in some sort of uniforms. Shouts,noise and confusion. And a feeling of danger!

  Cole headed the team toward the door. Hoofs thundered steel againststeel as they pounded through the doorway, scattering the astonishedmen in all directions. He was out in a wide hall. A building, like ahospital.

  The hall divided. More men were coming, spilling from all sides.

  Shouting and milling in excitement, like white ants. Something cutpast him, a beam of dark violet. It seared off a corner of the cart,leaving the wood smoking.

  Cole felt fear. He kicked at the terrified horses. They reached a bigdoor, crashing wildly against it. The door gave--and they wereoutside, bright sunlight blinking down on them. For a sickening secondthe cart tilted, almost turning over. Then the horses gained speed,racing across an open field, toward a distant line of green, Coleholding tightly to the reins.

  Behind him the little white-faced men had come out and were standingin a group, gesturing frantically. He could hear their faint shrillshouts.

  But he had got away. He was safe. He slowed the horses down and beganto breathe again.

  The woods were artificial. Some kind of park. But the park was wildand overgrown. A dense jungle of twisted plants. Everything growing inconfusion.

  The park was empty. No one was there. By the position of the sun hecould tell it was either early morning or late afternoon. The smell ofthe flowers and grass, the dampness of the leaves, indicated morning.It had been late afternoon when the tornado had picked him up. And thesky had been overcast and cloudy.

  Cole considered. Clearly, he had been carried a long way. Thehospital, the men with white faces, the odd lighting, the accentedwords he had caught--everything indicated he was no longer inNebraska--maybe not even in the United States.

  Some of his tools had fallen out and gotten lost along the way. Colecollected everything that remained, sorting them, running his fingersover each tool with affection. Some of the little chisels and woodgouges were gone. The bit box had opened, and most of the smaller bitshad been lost. He gathered up those that remained and replaced themtenderly in the box. He took a key-hole saw down, and with an oil ragwiped it carefully and replaced it.

  Above the cart the sun rose slowly in the sky. Cole peered up, hishorny hand over his eyes. A big man, stoop-shouldered, his chin grayand stubbled. His clothes wrinkled and dirty. But his eyes were clear,a pale blue, and his hands were finely made.

  He could not stay in the park. They had seen him ride that way; theywould be looking for him.

  Far above something shot rapidly across the sky. A tiny black dotmoving with incredible haste. A second dot followed. The two dots weregone almost before he saw them. They were utterly silent.

  Cole frowned, perturbed. The dots made him uneasy. He would have tokeep moving--and looking for food. His stomach was already beginningto rumble and groan.

  Work. There was plenty he could do: gardening, sharpening, grinding,repair work on machines and clocks, fixing all kinds of householdthings. Even painting and odd jobs and carpentry and chores.

  He could do anything. Anything people wanted done. For a meal andpocket money.

  Thomas Cole urged the team into life, moving forward. He sat hunchedover in the seat, watching intently, as the Fixit cart rolled slowlyacross the tangled grass, through the jungle of trees and flowers.

  * * * * *

  Reinhart hurried, racing his cruiser at top speed, followed by asecond ship, a military escort. The ground sped by below him, a blurof gray and green.

  The remains of New York lay spread out, a twisted, blunted ruinovergrown with weeds and grass. The great atomic wars of the twentiethcentury had turned virtually the whole seaboard area into an endlesswaste of slag.

  Slag and weeds below him. And then the sudden tangle that had beenCentral Park.

  Histo-research came into sight. Reinhart swooped down, bringing hiscruiser to rest at the small supply field behind the main buildings.

  Harper, the chief official of the department, came quickly over assoon as Reinhart's ship landed.

  "Frankly, we don't understand why you consider this matter important,"Harper said uneasily.

  Reinhart shot him a cold glance. "I'll be the judge of what'simportant. Are you the one who gave the order to bring the bubble backmanually?"

  "Fredman gave the actual order. In line with your directive to haveall facilities ready for--"

  Reinhart headed toward the entrance of the research building. "Whereis Fredman?"

  "Inside."

  "I want to see him. Let's go."

  Fredman met them inside. He greeted Reinhart calmly, showing noemotion. "Sorry to cause you trouble, Commissioner. We were trying toget the station in order for the war. We wanted the bubble back asquickly as possible." He eyed Reinhart curiously. "No doubt the manand his cart will soon be picked up by your police."

  "I want to know everything that happened, in exact detail."

  Fredman shifted uncomfortably. "There's not much to tell. I gave theorder to have the automatic setting canceled and the bubble broughtback manually. At the moment the signal reached it, the bubble waspassing through the spring of 1913. As it broke loose, it tore off apiece of ground on which this person and his cart were located. Theperson naturally was brought up to the present, inside the bubble."

  "Didn't any of your instruments tell you the bubble was loaded?"

  "We were too excited to take any readings. Half an hour after themanual control was thrown, the bubble materialized in the observationroom. It was de-energized before anyone noticed what was inside. Wetried to stop him but he drove the cart out into the hall, bowling usout of the way. The horses were in a panic."

  "What kind of cart was it?"

  "There was some kind of sign on it. Painted in black letters on bothsides. No one saw what it was."

  "Go ahead. What happened then?"

  "Somebody fired a Slem-ray after him, but it missed. The horsescarried him out of the building and onto the grounds. By the time wereached the exit the cart was half way to the park."

  Reinhart reflected. "If he's still in the park we shou
ld have himshortly. But we must be careful." He was already starting back towardhis ship, leaving Fredman behind. Harper fell in beside him.

  Reinhart halted by his ship. He beckoned some Government guards over."Put the executive staff of this department under arrest. I'll havethem tried on a treason count, later on." He smiled ironically asHarper's face blanched sickly pale. "There's a war going on. You'll belucky if you get off alive."

  Reinhart entered his ship and left the surface, rising rapidly intothe sky. A second ship followed after him, a military escort. Reinhartflew high above the sea of gray slag, the unrecovered waste area. Hepassed over a sudden square of green set in the ocean of gray.Reinhart gazed back at it until it was gone.

  Central Park. He could see police ships racing through the sky, shipsand transports loaded with troops, heading toward the square of green.On the ground some heavy guns and surface cars rumbled along, lines ofblack approaching the park from all sides.

  They would have the man soon. But meanwhile, the SRB machines wereblank. And on the SRB machines' readings the whole war depended.

  About noon the cart reached the edge of the park. Cole rested for amoment, allowing the horses time to crop at the thick grass. Thesilent expanse of slag amazed him. What had happened? Nothing stirred.No buildings, no sign of life. Grass and weeds poked up occasionallythrough it, breaking the flat surface here and there, but even so, thesight gave him an uneasy chill.

  Cole drove the cart slowly out onto the slag, studying the sky abovehim. There was nothing to hide him, now that he was out of the park.The slag was bare and uniform, like the ocean. If he were spotted--

  A horde of tiny black dots raced across the sky, coming rapidlycloser. Presently they veered to the right and disappeared. Moreplanes, wingless metal planes. He watched them go, driving slowly on.

  Half an hour later something appeared ahead. Cole slowed the cartdown, peering to see. The slag came to an end. He had reached itslimits. Ground appeared, dark soil and grass. Weeds grew everywhere.Ahead of him, beyond the end of the slag, was a line of buildings,houses of some sort. Or sheds.

  Houses, probably. But not like any he had ever seen.

  The houses were uniform, all exactly the same. Like little greenshells, rows of them, several hundred. There was a little lawn infront of each. Lawn, a path, a front porch, bushes in a meager rowaround each house. But the houses were all alike and very small.

  Little green shells in precise, even rows. He urged the cartcautiously forward, toward the houses.

  No one seemed to be around. He entered a street between two rows ofhouses, the hoofs of his two horses sounding loudly in the silence. Hewas in some kind of town. But there were no dogs or children.Everything was neat and silent. Like a model. An exhibit. It made himuncomfortable.

  A young man walking along the pavement gaped at him in wonder. Anoddly-dressed youth, in a toga-like cloak that hung down to his knees.A single piece of fabric. And sandals.

  Or what looked like sandals. Both the cloak and the sandals were ofsome strange half-luminous material. It glowed faintly in thesunlight. Metallic, rather than cloth.

  A woman was watering flowers at the edge of a lawn. She straightenedup as his team of horses came near. Her eyes widened inastonishment--and then fear. Her mouth fell open in a soundless _O_and her sprinkling can slipped from her fingers and rolled silentlyonto the lawn.

  Cole blushed and turned his head quickly away. The woman was scarcelydressed! He flicked the reins and urged the horses to hurry.

  Behind him, the woman still stood. He stole a brief, hasty lookback--and then shouted hoarsely to his team, ears scarlet. He had seenright. She wore only a pair of translucent shorts. Nothing else. Amere fragment of the same half-luminous material that glowed andsparkled. The rest of her small body was utterly naked.

  He slowed the team down. She had been pretty. Brown hair and eyes,deep red lips. Quite a good figure. Slender waist, downy legs, bareand supple, full breasts--. He clamped the thought furiously off. Hehad to get to work. Business.

  Cole halted the Fixit cart and leaped down onto the pavement. Heselected a house at random and approached it cautiously. The house wasattractive. It had a certain simple beauty. But it looked frail--andexactly like the others.

  He stepped up on the porch. There was no bell. He searched for it,running his hand uneasily over the surface of the door. All at oncethere was a click, a sharp snap on a level with his eyes. Cole glancedup, startled. A lens was vanishing as the door section slid over it.He had been photographed.

  While he was wondering what it meant, the door swung suddenly open. Aman filled up the entrance, a big man in a tan uniform, blocking theway ominously.

  "What do you want?" the man demanded.

  "I'm looking for work," Cole murmured. "Any kind of work. I can doanything, fix any kind of thing. I repair broken objects. Things thatneed mending." His voice trailed off uncertainly. "Anything at all."

  "Apply to the Placement Department of the Federal Activities ControlBoard," the man said crisply. "You know all occupational therapy ishandled through them." He eyed Cole curiously. "Why have you got onthose ancient clothes?"

  "Ancient? Why, I--"

  The man gazed past him at the Fixit cart and the two dozing horses."What's that? What are those two animals? _Horses?_" The man rubbedhis jaw, studying Cole intently. "That's strange," he said.

  "Strange?" Cole murmured uneasily. "Why?"

  "There haven't been any horses for over a century. All the horses werewiped out during the Fifth Atomic War. That's why it's strange."

  Cole tensed, suddenly alert. There was something in the man's eyes, ahardness, a piercing look. Cole moved back off the porch, onto thepath. He had to be careful. Something was wrong.

  "I'll be going," he murmured.

  "There haven't been any horses for over a hundred years." The man cametoward Cole. "Who are you? Why are you dressed up like that? Where didyou get that vehicle and pair of horses?"

  "I'll be going," Cole repeated, moving away.

  The man whipped something from his belt, a thin metal tube. He stuckit toward Cole.

  It was a rolled-up paper, a thin sheet of metal in the form of a tube.Words, some kind of script. He could not make any of them out. Theman's picture, rows of numbers, figures--

  "I'm Director Winslow," the man said. "Federal Stockpile Conservation.You better talk fast, or there'll be a Security car here in fiveminutes."

  Cole moved--fast. He raced, head down, back along the path to thecart, toward the street.

  Something hit him. A wall of force, throwing him down on his face. Hesprawled in a heap, numb and dazed. His body ached, vibrating wildly,out of control. Waves of shock rolled over him, gradually diminishing.

  He got shakily to his feet. His head spun. He was weak, shattered,trembling violently. The man was coming down the walk after him. Colepulled himself onto the cart, gasping and retching. The horses jumpedinto life. Cole rolled over against the seat, sick with the motion ofthe swaying cart.

  He caught hold of the reins and managed to drag himself up in asitting position. The cart gained speed, turning a corner. Houses flewpast. Cole urged the team weakly, drawing great shuddering breaths.Houses and streets, a blur of motion, as the cart flew faster andfaster along.

  Then he was leaving the town, leaving the neat little houses behind.He was on some sort of highway. Big buildings, factories, on bothsides of the highway. Figures, men watching in astonishment.

  After awhile the factories fell behind. Cole slowed the team down.What had the man meant? Fifth Atomic War. Horses destroyed. It didn'tmake sense. And they had things he knew nothing about. Force fields.Planes without wings--soundless.

  Cole reached around in his pockets. He found the identification tubethe man had handed him. In the excitement he had carried it off. Heunrolled the tube slowly and began to study it. The writing wasstrange to him.

  For a long time he studied the tube. Then, gradually, he became awareof something. Something in th
e top right-hand corner.

  A date. October 6, 2128.

  Cole's vision blurred. Everything spun and wavered around him.October, 2128. Could it be?

  But he held the paper in his hand. Thin, metal paper. Like foil. Andit had to be. It said so, right in the corner, printed on the paperitself.

  Cole rolled the tube up slowly, numbed with shock. Two hundred years.It didn't seem possible. But things were beginning to make sense. Hewas in the future, two hundred years in the future.

  While he was mulling this over, the swift black Security ship appearedoverhead, diving rapidly toward the horse-drawn cart, as it movedslowly along the road.

  Reinhart's vidscreen buzzed. He snapped it quickly on. "Yes?"

  "Report from Security."

  "Put it through." Reinhart waited tensely as the lines locked inplace. The screen re-lit.

  "This is Dixon. Western Regional Command." The officer cleared histhroat, shuffling his message plates. "The man from the past has beenreported, moving away from the New York area."

  "Which side of your net?"

  "Outside. He evaded the net around Central Park by entering one of thesmall towns at the rim of the slag area."

  "_Evaded?_"

  "We assumed he would avoid the towns. Naturally the net failed toencompass any of the towns."

  Reinhart's jaw stiffened. "Go on."

  "He entered the town of Petersville a few minutes before the netclosed around the park. We burned the park level, but naturally foundnothing. He had already gone. An hour later we received a report froma resident in Petersville, an official of the Stockpile ConservationDepartment. The man from the past had come to his door, looking forwork. Winslow, the official, engaged him in conversation, trying tohold onto him, but he escaped, driving his cart off. Winslow calledSecurity right away, but by then it was too late."

  "Report to me as soon as anything more comes in. We must have him--anddamn soon." Reinhart snapped the screen off. It died quickly.

  He sat back in his chair, waiting.

  Cole saw the shadow of the Security ship. He reacted at once. A secondafter the shadow passed over him, Cole was out of the cart, runningand falling. He rolled, twisting and turning, pulling his body as faraway from the cart as possible.

  There was a blinding roar and flash of white light. A hot wind rolledover Cole, picking him up and tossing him like a leaf. He shut hiseyes, letting his body relax. He bounced, falling and striking theground. Gravel and stones tore into his face, his knees, the palms ofhis hands.

  Cole cried out, shrieking in pain. His body was on fire. He was beingconsumed, incinerated by the blinding white orb of fire. The orbexpanded, growing in size, swelling like some monstrous sun, twistedand bloated. The end had come. There was no hope. He gritted histeeth--

  The greedy orb faded, dying down. It sputtered and winked out,blackening into ash. The air reeked, a bitter acrid smell. His clotheswere burning and smoking. The ground under him was hot, baked dry,seared by the blast. But he was alive. At least, for awhile.

  Cole opened his eyes slowly. The cart was gone. A great hole gapedwhere it had been, a shattered sore in the center of the highway. Anugly cloud hung above the hole, black and ominous. Far above, thewingless plane circled, watching for any signs of life.

  Cole lay, breathing shallowly, slowly. Time passed. The sun movedacross the sky with agonizing slowness. It was perhaps four in theafternoon. Cole calculated mentally. In three hours it would be dark.If he could stay alive until then--

  Had the plane seen him leap from the cart?

  He lay without moving. The late afternoon sun beat down on him. Hefelt sick, nauseated and feverish. His mouth was dry.

  Some ants ran over his outstretched hand. Gradually, the immense blackcloud was beginning to drift away, dispersing into a formless blob.

  The cart was gone. The thought lashed against him, pounding at hisbrain, mixing with his labored pulse-beat. _Gone._ Destroyed. Nothingbut ashes and debris remained. The realization dazed him.

  Finally the plane finished its circling, winging its way toward thehorizon. At last it vanished. The sky was clear.

  Cole got unsteadily to his feet. He wiped his face shakily. His bodyached and trembled. He spat a couple times, trying to clear his mouth.The plane would probably send in a report. People would be coming tolook for him. Where could he go?

  To his right a line of hills rose up, a distant green mass. Maybe hecould reach them. He began to walk slowly. He had to be very careful.They were looking for him--and they had weapons. Incredible weapons.

  He would be lucky to still be alive when the sun set. His team andFixit cart were gone--and all his tools. Cole reached into hispockets, searching through them hopefully. He brought out some smallscrewdrivers, a little pair of cutting pliers, some wire, some solder,the whetstone, and finally the lady's knife.

  Only a few small tools remained. He had lost everything else. Butwithout the cart he was safer, harder to spot. They would have moretrouble finding him, on foot.

  Cole hurried along, crossing the level fields toward the distant rangeof hills.

  The call came through to Reinhart almost at once. Dixon's featuresformed on the vidscreen. "I have a further report, Commissioner."Dixon scanned the plate. "Good news. The man from the past was sightedmoving away from Petersville, along highway 13, at about ten miles anhour, on his horse-drawn cart. Our ship bombed him immediately."

  "Did--did you get him?"

  "The pilot reports no sign of life after the blast."

  Reinhart's pulse almost stopped. He sank back in his chair. "Then he'sdead!"

  "Actually, we won't know for certain until we can examine the debris.A surface car is speeding toward the spot. We should have the completereport in a short time. We'll notify you as soon as the informationcomes in."

  Reinhart reached out and cut the screen. It faded into darkness. Hadthey got the man from the past? Or had he escaped again? Weren't theyever going to get him? Couldn't he be captured? And meanwhile, the SRBmachines were silent, showing nothing at all.

  Reinhart sat brooding, waiting impatiently for the report of thesurface car to come in.

  * * * * *

  It was evening.

  "Come on!" Steven shouted, running frantically after his brother."Come on back!"

  "Catch me." Earl ran and ran, down the side of the hill, over behind amilitary storage depot, along a neotex fence, jumping finally downinto Mrs. Norris' back yard.

  Steven hurried after his brother, sobbing for breath, shouting andgasping as he ran. "Come back! You come back with that!"

  "What's he got?" Sally Tate demanded, stepping out suddenly to blockSteven's way.

  Steven halted, his chest rising and falling. "He's got my intersystemvidsender." His small face twisted with rage and misery. "He bettergive it back!"

  Earl came circling around from the right. In the warm gloom of eveninghe was almost invisible. "Here I am," he announced. "What you going todo?"

  Steven glared at him hotly. His eyes made out the square box in Earl'shands. "You give that back! Or--or I'll tell Dad."

  Earl laughed. "Make me."

  "Dad'll make you."

  "You better give it to him," Sally said.

  "Catch me." Earl started off. Steven pushed Sally out of the way,lashing wildly at his brother. He collided with him, throwing himsprawling. The box fell from Earl's hands. It skidded to the pavement,crashing into the side of a guide-light post.

  Earl and Steven picked themselves up slowly. They gazed down at thebroken box.

  "See?" Steven shrilled, tears filling his eyes. "See what you did?"

  "You did it. You pushed into me."

  "You did it!"' Steven bent down and picked up the box. He carried itover to the guide-light, sitting down on the curb to examine it.

  Earl came slowly over. "If you hadn't pushed me it wouldn't have gotbroken."

  Night was descending rapidly. The line of hills rising above the townwere alrea
dy lost in darkness. A few lights had come on here andthere. The evening was warm. A surface car slammed its doors, someplace off in the distance. In the sky ships droned back and forth,weary commuters coming home from work in the big underground factoryunits.

  Thomas Cole came slowly toward the three children grouped around theguide-light. He moved with difficulty, his body sore and bent withfatigue. Night had come, but he was not safe yet.

  He was tired, exhausted and hungry. He had walked a long way. And hehad to have something to eat--soon.

  A few feet from the children Cole stopped. They were all intent andabsorbed by the box on Steven's knees. Suddenly a hush fell over thechildren. Earl looked up slowly.

  In the dim light the big stooped figure of Thomas Cole seemed extramenacing. His long arms hung down loosely at his sides. His face waslost in shadow. His body was shapeless, indistinct. A big unformedstatue, standing silently a few feet away, unmoving in thehalf-darkness.

  "Who are you?" Earl demanded, his voice low.

  "What do you want?" Sally said. The children edged away nervously."Get away."

  Cole came toward them. He bent down a little. The beam from theguide-light crossed his features. Lean, prominent nose, beak-like,faded blue eyes--

  Steven scrambled to his feet, clutching the vidsender box. "You getout of here!"

  "Wait." Cole smiled crookedly at them. His voice was dry and raspy."What do you have there?" He pointed with his long, slender fingers."The box you're holding."

  The children were silent. Finally Steven stirred. "It's myinter-system vidsender."

  "Only it doesn't work," Sally said.

  "Earl broke it." Steven glared at his brother bitterly. "Earl threw itdown and broke it."

  Cole smiled a little. He sank down wearily on the edge of the curb,sighing with relief. He had been walking too long. His body ached withfatigue. He was hungry, and tired. For a long time he sat, wipingperspiration from his neck and face, too exhausted to speak.

  "Who are you?" Sally demanded, at last. "Why do you have on thosefunny clothes? Where did you come from?"

  "Where?" Cole looked around at the children. "From a long way off. Along way." He shook his head slowly from side to side, trying to clearit.

  "What's your therapy?" Earl said.

  "My therapy?"

  "What do you do? Where do you work?"

  Cole took a deep breath and let it out again slowly. "I fix things.All kinds of things. Any kind."

  Earl sneered. "Nobody fixes things. When they break you throw themaway."

  Cole didn't hear him. Sudden need had roused him, getting him suddenlyto his feet. "You know any work I can find?" he demanded. "Things Icould do? I can fix anything. Clocks, type-writers, refrigerators,pots and pans. Leaks in the roof. I can fix anything there is."

  Steven held out his inter-system vidsender. "Fix this."

  There was silence. Slowly, Cole's eyes focussed on the box. "That?"

  "My sender. Earl broke it."

  Cole took the box slowly. He turned it over, holding it up to thelight. He frowned, concentrating on it. His long, slender fingersmoved carefully over the surface, exploring it.

  "He'll steal it!" Earl said suddenly.

  "No." Cole shook his head vaguely. "I'm reliable." His sensitivefingers found the studs that held the box together. He depressed thestuds, pushing them expertly in. The box opened, revealing its complexinterior.

  "He got it open," Sally whispered.

  "Give it back!" Steven demanded, a little frightened. He held out hishand. "I want it back."

  The three children watched Cole apprehensively. Cole fumbled in hispocket. Slowly he brought out his tiny screwdrivers and pliers. Helaid them in a row beside him. He made no move to return the box.

  "I want it back," Steven said feebly.

  Cole looked up. His faded blue eyes took in the sight of the threechildren standing before him in the gloom. "I'll fix it for you. Yousaid you wanted it fixed."

  "I want it back." Steven stood on one foot, then the other, torn bydoubt and indecision. "Can you really fix it? Can you make it workagain?"

  "Yes."

  "All right. Fix it for me, then."

  A sly smile flickered across Cole's tired face. "Now, wait a minute.If I fix it, will you bring me something to eat? I'm not fixing it fornothing."

  "Something to eat?"

  "Food. I need hot food. Maybe some coffee."

  Steven nodded. "Yes. I'll get it for you."

  Cole relaxed. "Fine. That's fine." He turned his attention back to thebox resting between his knees. "Then I'll fix it for you. I'll fix itfor you good."

  His fingers flew, working and twisting, tracing down wires and relays,exploring and examining. Finding out about the inter-system vidsender.Discovering how it worked.

  Steven slipped into the house through the emergency door. He made hisway to the kitchen with great care, walking on tip-toe. He punched thekitchen controls at random, his heart beating excitedly. The stovebegan to whirr, purring into life. Meter readings came on, crossingtoward the completion marks.

  Presently the stove opened, sliding out a tray of steaming dishes. Themechanism clicked off, dying into silence. Steven grabbed up thecontents of the tray, filling his arms. He carried everything down thehall, out the emergency door and into the yard. The yard was dark.Steven felt his way carefully along.

  He managed to reach the guide-light without dropping anything at all.

  Thomas Cole got slowly to his feet as Steven came into view. "Here,"Steven said. He dumped the food onto the curb, gasping for breath."Here's the food. Is it finished?"

  Cole held out the inter-system vidsender. "It's finished. It waspretty badly smashed."

  Earl and Sally gazed up, wide-eyed. "Does it work?" Sally asked.

  "Of course not," Earl stated. "How could it work? He couldn't--"

  "Turn it on!" Sally nudged Steven eagerly. "See if it works."

  Steven was holding the box under the light, examining the switches. Heclicked the main switch on. The indicator light gleamed. "It lightsup," Steven said.

  "Say something into it."

  Steven spoke into the box. "Hello! Hello! This is operator 6-Z75calling. Can you hear me? This is operator 6-Z75. Can you hear me?"

  In the darkness, away from the beam of the guide-light, Thomas Colesat crouched over the food. He ate gratefully, silently. It was goodfood, well cooked and seasoned. He drank a container of orange juiceand then a sweet drink he didn't recognize. Most of the food wasstrange to him, but he didn't care. He had walked a long way and hewas plenty hungry. And he still had a long way to go, before morning.He had to be deep in the hills before the sun came up. Instinct toldhim that he would be safe among the trees and tangled growth--atleast, as safe as he could hope for.

  He ate rapidly, intent on the food. He did not look up until he wasfinished. Then he got slowly to his feet, wiping his mouth with theback of his hand.

  The three children were standing around in a circle, operating theinter-system vidsender. He watched them for a few minutes. None ofthem looked up from the small box. They were intent, absorbed in whatthey were doing.

  "Well?" Cole said, at last. "Does it work all right?"

  After a moment Steven looked up at him. There was a strange expressionon his face. He nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, it works. It works fine."

  Cole grunted. "All right." He turned and moved away from the light."That's fine."

  The children watched silently until the figure of Thomas Cole hadcompletely disappeared. Slowly, they turned and looked at each other.Then down at the box in Steven's hands. They gazed at the box ingrowing awe. Awe mixed with dawning fear.

  Steven turned and edged toward his house. "I've got to show it to myDad," he murmured, dazed. "He's got to know. _Somebody's_ got toknow!"