A Matter of Time

by Glen Cook

  But the whole race couldn’t consist of Alexanders or Napoleans, or even Al Capones. In time he had made a shaky peace.

  “I’m not sure I understood why you wanted to see me, Sergeant,” said DeKeersgeiter, after Cash had been shown into his office.

  “I’m not either. What I want is for you to tell me about Time.” Briefly, he presented the apparent facts of the Groloch-O’Brien case. “The only handle we can get on it is an impossible one: time travel.”

  “What we call the least hypothesis.” DeKeersgeiter showed more than the polite interest Cash had expected. “That’s the simplest theory that’ll include all the known facts. Sometimes you come up with something outrageous. This time, though, I submit that the facts aren’t all known.” He made a steeple of his fingers beneath his chin, stared at the ceiling. “Time: The popular view is that it’s like a river, flowing one direction at a steady pace. In physics we know this isn’t necessarily true. Time’s a phenomenon associated with space and matter. And motion. Velocity and the shape of space can cause differences in observed time flow. Especially in the matter of motion. It’s my own feeling that matter, or the mass thereof, also directly correlates to time in any given frame. We know it does at the event horizon of a singularity. With better math, we might find gravity even more important than commonly thought.”

  He spoke slowly, pedantically, as if unsure he could express himself in terms Cash could understand.

  “That is, time flow on the surface of a neutron star should differ significantly, not only from here but from current mathematical predictions, because of the proximity of disparate masses.” He glanced at Cash as if to solicit an opinion. When none was forthcoming, he went on.

  “A few years ago there was a flap over a hypothetical particle called a tachyon. At first it was supposed to move faster than light and have negative mass. Then it was supposed to have positive mass and a velocity below that of light, but was supposed to be moving backward in time. Some of my colleagues also feel there’s a movement of mass backward in time from a black hole or singularity to a white hole or quasar, extremely violent stellar events so far away that what astronomers see are events which took place almost back at the beginning of the universe. But I was talking about tachyons. Since nobody’s been able to detect them, and their proponents have been heavily criticized by their opponents, the excitement’s pretty well died down. I haven’t heard a thing recently. But I’m so damned busy pushing paper — federal grant, you know — that I don’t have time to keep up with the literature.”

  DeKeersgeiter’s mind seemed to jump tracks for a minute. He treated Cash to a critique of federal grant practices that would have endeared him to Lieutenant Railsback. Then, as suddenly, he skipped back, leaving Cash momentarily bewildered.

  “We have fads in physics, too. Tachyons. Gravitons. The latest is the Hawking Black Hole.” As the physicist sneered at the impossibility of BB-sized or gram-weight singularities left over from the explosion of the primal egg, Cash began to wonder if he were going to get any sense from the man at all. Then the man’s mind skipped another track.

  “There’s only one way your corpse could’ve moved in time, so far as we know. The usual. Unless...” He steepled his fingers and studied the ceiling once more. “I almost overlooked something. Fell into the obvious trap. When you think time travel, you always think of going back. It’s a powerful, almost archetypal human drive, to go back and put things right. But your man came forward. And that’s possible. There’s a shortcut.

  “The mechanism is that of Fitzgerald-Lorentz. When an object with mass nears the velocity of light, its time reference relative to slower objects grows retarded. If we could put a man into a spaceship and whip him up to ninety-nine point-nine nine percent the velocity of light and send him off to, say, the nearest star and back, to us it would seem like it had taken him about nine years to make the trip, but for him only a few months would pass. Of course, that’s not humanly possible. But the theory’s sound. It’s been proven with atomic clocks in satellites and fast planes.”

  Cash caught the stress of “humanly.” “You mean a flying saucer could’ve gotten him?”

  Embarrassed, DeKeersgeiter nodded. “It fits the least hypothesis as neatly as your time machine. There’s more evidence that they exist. And it doesn’t conflict with physical law.”

  All Cash said was “Thanks,” but thought, A whole new can of worms. What else would he come up with before they closed the case? Suspended animation? Perpetual motion machines? How about deals with the devil? Sister Mary Joseph had suggested that one already.

  He got the hell out. Politely, but out.

  And got hell.

  The dispatcher had been trying to get in touch. Annie had called. Major Tran was on his way in from Fort Chaffee to look them over. She wanted Cash to meet him at the bus station. She was afraid to handle it herself. But Railsback, because he hadn’t let the dispatchers know where he would be, wouldn’t let him go.

  Cash caught John leaving as he himself went into the station. They hadn’t seen much of each other recently. “You heard?”

  “About the gook? Yeah.”

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry. Railsback’s been on my ass.”

  Beth was trying to get his attention. He held up a. finger in a wait-a-second gesture.

  “I just wanted to know if maybe you could come over tonight. Maybe ease things a little. You know these people better....”

  “Now who’s doing it?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “If he spent time over here before, he can cope. Probably better than we did over there. But I’ll stop over.” He started on. “Oh. I’ll come by myself. You’d better keep Nancy and the kids away, too. Let Annie get settled before you sic the whole gang on him.”

  “Right. Good thinking.” Cash didn’t think his daughter-in-law would cause a problem, but the grandchildren might.

  “Cash! If your personal life can stand it?...” Railsback. The way he had come on all week, life at home must have become hell.

  Cash glanced at Beth, who just smirked and mouthed, I tried to warn you.

  Once he turned, before he could say anything, Railsback snapped, “What the hell have you been up to this time?”

  Cash thought he was still pissed about not being able to get in touch. Wrong. As soon as he started to explain, Railsback interrupted.

  “You shook a nut tree is what you did. I got a bunch of goddamned flying saucer freaks coming in here tomorrow. Here. They didn’t even ask, they told me. Why can’t you just write this creep off? You have to put our careers on the line over him? And don’t bug the old lady no more, either. Last time you did I had a whole platoon of ambulance chasers shaking my phone off the wall.”

  Surprise and surprise, Cash thought. DeKeersgeiter had moved fast. Cash hadn’t suspected the man was that interested. And this was the first the lieutenant had mentioned the lawyers. Which meant that he had gone to bat for his troops. He wasn’t as bad as he pretended.

  “Look, Hank, there’s got to be an angle on this thing. And Miss Groloch’s in it up to her pointy ears. And covering up. You don’t haul out the legal talent if you’re not feeling guilty, not just ‘cause you got a little pressure from a cop. Not if you’re an old timer. Kids these days are something else. And we got prints, remember? With that we might be able to get a search warrant. Speaking of prints, whatever happened to the paper that came off of that doll?”

  Railsback looked thoughtful, then sheepish. “I sent it over to FBI.”

  “That old, huh?”

  “Looked like.”

  “Well, I’m not letting go. Not even if I have to bring in Gypsies with crystal balls.”

  Railsback was less angry than he pretended. He grinned, made a dirty crack, said, “Norm, I read the Carstairs file, too. The sonofabitch didn’t let go for eight years. And he didn’t get anywhere. How come you think you’ll do better?”

  “Because I already have, Hank. I’ve got
a print, and I’ve gotten a rise out of Miss Groloch. She gave me an angle herself, but I haven’t had time to follow it up.” He explained the connection with Egan’s Rats. “Hank, it might get tough, but I won’t give up. It doesn’t seem rational, but I think there’s a connection between a 1921 murder without a victim and a 1975 victim without a murderer. I’m not saying Miss Groloch had anything to do with it. I’m not saying this is O’Brien from twenty-one. I’m just saying there’s a connection. And she’s holding out on us.”

  “Personally, I think you’re full of shit, and ain’t got a snowball’s chance. You won’t get her to talk. She’s tough, Norm.”

  “Maybe not. But maybe I’ll find the right lever. You’ve got to keep plugging.”

  “I hope you’ve got a guy like you for a sergeant when you’ve got my job, Norm. Like Harald. Tied to you like a can. But you’re a good cop most of the time. Go on. Haul ass before I find something for you to do.”

  Cash got out of his way, and out of the station as soon as he could. Beth’s bemused smile pursued him all the way.

  Major Tran turned out to be a friendly, energetic little man who resembled Marshal Ky in Ben Franklin glasses. He wore them perched on the tip of his nose, peering over their tops.

  Cash’s first impression was Walter Mitty, bookkeeper, not the hardnosed hero-cop on record.

  Tran had the language pat and the customs near enough to get by. Cash supposed he could have passed as Nissi had he so desired. They shook hands, started feeling one another put while Annie mixed drinks. She had gone to the bus station after all, and had arrived home just as Cash was getting out of his own car. He had paid the cab for her.

  “I’m a martini addict,” said Tran. After a sip, “Your wife mixes a good one.”

  “Rum and coke man myself, when I break doctor’s orders. And tonight I need one.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Aren’t any good ones anymore. Just some not as bad as others. We’re under siege.”

  “Ah. The Great American Lament. Overworked and underpaid.”

  Cash chuckled. “Overworked, anyway. I don’t know. It just seems like everything’s coming apart. And nobody cares. Not enough to get off their butts and do something.”

  “Norm,” said Annie, “I don’t think Major Tran is ready for that.” She had put on the warning frown usually reserved for grandchildren.

  Tran had been westernized. He didn’t blink at the interruption. He held up a hand, smiled, said, “Rather say it’s a problem I knew too well. It’s not uniquely American, though it seems to come with Americanization.”

  Cash frowned, wondered if the man were being critical. Flashes of old news clips rambled across his mind. He saw the man’s point. Saigon, in part, had become cardboard America, a cheap imitation of the cultural exporter’s already tawdry features.

  “Don’t mind my grumps,” Cash told him. “I’ve got an especially frustrating case.”

  “Miss Groloch again?” Annie asked.

  “Still.” The doorbell rang. “That’ll be John.” He started to rise.

  “I’ll get it.” Annie hurried doorward, presumably anticipating feminine companionship. While she was being disappointed Tran asked about the case and Cash sketched it for him.

  “Most curious,” he said. “And interesting. Amidst a war one hasn’t time for such delicate investigations. I’ve always been fond of the outré. Have you read Conan Doyle?”

  “Sherlock Holmes? A little. His cases didn’t seem that unusual.”

  “In the context of his times...”

  John came in trying to placate Annie for not having brought Carrie. Cash made the introductions. “I was just telling Major Tran about the O’Brien thing. Might as well fill you in. Rails-back didn’t give me a chance this afternoon.”

  When Cash finished describing his visit to Dr. DeKeersgeiter, John said, “Hank’ll really love you now. Flying saucers!”

  “Oh, he does. What he wished on me was to have you as my second for the rest of my life.” They chuckled together, then Cash asked, “I take it you like UFOs better than time machines.”

  “A hell of a lot. I can believe it. Only it’s just as hard to prove.”

  “I don’t.” Just thinking about it made him queasy. “Too many late shows, I guess. Bodysnatchers, like that.” Then, “John, what’re we doing? Dammit, I’m sitting here taking it seriously when we should be trying to figure out what really happened. But I’m going to let those saucer nuts work on it. It’ll keep them out of our hair.”

  Said Harald, to Tran, “One of the problems with being a cop over here is you’ve got to be nice to everybody, good guys, bad guys, and nitwits.”

  “You are, perhaps, too much intrigued by the exotic,” Tran replied. “If one unfamiliar with all the details may speak? As you outlined it to me, Norman, you haven’t yet gone to conclusion with the critical question.”

  “Eh? What?”

  “The nature of the connection between woman and corpse. That appears to be the critical element. It would seem that all else would fall into place once you discovered what she and the dead man were to one another.”

  “True,” said John. “Thanks, Annie.” He sipped the drink and avoided her eyes. Though he had been around the house since childhood, he still wasn’t comfortable using her first name. He had had the same problem with Cash when he had come into the department, but had outgrown it. “But American law, like God, moves in mysterious ways. We can’t go into her house after proof till we can prove it’s there. I’d love to tear the place apart. But we couldn’t get a warrant with what we’ve got.”

  “John,” said Cash, “we might. I’ve been thinking about that. Judge Gardner’s moving from Juvenile to Criminal. He might take the chance.”

  Gardner had the reputation of being a hard-nosed, old-fashioned jurist. His three years on the Juvenile bench had been accompanied by storms of controversy — and a dramatic decline in juvenile crime. He might take a chance on the print — if they could argue convincingly enough.

  “Maybe. I’ve got court again tomorrow. I’ll try to see him. Did you check the gang connection?”

  “Haven’t had time.”

  “Norm. John. Major Tran’s come a long way, and not to listen to you two talk shop.”

  Cash started to apologize. She was right.

  “Not to be concerned,” said Tran. “I find it relaxing. It’s been months since I’ve worked myself. This matter, so intriguing, stimulates my mind. Should the chance arise, I’d like to meet this woman. She sounds most remarkable.”

  “She is that,” Cash responded, then steered the conversation to more immediate matters. “But Annie’s right. We should be talking about your problems. Maybe I haven’t been looking as hard as I could, but I’ve been asking around about jobs. Can’t say I’ve had any luck.”

  “Not to worry,” Tran replied. “I have an offer. Waiting tables in a place called The Mainlander, with a chance for my sons to work part-time.”

  “It’s a name restaurant,” John said. “Good tips.” He didn’t seem surprised.

  Cash and Annie were. “You sure that’s the sort of thing you want to do? “Annie asked.

  Tran was surprised by their surprise.

  “There is pride and pride,” he said, trying to explain. “In America a man is too proud to work below his station. This is true of some of my countrymen also. But there is another pride. It refuses to allow one to live off the good will of others when one is physically capable of working. This is a peasant philosophy, perhaps. In the country everyone must work. Only the city rich... I’m sorry. Perhaps I should say it thus: Your country has done enough by permitting me to escape the Viet Minh once more. Now it’s up to me to care for those who have joined their lives to mine. Perhaps someday I will move to better work. They have begun making arrangements for retraining doctors already.”

  “I don’t know how you’d get back into your own line,” said Cash. “Residency, citizenship, all that crapola. And physical requ
irements. You’d have to get a height waiver.”

  “Not to mention good old-fashioned prejudice,” Harald added. “There’re a lot of bitter people here.”

  “We might wrangle a retainer as a consulting expert in Vietnamese affairs,” Cash mused. “Enough refugees have settled around here that there’s bound to be some problems.”

  Tran shrugged. “There will be difficulties. I expected them. I survived them before. I will again. I did my thinking before I boarded your helicopter. My problems this time, likely, will be less than before.”

  Cash didn’t understand, but Harald did. “You haven’t seen real prejudice till you’ve seen it over there, Norm. They aren’t a bunch of pussy-footing Archie Bunkers. Everybody hates everybody. A refugee from the north, especially if he was Catholic and fell in with Buddhists, would have had a bad time. Though less so than, say, the Black Thai.”

  Tran nodded, smiled. “On that everyone agreed. Everybody hated the Black Thai. Looking at it from here, I begin to wonder why.”

  “You’ll have to excuse my ignorance. You don’t get to see much of that from the home front.”

  “No matter,” said Tran. “Those are all problems for the PRG now. May they get their bellies full.”

  Annie had grown restless during the discussion and had begun drifting back and forth between kitchen and living room. Now, from the kitchen, she called, “Supper.” She scowled at Cash for not having warned her about John.

  The sum of the evening was that Cash and Tran found one another acceptable.

  “I think,” said Tran, “that I’ll bring my family here as soon as I can. Unless you change your minds. Fort Chaffee is... well, it’s not comfortable. We’ll be as little trouble as we can, and out as soon as possible.”

  The man, Cash reflected, was positively embarrassed.

  Tran became more so when he asked, softly, “Your wife. Why is she so tense? So strained?”

  “We lost our oldest son in Vietnam. Missing in action. We still don’t know anything for sure....”