28
The pressroom office was dark except for the feeble light from the clacking wire machines ranged along the wall. Wilson crossed to his desk and sat down. He leaned forward to snap on the desk lamp, then pulled back his hand. There was no need of light and there was healing in the dark. He leaned back in his chair; for the first time this afternoon there was nothing he should do, but there was still inside him the nagging sense that he should be up and doing.
The President, he thought, should long since be in bed. It was nearly midnight and well past his usual bedtime and he had missed his nap in the afternoon. Samuel Henderson, he thought, was getting old, too old for this sort of thing. He had seemed drawn and haggard when the refugee scientists were escorted to his office to be introduced to the men from the National Academy.
"You heard my speech, Steve?" the President had asked him when the men were gone.
"In the car."
"What do you think? Will the country go along?"
"Not at first. Not willingly. But when they think about it, I believe they will. Wall Street will raise a lot of dust."
"Wall Street," said the President, "is something I can't afford to give my time to right now."
"You should be heading for bed, Mr. President. It's been a long, hard day."
"Directly," said the President. "First I have to talk with Treasury and Sandburg phoned in to ask if he could come over."
Directly, he had said, but it still would be hours, more than likely, before he got to sleep.
Somewhere, in some secret room, the scientists were talking; out there, in the vastness of the nation, of the world, in fact, people from the future were walking from their tunnels; in the mountains to the west a monster was skulking in the darkness.
It still was unbelievable. It had happened all too fast. A man had not been given time to catch up with it. In a few hours now the people would be waking to a new day that, in many respects would be utterly unlike any day before, unlike any day in all of human history, faced by problems and dilemmas no man had ever faced before.
Light showed through the crack underneath the doors that led into the press lounge. Some members of the press would still be there, although they were not working. There was no sound of typewriters. He remembered that he'd never gotten to eat the sandwiches. He'd put two of them upon a plate and had taken a bite out of one of them when Brad Reynolds had come bursting through the door. Now that he thought of it, he realized that he was hungry. There might be some sandwiches left, although they'd be dry by now, and for some reason, he wanted to stay here in the dark, alone, with no necessity of talking to anyone at all. Although, perhaps, he thought, he should see what was on the wires. He sat for a moment longer, unwilling to move, then got up and went across the room to the bank of teletypes. AP first, he thought. Good, old stolid AP. Never sensational, usually fairly solid.
Yards of copy had been fed out of the machine, running down into wads of folded paper back of the machine.
A new story was just starting…
WASHINGTON (AP)-A search is being pressed tonight in the mountains west of here for the monster that escaped from a time tunnel in Virginia a few hours ago. There have been numerous reports of sightings, but none can be confirmed. There is reason to believe that most of them arose from fertile and concerned imaginations. A number of troops and contingents from many police and sheriff's departments are being deployed into the area, but there is little hope that a great deal can be done before daylight…
Wilson hauled in the copy paper, letting it fall and curl up before his feet, checking rapidly.
LONDON, ENGLAND (AP)-As dawn came this morning ministers still were in conference at the residence of the Prime Minister. Throughout the night, there had been a steady coming and going.
NEW DELHI, INDIA (AP)-For the last ten hours people and wheat have continued to pour out of the tunnels from the future. Both present problems…
NEW YORK, N.Y. (AP)-Evidences multiplied throughout the night that dawn may bring an explosion of protest and rioting, not only in Harlem, but in many of the other minority areas of the city. Fear that the heavy influx of refugees from the future may bring about a reduction in food allotments and other welfare benefits are expected to spark widespread demonstrations. All police leaves have been canceled and the police force has been notified that its personnel must be prepared to work around the clock…
WASHINGTON. D.C. (AP)-The President's action declaring a business holiday and freezing wages and prices was both attacked and praised…
Moscow, Madrid, Singapore, Brisbane, Bogota, Cairo, Kiev-and then:
NASHVILLE, TENN. (AP)-The Rev. Jake Billings, noted evangelist, today called for a crusade to "bring the people of the future back into the arms of Christ."
He issued the call from his headquarters here after learning that a group of refugees who had come through the now-closed time tunnel near Falls Church, Va., had refused the ministrations of the Rev. Dr. Angus Windsor, a celebrated churchman of Washington, D.C., giving as their reason that they had turned their backs, not on Christianity alone, but on all religion.
"They came to us for help," said the Rev. Billings, "but the help that they are seeking is not the help they should be given. Rather than helping them, as they ask, to go further back in time, we should help them to return to the brotherhood of Christ. They are fleeing from the future for their lives, but they have already lost a thing far more precious than their lives. How their rejection of Christ may have come about, I have no way of knowing; I do know that it is our duty to point out to them the road of devotion and of righteousness. I call upon all Christians to join me in my prayers for them."
Wilson let the long sheaf of paper fall and went back to his desk. He switched on the light and picking up the phone, dialed the switchboard.
"Jane — I thought I recognized your voice. This is Steve Wilson. Will you put in a call to Nashville for the Reverend Jake Billings? Yes, Jane, I know what time it is. I know he probably is asleep; we'll simply have to wake him up. No, I don't know his number. Thank you, Jane. Thank you very much."
He settled back in the chair and growled at himself. When he'd talked with the President early in the afternoon, Jake Billings had been mentioned and he'd promised he would call him, then it had not crossed his mind again. But who in hell would have thought a thing like this would happen?
Windsor, he thought. It would take an old busybody, a meddling fool like Windsor to go messing into it. To go messing into it and then when he got his face pushed in, to go bawling to the newsmen, telling what had happened.
Christ, that's all we need, he thought, to get the Windsors and the Billings of the country all mixed up in it, wringing their hands in pious horror and crying for a crusade. A crusade, he grimly told himself, was the last thing that was needed. There was trouble enough without a gang of pulpit thumpers adding to the dust-up.
The phone tinkled at him and he picked up the receiver.
Jane said, "The Reverend Mr. Billings is on the line, sir."
"Hello," said Wilson. "Is this the Reverend Billings?"
"Yes, God bless you," said the deep, solemn voice. "What can I do for you?"
"Jake, this is Steve Wilson."
"Wilson? Oh, yes, the press secretary. I should have known that it was you. They didn't say who was calling. They just said the White House."
The bastard, Wilson told himself. He's disappointed. He thought it was the President.
"It's been a long time, Jake," he said.
"Yes," said Billings. "How long ago? Ten years?"
"More like fifteen," said Wilson.
"I guess it is, at that," said Billings. "The years do have the habit…"
"I'm calling you," said Wilson, "about this crusade you're drumming up."
"Crusade? Oh, you mean the one to get the future people back onto the track. I am so glad you called. We need all the help that we can get. I view it as fortunate that they came back to us, for whatever reason. Whe
n I think of the human race, a mere five hundred years from now, forsaking the good old human faith, the faith that has sustained us all these years, I get a cold shiver up my spine. I'm so glad that you are with us. I can't tell you how glad I am that you…"
"I'm not with you, Jake."
"You're not with us? What do you mean, you're not with us?"
"I'm not with you, Jake — that is what I mean. I'm calling to ask that you call this silly crusade off.".
"But I can't…"
"Yes, you can. We have trouble enough without some damn fool crusade. You'll be doing the country a disservice if you keep it up. We have problems up to here and we don't need any more. This isn't just a situation that will allow Jake Billings to show off his piety. This is life and death, not only for the refugees, but for every one of us."
"It seems to me, Steve, you're using an approach that is unnecessarily rough."
"If I am," said Wilson, "it's because I'm upset at what you're doing. This is important, Jake. We have a job — to get the refugees back to where they want to go before they upset our economy. And while we do that we'll be getting plenty of flak. We're going to get it from industry, from labor, from people on welfare, from politicians who will grab the chance to take cheap shots at us. With all of this, we can't face flak from you. What difference can it possibly make to you? You're not dealing with a present situation, a present people. You are dealing with the future, with a segment of time that ordinarily would be out of your reach. The refugees are back here, sure, but the windmill you are tilting at wasn't even built until long after you and I were dead."
"God moves," said Billings, "in many mysterious ways…"
"Look," said Wilson, "climb down off your pulpit. Someone else, maybe, but not me. You're not going to impress me, Jake. You never did."
"Steve, are you calling for the President?"
"If you mean did he ask me to make this call, the answer is no. He probably doesn't know as yet what you have done. But when he finds out about it, he is going to be sore. The two of us talked about you earlier in the day. We were afraid you might take some sort of hand in this. We couldn't, of course, foresee what happened. But you do take a hand in everything that happens. I was supposed to phone you, to head you off beforehand. But so many things were happening. I never found the time."
"I can see your position," said Billings soberly. "I think I can even understand it. But you and I see things from different viewpoints. To me the thought that the human race became a godless people is a personal agony. It goes against everything I have been taught, everything I've lived by, all that I've believed in."
"You can rest easy," Wilson said. "It will go no further. The human future is ending, up there five hundred years ahead."
"But they'll be going back in time…"
"We hope they will," said Wilson bitterly. "They'll go back, if we aren't completely hogtied by people such as you."
"If they go back," protested Billings, "they'll make a new start. We'll give them what they need to make a new start. Into a new land and a new time where they'll build a godless culture. They may, in time, go out in space, out to other stars, and they'll go as godless people. We can't allow that, Steve."
"Maybe you can't. I could. It wouldn't bother me. There are a hell of a lot of other people it wouldn't bother, either. You're blind if you can't see the beginning, the roots of their rejection of religion in the present. Maybe that is what is really bugging you. You're asking yourself if there was anything you could have done to prevent its happening."
"That may be it," Billings admitted. "I haven't had the time to think it through. Even if it were true, it would make no difference. I still would have to do exactly what I'm doing."
"You mean you intend to go ahead? Even knowing what it means to all of us. Stirring up the people, riding that great white horse…"
"I have to do it, Steve. My conscience…"
"You'll think it over? I can call again?"
For there was no use arguing further. No point in trying to talk reason to this pious madman. He'd known him, Wilson reminded himself, ever since their undergraduate years. And he should have known from the very first that it would be useless to try to make him see another point of view.
"Yes, call again," said Billings, "if you wish. But I won't reconsider. I know what I must do. You cannot persuade me otherwise."
"Good night, Jake. Sorry that I woke you up."
"You didn't wake me up. I expect no sleep this night. It was good to hear your voice, Steve."
Wilson hung up and sat quietly in his chair. Maybe, he thought, if he'd done it differently, if he'd not come on so strong, he might have accomplished something. Although he doubted it. There was no such thing as talking reason to the man; there had never been. Perhaps if he'd called him this afternoon, after he first had talked with the President, he might have been able at least to moderate Billing's action, but he doubted that as well. It had been, he told himself, a hopeless business from the start. Billings himself was hopeless.
He looked at his watch. It was almost two o'clock. Picking up the phone, he dialed Judy's number. Her sleepy voice answered.
"Did I wake you up?"
"No, I've been waiting for you. Steve, you're awful late. What happened?"
"I had to go to Myer and pick up some refugees. Scientists. They're here, talking to the Academy people. I won't make it, Judy."
"You're not coming out?"
"I should stay in touch. There's too much happening."
"You'll be dead on your feet, come morning."
"I'll stretch out on a couch in the lounge and get some rest."
"I could come down. Stand watch."
"No need of it. Someone will get hold of me if I'm needed. You go to bed. Be a little late if you want. I can get along."
"Steve?"
"Yes?"
"It's not going good, is it?"
"It's too soon to tell."
"I saw the President on TV. It'll be an awful mess. We've never faced anything like this before."
"No, not quite like this before."
"I'm scared, Steve."
"So am I," said Wilson. "It'll be different in the morning. We'll feel different in the morning."
"I have a terrible feeling," Judy said. "As if the solid ground were slipping out beneath my feet. I've been thinking about my mother and sister out in Ohio. I haven't seen Mom in a long, long time."
"Phone her. Talk with her. You'll feel better."
"I tried to. I tried and tried. But the circuits are jammed. Everyone is calling everyone. Like a holiday. The country is upset."
"I just made a long-distance call."
"Sure you did. You're the White House. They'd clear the lines for you,"
"You can call her tomorrow. Things will quiet down tomorrow."
"Steve, you're sure you can't come out? I need you."
"Sorry, Judy. Truly sorry. I have this horrible feeling that I should stay in reach. I don't know why, but I do."
"I'll see you in the morning, then."
"Try to get some sleep."
"You, too. Try to shut this out, try to get some sleep. You'll need it. Tomorrow will be bad."
They said good night and he put the receiver back into its cradle. He wondered why he was staying here. There was, at the moment, no real need to stay. Although one could never know. Hell could break loose any time.
He should try to get some sleep, he told himself, but somehow he resisted sleep. He didn't need it; he was too strung out, too tense to sleep. Later he'd need sleep, when there was no chance of sleep. Later, a few hours from now, it would all catch up with him. But right now his nerves were too tight, his brain too busy to allow for sleep.
He went out the door and around the walk to the front lawn. The night was soft, resting for the heat and turmoil of the coming day. The city was quiet. Far off a motor growled, but there were no cars on the avenue. The pillars of the portico gleamed softly in the night. The sky was clear and
a million stars hung there. A red light went blinking across the sky and from far overhead came the thrum of motors.
A dark figure stirred at the edge of a group of trees.
"You all right, sir?" a voice asked.
"Yes," said Wilson. "Just out for a breath of air."
He saw now that the dark figure was a soldier, his rifle held aslant his chest.
"Don't go wandering," said the soldier. "There are a lot of us out here. Some of the boys might be a little nervous."
"I won't," said Wilson. "I'll go back in directly." He stood listening to the quietness of the city, feeling the softness of the night. It was not the same, he told himself; there was something different. Despite the quiet and softness, a certain tenseness seemed to reach out to touch him.
29
A sound brought Elmer Ellis out of a sound sleep, sitting up in bed, befuddled, unable for a moment to orient himself. On the night table beside the bed, the clock was ticking loudly and beside him his wife, Mary, was levering herself up on her elbows.
Her sleepy voice asked, "What is it, Elmer?"
"Something's at the chickens," he said, for now the reason for his waking came churning up into his consciousness.
The sound came again, the frightened, flapping, squawking of the chickens. He threw the covers back and his feet hit the cold floor so hard it hurt.
He groped for his trousers, found them, got his legs into them, pulled them up, slid his feet into his shoes, did not stop to tie the laces. The squawking still went on.
"Where is Tige?" asked Mary.
"Damn dog," he growled. "He's off chasing possum."
He charged out the bedroom door and into the kitchen. Groping, he found the shotgun, lifted it down off the pegs. From the game bag that hung beneath the pegs, he got a handful of shells, jammed them in a pocket, found two more and thrust them into the chambers of the double barrel.
Bare feet pattered toward him. "Here's the flashlight, Elmer. You can't see a thing without it."
She thrust it at him and he took it.
Our Children's Children Page 10
