by Denis Hughes
“You’re too kind,” he said, unable to keep the vague hint of a sneer from showing in his tone. How in the hell had she come to alter so much? he asked himself.
She must have sensed that sneer. With a quick step she was standing close to him, trapping him against the wall before he could move away.
“You think I haven’t cared, don’t you, Bob? You think I’ve been enjoying myself all this time, waiting for you. What kind of woman do you think I am?” Her gaze was greedy and accusing at the same time.
“Why don’t you tell her?” He was walking round, scrutinising Viki from every angle, head on one side like a judge at a cattle show. Then he shook his head sadly. “She’s got something still, Bob, but it’s not the same. Pity, with all that promise, too…”
Varden shot him a venomous glance that brought a frown to Viki’s brow. For the sake of peace, he thought resignedly. “All right, kid, let’s go,” he said aloud. “Of course I didn’t think you’d forget me or leave me flat.” He picked up his suitcase still thinking back through the past days when he’d lain in bed and prayed for death. That was before they’d let him see his face, or have his eyes uncovered in a lighted room. The knuckles of his hand were white as he gripped his suitcase and moved to the door. The woman was close at his side; he could smell her heady perfume, and she was Viki, the supple-bodied girl of New York. Only she couldn’t be Viki really. Viki had been twenty-five when he cradled her in his arms that last night before… She could not possibly have aged and grown hard and brassy in that short space of time. He remembered every tiny detail about her. There’d been a small, brown mole… He turned his head and glanced at the woman, wondering if she was so like Viki that she had one there, too.
The other man grinned at him, reading his thoughts. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. Varden ignored him.
“Where are we going?” he inquired.
“To have fun.” Again he caught a glimpse of that look of revulsion as their eyes met. They were in the long, white corridor by this time, walking not too fast, side by side, three abreast with Viki in the middle. A nurse came by. The naked man stepped politely aside. Varden was surprised at the way she was dressed. He’d never seen a nurse dressed like that. She wore a spotless white skull cap, a white shirt with a zipper down the front, and white linen slacks. In the next few minutes he saw several more in the same type of outfit; it seemed to be general. They were smart, smiling at him politely as he walked with Viki.
In the wide entrance hall of the hospital he saw a calendar on the wall above the reception desk. Tall red figures in a multitude of black-edged squares. He was passing it now, eyes scanning it idly, then with more intentness as they focused.
“What day is it?” he said to Viki, or the woman who might be Viki if Viki was twenty years older.
“Friday,” she answered brightly.
“Friday, the twenty-fourth of August,” put in Varden grimly.
“The twenty-fourth of August,” added Viki, smiling. She shot him a sidelong glance. “It was a Friday in August we first met. Remember, Bob?”
“At the Lavender Room on 42nd Street. She wasn’t bad in those days, was she?” He scratched his ear, watching Varden over the top of Viki’s head. Then he winked and postured with indecent disregard for convention.
But Varden barely noticed. He stared at the calendar, isolating the date with critical clarity. Friday, the twenty-fourth of August. But the calendar put the year at 2034. And the freight plane Tempest had crashed in 2017.
They were halfway through the door now, stepping out to a world of green grass and gravel and sunshine. Varden halted on the hospital steps and looked out across the lawn to where that distant ribbon of dazzling concrete stripped over the country.
Viki started down the steps ahead of him as a vehicle came round from the side of the block. She turned, her whiskey coloured hair being stirred by the breeze, her eyes expectant as they rested on his face for a moment.
Varden glanced uneasily at the man beside him. “What are you going to do?” he inquired in a whisper.
The man chuckled nastily. “Get my bearings, brother,” he answered. “It’s all a bit odd. It being 2034, I mean. Do you have any clues to that?”
Varden shook his head, then started down the steps in the wake of Viki, this Viki who was seventeen years too old.
“Come on, Bob,” she called, with a hint of impatience. “We’re going places!”
“Yes, get a move on, man!” He kicked Varden so that he slipped and slithered down the rest of the steps on his back.
“That’s in return for treading on my foot back inside!”
“You’ll be sorry you were ever born,” grated Varden.
“Why, darling, that’s not a nice thing to say to a girl!” protested Viki lovingly.
The other Varden laughed, Varden decided he must watch his tongue more carefully. It was so difficult to remember that his conversations with his other half were one-sided to anyone listening.
He moved towards the car as a man in a one-piece uniform came and took his suitcase after opening the door of the car. Varden studied the vehicle with genuine amazement. It was long and low and streamlined, with a fully curved Perspex hood over the whole of the seating space. But it only had two wheels, fore and aft. He could just see the bulging tyres beneath the low flattened body.
The second Varden was wandering round it, sucking his teeth, examining details with inquisitive curiosity, frowning as he did so.
Viki entered the car with surprising elegance.
“I’ll ride on the roof, Bob,” the other man said, winking. “Wouldn’t want to cramp your style, old man, but remember I’ll be keeping an eye on you—so play fair in there.”
Varden mouthed something inaudible, then entered the car as Viki subsided against the cushions. Glancing upwards through the transparent roof he saw the squatting form of his leering companion shadow. He shuddered and didn’t look again. Later on perhaps he would be able to sort this out, he told himself, but just at the moment he was lost in a tangle of incredibility that was too much for his brain to grasp. It was 2034 instead of 2017, and there were two of him. And he was sitting next to a woman who had once raised the lust inside him but was now no more than a worn-out hag in the guise of a wanton.
The driver turned his head politely. “The city, madam?”
She nodded without speaking. Varden closed his eyes. When he opened them again the two-wheeled vehicle was moving smoothly over the gravel. From somewhere in the car came the faint hum of engines. A rear-engined gyro-car, thought Varden. It was unbelievable; the whole thing was unbelievable. He almost began to believe that the faded woman at his side was Viki Rochelle after all. But surely it wasn’t possible?
A long, white, dual carriageway opened out in front. Varden saw several other similar vehicles moving along it. He tried to estimate the speed of travel, putting it at something in the region of a hundred m.p.h. A small metal plate on the back of the driver’s seat claimed the gyro-car as the property of the City Taxi Co. A hundred-plus taxi!
Presently they swept through a long tunnel, diving under a town. Varden saw the tall fingers of buildings rising above them as they dived. The tunnel was brightly lit.
When they came up he glanced back, seeing the cluster of the town fading in the distance. The car sped on as if on rails. He was conscious of Viki watching him curiously from the corner of her eye. The naked man on the roof was sitting cross-legged right above Varden’s head, staring round with wondering eyes. He seemed to be just as intrigued by the scenery as the one inside.
“You find it strange?” murmured Viki.
Varden gave a start. “I’ve been out of touch for quite a while,” he ventured.
She leant towards him, rather in the way she used to when they’d been together in the past. Her perfume filled his nose for a moment. But the network of tiny, cobwebby lines round her eyes showed clearly through the make-up she wore.
“Seventeen years?” he muttered. �
��This is 2034, isn’t it?”
She nodded, snuggling closer against him as the muted hum of the engine wrapped them round. “We don’t alter much,” she said. “There are things that time can’t alter. You and me; the state of the world; and Merrick.”
“Merrick?” he echoed. “I’d almost forgotten. How is he? How is he, Viki?” There was a fresh eagerness in his voice. But he remembered that neither of these people had been to see him in hospital. And even Viki, despite her act, was at heart afraid and disgusted by his scars.
“You’ll see him again before long,” she told him. “He’s in town, but busy.”
“Ah! He always was pretty busy. Still the big business man?”
“Bigger than ever! And when the war starts…Boy, will he be big!”
Varden digested that item slowly. The war? “I thought they’d reached agreement years ago,” he said. “No more war.”
She gurgled with amusement somewhere down in her husky throat. “You’re such a child, Bob!” she said. “This world was meant to suffer its wars to the day of extinction. You can’t prevent it; no one can. Not even Blake and his cronies!”
Varden said nothing. The woman slipped an arm through his, leaning against him. The man on the roof tapped loudly and wagged a finger at Varden, grinning. Varden scowled and stared at the back of the driver’s neck, red and close cropped over his tight collar.
They were nearing the city now. Other highways led in, converging on the matted forest of pinnacle-like buildings. This was London, he thought incredulously. A different London to the one he’d known before. But older buildings stood cheek by jowl with modern ones; streets were wider but bore familiar names. There was a strangeness about the people, too. Their clothing was odd to his unaccustomed eyes. It was summer, and most of the women except the older ones wore shirts and slacks of some soft metallic cloth that shimmered as they walked. The men wore suits similar to his own, which he noticed for the first time was also of the same material.
Finally the car rolled to a stop. The man on the roof hopped down and stood watching the traffic for a moment while the driver got out and opened the door for Viki. They were outside a block of flats.
“Come on in,” said Viki silkily. She dismissed the car.
Varden hesitated. Then the naked horror that was part of himself, said, “Hurry, up, you fool! She’s waiting for you!”
She was waiting for him, tapping the toe of her shoe on the pavement, smiling with her made-up eyes. There was a smoky drift across them, the smoke of impatience or dislike perhaps.
For one blind moment Varden wanted to turn and run. He did turn, but was confronted by the other man. “No you don’t!” he said firmly. “We want to get anchored somewhere, and she’s as good as anyone for a start!”
Approaching Viki’s apartment, Varden was surprised when the door opened of its own accord, automatically. The three of them entered, Viki in the lead, then the two men. Varden had a splitting headache and was worried. Viki worried him, so did his constant companion, that separate entity of himself he was learning to loathe. It took a lot of getting used to, this new existence. And this living ahead of time, too. It had to be that, of course. He couldn’t have been torpid for seventeen years in hospital. Something had happened to him, happened to his eyesight. Perhaps he wasn’t where he was at all, but was only seeing this world of the future through his eyes. But was he seeing that other personality as well? At the moment the man was strolling round the big airy room and examining things with appreciative touch. Finally he sat himself down in a chair at the other end of the room, watching Varden with cynical eyes, but quickly turning his attention to Viki as she moved about.
“Scotch, honey?” The voice of an older Viki, a more experienced Viki, but a less attractive one.
“Thanks,” he muttered, settling himself uncomfortably, one eye on his other self.
“She ought to modulate that walk of hers,” observed the man. “With all those bulges where there ought to be curves she should be more careful.”
Varden felt vaguely sick and apprehensive. He glanced it Viki as she came towards him, carrying a glass. Her lands were steady, but her eyes flickered with some inward fire, and her lips were bowed invitingly when she smiled.
“Play her along, brother! Nice and gentle, mind.” He made stroking movements with his hands, grinning suggestively.
“You damn’ well wait till I get you alone!” said Varden.
Viki purred. “Darling, that’ll be just wonderful, but we are alone.” She swayed against him.
Varden bit his tongue on the point of saying they weren’t.
“Here’s to us,” whispered the woman.
“To us,” he replied, working hard to manufacture a smile. It hurt his taut scarred jaw. The Scotch was warming to his stomach when it reached that far.
“Look,” he said suddenly. “I have a few things to do before we get together. First I want a hotel.”
She made a move at him. “I believe you’re shy of your little Viki,” she accused. “But, okay, go ahead. There’s the Carson next door. Go broody in there for a while. I’ll still be waiting for you—here.”
“Now you’re showing some initiative,” said the other with a nod of approval. “You and I have an arrangement to make.”
Varden put his unfinished drink down, focusing his eyes to make sure they were steady.
“So long for now,” he said. He tried to slip through the door and leave Varden behind, but they went together in the end.
The Carson was luxurious, and the suite he rented comfortable. Both men strolled round it thoughtfully, finally coming to a halt and watching each other warily.
Varden was on the point of speaking when there was a buzzing noise from what he took to be a television cabinet. They both turned and stared at it as the screen glowed into life. Varden Two gave a whistle of admiration.
A girl’s face with dental cream advert teeth was smiling at them. She was smiling in technicolour.
“Mr. Varden?” she inquired. “Call for you.”
“Which one of us does she mean?”
“For me?” said Varden, frowning. “What do I do?”
The Smile looked a little surprised. “Why you—you just take it, Mr. Varden; that’s all.” She faded out, to be replaced an instant later by the fleshy features of Merrick. Varden felt a sense of disappointment at the change.
“Hello there,” he said, with an attempt at heartiness. Merrick talked loudly, telling him he was up in Scotland but was coming down south that night. In fact, he’d be in London in a couple of hours and would call on Varden.
“He must have got your address from Viki,” said Varden Two in a sly aside. “I’ll bet they’re pretty thick. Those two”
“I’ll pick you up then,” said Merrick, grinning more boyishly than his pouched face could stand.
“I’ll be around.” He didn’t want to watch Merrick any longer, not just now. He put a hand to the only switch visible on the cabinet. The screen went blind as he flicked it. Then he sat down again, gnawing his fingernails and scowling savagely at the smirking figure of his other self. “Why don’t you put some clothes on?” he demanded abruptly.
“But I’m not cold. If I wore clothes they’d show, and I’d still be invisible myself—except to you. That would start a riot when I walked around.”
“Damn you!” snapped Varden.
“And you, pal!” retorted Varden.
They sat and scowled at each other for several more minutes. Finally Varden rose to his feet and went towards the television affair.
“What are you up to now?”
“Just trying this gadget out. It’s a video, I suppose. Quite an improvement on the telephone.”
“Uh-huh. Mind how you go.”
Varden flicked the switch and the Smile appeared.
“Can you connect me with a Miss Rochelle in the flat next door?” he inquired politely. The Smile asked if he had the lady’s number. Varden supposed that an ancient telephone
number in New York wouldn’t do. He shook his head. The Smile said it didn’t matter. The screen flickered again and he found himself peering at the room where he had recently left a half finished glass of Scotch.
Viki came prowling across the floor towards him, hipping it a little too much for grace.
“Lonely?” she inquired in a sultry tone.
Varden grinned crookedly. “Not yet; just getting used to things, trying them out. Merrick called me a while ago. He’s on his way to London.”
She nodded. “He called me, too. Aren’t you coming round? I’m still waiting.” A long jade holder was poised in her fingers, the smoke from a cigarette drifting up and being tangled in her hair.
“Not yet,” he said. He was sorry he’d called her. And yet she was his only link with the past. She and Merrick. There wasn’t anyone else except…except Rhonna Blake. But…she wouldn’t want him anyway, not now. The bitterness flooded him again, so that he turned off the video swiftly.
Varden Two rubbed his scarred chin reflectively. “That dame,” he said slowly, “is up to no good, Bob.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it this way.” He perched himself on the arm of a chair, wriggling his toes and staring at the carpet. “She was never in love with us, not really. Why the devil should she cling like this to a couple of wrecks? I’m no beauty; nor are you! There’s something behind it, Bob!”
Varden considered him carefully. “I think you’re right,” he admitted. “But just at the moment I’m in no state of mind to work it out.” He turned.
“Where are you off to now?”
“Out for a walk, and please, for the love of Pete, stay in here!”
Varden shrugged. “Unsociable so-and-so” he grinned.
CHAPTER 4
MOB VIOLENCE
The dusk of evening was settling over the city, being held at bay by the lights as they winked in a thousand windows. Varden mingled with the crowds, but could find no pleasure in them. He was a part of them, yet alien to them. Sometimes a stray pair of eyes would rest on him briefly, only to look away at what they saw. Loneliness cloaked him in a shroud.
