"Some kind of concussion bomb," Ryan said.
"Maybe we better get out of here."
Ryan threw the switch. The scene below them began to waver. Abruptly it faded. It winked out.
"Thank God that's over," Kastner said. "So that's what the war was like."
"The second part. The major part. Claw against claw. It's a good thing they started fighting with each other. Good for us, I mean."
"Where to now?"
"We'll make one more observation stop. During the early part of the war. Before claws came into use."
"And then Schonerman?"
Ryan set his jaw. "That's right. One more stop and then Schonerman."
Ryan adjusted the controls. The meters moved slightly. Across the map the cable arm traced their path. "It won't be long," Ryan murmured. He gripped the switch, setting the relays in place. "This time we have to be more careful. There'll be more war activity."
"Maybe we shouldn't even—"
"I want to see. This was man against man. The Soviet region against the United Nations. I'm curious to see what it was like."
"What if we're spotted?"
"We can get away quickly."
Kastner said nothing. Ryan manipulated the controls. Time passed. At the edge of the board Ryan's cigarette burned to an ash. At last he straightened up.
"Here we go. Get set." He opened the switch.
Below them green and brown plains stretched out, pocked with bomb craters. Part of a city swept past. It was burning. Towering columns of smoke rose up, drifting into the sky. Along the roads black dots moved, vehicles and people streaming away.
"A bombing," Kastner said. "Recent."
The city fell behind. They were over open country. Military trucks rushed along. Most of the land was still intact. They could see a few farmers working the fields. The farmers dropped down as the time ship moved over them.
Ryan studied the sky. "Watch out."
"Air craft?"
"I'm not sure where we are. I don't know the location of the sides in this part of the war. We may be over UN territory, or Soviet territory." Ryan held on tight to the switch.
From the blue sky two dots appeared. The dots grew. Ryan watched them intently. Beside him Kastner gave a nervous grunt. "Ryan, we better—"
The dots separated. Ryan's hand closed over the power switch. He yanked it closed. As the scene dissolved the dots swept past. Then there was nothing but grayness outside.
In their ears the roar of the two planes still echoed.
"That was close," Kastner said.
"Very. They didn't waste any time."
"I hope you don't want to stop any more."
"No. No more observation stops. The Project itself comes next. We're close to Schonerman's time area. I can begin to slow down the velocity of the ship. This is going to be critical."
"Critical?"
"There are going to be problems getting to Schonerman. We must hit his continuum exactly, both in space as well as time. He may be guarded. In any case they won't give us much time to explain who we are." Ryan tapped the time map. "And there's always the chance the information given here is incorrect."
"How long before we rephase with a continuum? Schonerman's continuum?"
Ryan looked at his wristwatch. "About five or ten minutes. Get ready to leave the ship. Part of this is going to be on foot."
It was night. There was no sound, only unending silence. Kastner strained to hear, his ear against the hull of the ship. "Nothing."
"No. I don't hear anything either." Carefully, Ryan unbolted the hatch, sliding the locks back. He pushed the hatch open, his gun gripped tight. He peered out into the darkness.
The air was fresh and cold. Full of smells of growing things. Trees and flowers. He took a deep breath. He could see nothing. It was pitch black. Far off, a long way off, a cricket chirruped.
"Hear that?" Ryan said.
"What is it?"
"A beetle." Ryan stepped gingerly down. The ground was soft underfoot. He was beginning to adjust to the darkness. Above him a few stars glinted. He could make out trees, a field of trees. And beyond the trees a high fence.
Kastner stepped down beside him. "What now?"
"Keep your voice down." Ryan indicated the fence. "We're going that way. Some kind of building."
They crossed the field to the fence. At the fence Ryan aimed his gun, setting the charge at minimum. The fence charred and sank, the wire glowed red.
Ryan and Kastner stepped over the fence. The side of the building rose, concrete and iron. Ryan nodded to Kastner. "We'll have to move quickly. And low."
He crouched, taking a breath. Then he ran, bent over, Kastner beside him. They crossed the ground to the building. A window loomed up in front of them. Then a door. Ryan threw his weight against the door.
The door opened. Ryan fell inside, staggering. He caught a quick glimpse of startled faces, men leaping to their feet.
Ryan fired, sweeping the interior of the room with his gun. Flame rushed out, crackling around him. Kastner fired past his shoulder. Shapes moved in the flame, dim outlines falling and rolling.
The flames died. Ryan advanced, stepping over charred heaps on the floor. A barracks. Bunks, remains of a table. An overturned lamp and radio.
By the rays of the lamp Ryan studied a battle map pinned on the wall. He traced the map with his fingers, deep in thought.
"Are we far?" Kastner asked, standing by the door with his gun ready.
"No. Only a few miles."
"How do we get there?"
"We'll move the time ship. It's safer. We're lucky. It might have been on the other side of the world."
"Will there be many guards?"
"I'll tell you the facts when we get there." Ryan moved to the door. "Come on. Someone may have seen us."
Kastner grabbed up a handful of newspapers from the remains of the table. "I'll bring these. Maybe they'll tell us something."
"Good idea."
Ryan set the ship down in a hollow between two hills. He spread the newspapers out, studying them intently. "We're earlier than I thought. By a few months. Assuming these are new." He fingered the newsprint. "Not turned yellow. Probably only a day or so old."
"What is the date?"
"Autumn, 2030. September 21."
Kastner peered out the port. "The sun is going to be coming up soon. The sky is beginning to turn gray."
"We'll have to work fast."
"I'm a little uncertain. What am I supposed to do?"
"Schonerman is in a small village beyond this hill. We're in the United States. In Kansas. This area is surrounded by troops, a circle of pillboxes and dugouts. We're inside the periphery. Schonerman is virtually unknown at this continuum. His research has never been published. At this time he's working as part of a large Government research project."
"Then he's not especially protected."
"Only later on, when his work has been turned over to the Government will he be protected day and night. Kept in an underground laboratory and never let up to the surface. The Government's most valuable research worker. But right now—"
"How will we know him?"
Ryan handed Kastner a sheaf of photographs. "This is Schonerman. All the pictures that survived up to our own time."
Kastner studied the pictures. Schonerman was a small man with horn-rimmed glasses. He smiled feebly at the camera, a thin nervous man with a prominent forehead. His hands were slender, the fingers long and tapered. In one photograph he sat at his desk, a pipe beside him, his thin chest covered by a sleeveless wool sweater. In another he sat with his legs crossed, a tabby cat in his lap, a mug of beer in front of him. An old German enamel mug with hunting scenes and Gothic letters.
"So that's the man who invented the claws. Or did the research work."
"That's the man who worked out the principles for the first workable artificial brain."
"Did he know they were going to use his work to make the claws?"
"Not
at first. According to reports, Schonerman first learned about it only when the initial batch of claws was released. The United Nations were losing the war. The Soviets gained an original advantage, due to their opening surprise attacks. The claws were hailed as a triumph of Western development. For a time they seemed to have turned the tide of the war."
"And then—"
"And then the claws began to manufacture their own varieties and attack Soviets and Westerners alike. The only humans that survived were those at the UN base on Luna. A few dozen million."
"It was a good thing the claws finally turned on each other."
"Schonerman saw the whole development of his work to the last stages. They say he became greatly embittered."
Kastner passed the pictures back. "And you say he's not especially well guarded?"
"Not at this continuum. No more than any other research worker. He's young. In this continuum he's only twenty-five. Remember that."
"Where'll we find him?"
"The Government Project is located in what was once a school house. Most of the work is done on the surface. No big underground development has begun yet. The research workers have barracks about a quarter mile from their labs." Ryan glanced at his watch. "Our best chance is to nab him as he begins work at his bench in the lab."
"Not in the barracks?" .
"The papers are all in the lab. The Government doesn't allow any written work to be taken out. Each worker is searched as he leaves." Ryan touched his coat gingerly. "We have to be careful. Schonerman must not be harmed. We only want his papers."
"We won't use our blasters?"
"No. We don't dare take the chance of injuring him."
"His papers will definitely be at his bench?"
"He's not allowed to remove them for any reason. We know exactly where we'll find what we want. There's only one place the papers can be."
"Their security precautions play right into our hands."
"Exactly," Ryan murmured.
Ryan and Kastner slipped down the hillside, running between the trees. The ground was hard and cold underfoot. They emerged at the edge of the town. A few people were already up, moving slowly along the street. The town had not been bombed. There was no damage, as yet. The windows of the stores had been boarded up and huge arrows pointed to the underground shelters.
"What do they have on?" Kastner said. "Some of them have something on their faces."
"Bacteria masks. Come on." Ryan gripped his blast pistol as he and Kastner made their way through the town. None of the people paid any attention to them.
"Just two more uniformed people," Kastner said.
"Our main hope is surprise. We're inside the wall of defense. The sky is patrolled against Soviet craft. No Soviet agents could be landed here. And in any case, this is a minor research lab, in the center of the United States. There would be no reason for Soviet agents to come here."
"But there will be guards."
"Everything is guarded. All science. All kinds of research work."
The school house loomed up ahead of them. A few men were milling around the doorway. Ryan's heart constricted. Was Schonerman one of them?
The men were going inside, one by one. A guard in helmet and uniform was checking their badges. A few of the men wore bacteria masks, only their eyes visible. Would he recognize Schonerman? What if he wore a mask? Fear gripped Ryan suddenly. In a mask Schonerman would look like anyone else.
Ryan slipped his blast pistol away, motioning Kastner to do the same. His fingers closed over the lining of his coat pocket.
Sleep-gas crystals. No one this early would have been immunized against sleep-gas. It had not been developed until a year or so later. The gas would put everyone for several hundred feet around into varying periods of sleep. It was a tricky and unpredictable weapon—but perfect for this situation.
"I'm ready," Kastner murmured.
"Wait. We have to wait for him."
They waited. The sun rose, warming the cold sky. More research workers appeared, filing up the path and inside the building. They puffed white clouds of frozen moisture and slapped their hands together. Ryan began to become nervous. One of the guards was watching him and Kastner. If they became suspicious—
A small man in a heavy overcoat and horn-rimmed glasses came up the path, hurrying toward the building.
Ryan tensed. Schonerman! Schonerman flashed his badge to the guard. He stamped his feet and went inside the building, stripping off his mittens. It was over in a second. A brisk young man, hurrying to get to his work. To his papers.
"Come on," Ryan said.
He and Kastner moved forward. Ryan pulled the gas crystals loose from the lining of his pocket. The crystals were cold and hard in his hand. Like diamonds. The guard was watching them coming, his gun alert. His face was set. Studying them. He had never seen them before. Ryan, watching the guard's face, could read his thoughts without trouble.
Ryan and Kastner halted at the doorway. "We're from the FBI," Ryan said calmly.
"Identify yourselves." The guard did not move.
"Here are our credentials," Ryan said. He drew his hand out from his coat pocket. And crushed the gas crystals in his fist.
The guard sagged. His face relaxed. Limply, his body slid to the ground. The gas spread. Kastner stepped through the door, peering around, his eyes bright.
The building was small. Lab benches and equipment stretched out on all sides of them. The workers lay where they had been standing, inert heaps on the floor, their arms and legs out, their mouths open.
"Quick." Ryan passed Kastner, hurrying across the lab. At the far fend of the room Schonerman lay slumped over his bench, his head resting against the metal surface. His glasses had fallen off. His eyes were open, staring. He had taken his papers out of the drawer. The padlock and key were still on the bench. The papers were under his head and between his hands.
Kastner ran to Schonerman and snatched the papers up, stuffing them into his briefcase.
"Get them all!"
"I have them all." Kastner pulled open the drawer. He grabbed the remaining papers in the drawer. "Every one of them."
"Let's go. The gas will dissipate rapidly."
They ran back outside. A few sprawled bodies lay across the entrance, workers who had come into the area.
"Hurry."
They ran through the town, along the single main street. People gaped at them in astonishment. Kastner gasped for breath, holding on tight to his briefcase as he ran. "I'm—winded."
"Don't stop."
They reached the edge of the town and started up the hillside. Ryan ran between the trees, his body bent forward, not looking back. Some of the workers would be reviving. And other guards would be coming into the area. It would not be long before the alarm would be out.
Behind them a siren whirred into life.
"Here they come." Ryan paused at the top of the hill, waiting for Kastner. Behind them men were swelling rapidly into the street, coming up out of the underground bunkers. More sirens wailed, a dismal echoing sound.
"Down!" Ryan ran down the hillside toward the time ship, sliding and slipping on the dry earth. Kastner hurried after him, sobbing for breath. They could hear orders being shouted. Soldiers swarming up the hillside after them.
Ryan reached the ship. He grabbed Kastner and pulled him inside. "Get the hatch shut. Get it closed!"
Ryan ran to the control board. Kastner dropped his briefcase and tugged at the rim of the hatch. At the top of the hill a line of soldiers appeared. They made their way down the hillside, aiming and firing as they ran.
"Get down," Ryan barked. Shells crashed against the hull of the ship. "Down!"
Kastner fired back with his blast pistol. A wave of flame rolled up the hillside at the soldiers. The hatch came shut with a bang. Kastner spun the bolts and slid the inner lock into place. "Ready. All ready."
Ryan threw the power switch. Outside, the remaining soldiers fought through the flame to the side of the ship
. Ryan could see their faces through the port, seared and scorched by the blast.
One man raised his gun awkwardly. Most of them were down, rolling and struggling to rise. As the scene dimmed and faded he saw one of them crawling to his knees. The man's clothing was on fire. Smoke billowed from him, from his arms and shoulders. His face was contorted with pain. He reached out, toward the ship, reaching up at Ryan, his hands shaking, his body bent.
Suddenly Ryan froze.
He was still staring fixedly when the scene winked out and there was nothing. Nothing at all. The meters changed reading. Across the time map the arms moved calmly, tracing their lines.
In the last moment Ryan had looked directly into the man's face. The pain-contorted face. The features had been twisted, screwed up out of shape. And the horn-rimmed glasses were gone. But there was no doubt—it was Schonerman.
Ryan sat down. He ran a shaking hand through his hair.
"You're certain?" Kastner said.
"Yes. He must have come out of the sleep very quickly. It reacts differently on each person. And he was at the far end of the room. He must have come out of it and followed after us."
"Was he badly injured?"
"I don't know."
Kastner opened his briefcase. "Anyhow, we have the papers."
Ryan nodded, only half hearing. Schonerman injured, blasted, his clothing on fire. That had not been part of the plan.
But more important—had it been part of history?
For the first time the ramification of what they had done was beginning to emerge in his mind. Their own concern had been to obtain Schonerman's papers, so that USIC could make use of the artificial brain. Properly used, Schonerman's discovery could have great value in aiding the restoration of demolished Terra. Armies of worker-robots replanting and rebuilding. A mechanical army to make Terra fertile again. Robots could do in a generation what humans would toil at for years. Terra could be reborn.
But in returning to the past had they introduced new factors? Had a new past been created? Had some kind of balance been upset?
Ryan stood up and paced back and forth.
"What is it?" Kastner said. "We got the papers."
"I know."
"USIC will be pleased. The League can expect aid from now on. Whatever it wants. This will set up USIC forever. After all, USIC will manufacture the robots. Worker-robots. The end of human labor. Machines instead of men to work the ground."
The Collected Stories of Philip K. Dick 4: The Minority Report Page 62
