themselves. The localauthorities picked him up at once, of course. Apparently they wereconvinced that he meant it; he was never released. He was put to death,and his body buried secretly. It seemed that the cult was finished."
The Speaker smiled. "Unfortunately, some of his disciples reportedseeing him after the date of his death. The rumor spread; he hadconquered death, he was divine. It took hold, grew. And here we aretoday, with a First Church, obstructing all social progress, destroyingsociety, sowing the seeds of anarchy--"
"But the wars," Conger said. "About them?"
"The wars? Well, there were no more wars. It must be acknowledged thatthe elimination of war was the direct result of non-violence practicedon a general scale. But we can take a more objective view of war today.What was so terrible about it? War had a profound selective value,perfectly in accord with the teachings of Darwin and Mendel and others.Without war the mass of useless, incompetent mankind, without trainingor intelligence, is permitted to grow and expand unchecked. War acted toreduce their numbers; like storms and earthquakes and droughts, it wasnature's way of eliminating the unfit.
"Without war the lower elements of mankind have increased all out ofproportion. They threaten the educated few, those with scientificknowledge and training, the ones equipped to direct society. They haveno regard for science or a scientific society, based on reason. And thisMovement seeks to aid and abet them. Only when scientists are in fullcontrol can the--"
* * * * *
He looked at his watch and then kicked the car door open. "I'll tell youthe rest as we walk."
They crossed the dark roof. "Doubtless you now know whom those bonesbelonged to, who it is that we are after. He has been dead just twocenturies, now, this ignorant man from the Middle West, this Founder.The tragedy is that the authorities of the time acted too slowly. Theyallowed him to speak, to get his message across. He was allowed topreach, to start his cult. And once such a thing is under way, there'sno stopping it.
"But what if he had died before he preached? What if none of hisdoctrines had ever been spoken? It took only a moment for him to utterthem, that we know. They say he spoke just once, just one time. _Then_the authorities came, taking him away. He offered no resistance; theincident was small."
The Speaker turned to Conger.
"Small, but we're reaping the consequences of it today."
They went inside the building. Inside, the soldiers had already laid outthe skeleton on a table. The soldiers stood around it, their young facesintense.
Conger went over to the table, pushing past them. He bent down, staringat the bones. "So these are his remains," he murmured. "The Founder. TheChurch has hidden them for two centuries."
"Quite so," the Speaker said. "But now we have them. Come along down thehall."
They went across the room to a door. The Speaker pushed it open.Technicians looked up. Conger saw machinery, whirring and turning;benches and retorts. In the center of the room was a gleaming crystalcage.
The Speaker handed a Slem-gun to Conger. "The important thing toremember is that the skull must be saved and brought back--forcomparison and proof. Aim low--at the chest."
Conger weighed the gun in his hands. "It feels good," he said. "I knowthis gun--that is, I've seen them before, but I never used one."
The Speaker nodded. "You will be instructed on the use of the gun andthe operation of the cage. You will be given all data we have on thetime and location. The exact spot was a place called Hudson's field.About 1960 in a small community outside Denver, Colorado. And don'tforget--the only means of identification you will have will be theskull. There are visible characteristics of the front teeth, especiallythe left incisor--"
Conger listened absently. He was watching two men in white carefullywrapping the skull in a plastic bag. They tied it and carried it intothe crystal cage. "And if I should make a mistake?"
"Pick the wrong man? Then find the right one. Don't come back until yousucceed in reaching this Founder. And you can't wait for him to startspeaking; that's what we must avoid! You must act in advance. Takechances; shoot as soon as you think you've found him. He'll be someoneunusual, probably a stranger in the area. Apparently he wasn't known."
Conger listened dimly.
"Do you think you have it all now?" the Speaker asked.
"Yes. I think so." Conger entered the crystal cage and sat down, placinghis hands on the wheel.
"Good luck," the Speaker said.
"We'll be awaiting the outcome. There's some philosophical doubt as towhether one can alter the past. This should answer the question once andfor all."
Conger fingered the controls of the cage.
"By the way," the Speaker said. "Don't try to use this cage for purposesnot anticipated in your job. We have a constant trace on it. If we wantit back, we can get it back. Good luck."
Conger said nothing. The cage was sealed. He raised his finger andtouched the wheel control. He turned the wheel carefully.
He was still staring at the plastic bag when the room outside vanished.
For a long time there was nothing at all. Nothing beyond the crystalmesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed through Conger's mind, helter-skelter.How would he know the man? How could he be certain, in advance? What hadhe looked like? What was his name? How had he acted, before he spoke?Would he be an ordinary person, or some strange outlandish crank?
Conger picked up the Slem-gun and held it against his cheek. The metalof the gun was cool and smooth. He practiced moving the sight. It was abeautiful gun, the kind of gun he could fall in love with. If he hadowned such a gun in the Martian desert--on the long nights when he hadlain, cramped and numbed with cold, waiting for things that movedthrough the darkness--
He put the gun down and adjusted the meter readings of the cage. Thespiraling mist was beginning to condense and settle. All at once formswavered and fluttered around him.
Colors, sounds, movements filtered through the crystal wire. He clampedthe controls off and stood up.
* * * * *
He was on a ridge overlooking a small town. It was high noon. The airwas crisp and bright. A few automobiles moved along a road. Off in thedistance were some level fields. Conger went to the door and steppedoutside. He sniffed the air. Then he went back into the cage.
He stood before the mirror over the shelf, examining his features. Hehad trimmed his beard--they had not got him to cut it off--and his hairwas neat. He was dressed in the clothing of the middle-twentiethcentury, the odd collar and coat, the shoes of animal hide. In hispocket was money of the times. That was important. Nothing more wasneeded.
Nothing, except his ability, his special cunning. But he had never usedit in such a way before.
He walked down the road toward the town.
The first things he noticed were the newspapers on the stands. April 5,1961. He was not too far off. He looked around him. There was a fillingstation, a garage, some taverns, and a ten-cent store. Down the streetwas a grocery store and some public buildings.
A few minutes later he mounted the stairs of the little public libraryand passed through the doors into the warm interior.
The librarian looked up, smiling.
"Good afternoon," she said.
He smiled, not speaking because his words would not be correct; accentedand strange, probably. He went over to a table and sat down by a heap ofmagazines. For a moment he glanced through them. Then he was on his feetagain. He crossed the room to a wide rack against the wall. His heartbegan to beat heavily.
Newspapers--weeks on end. He took a roll of them over to the table andbegan to scan them quickly. The print was odd, the letters strange. Someof the words were unfamiliar.
He set the papers aside and searched farther. At last he found what hewanted. He carried the _Cherrywood Gazette_ to the table and opened itto the first page. He found what he wanted:
PRISONER HANGS SELF
An unidentified man, held by the county sheriff's offic
e for suspicion of criminal syndicalism, was found dead this morning, by--
He finished the item. It was vague, uninforming. He needed more. Hecarried the _Gazette_ back to the racks and then, after a moment'shesitation, approached the librarian.
"More?" he asked. "More papers. Old ones?"
She frowned. "How old? Which papers?"
"Months old. And--before."
"Of the _Gazette_? This is all we have. What did you want? What are youlooking for? Maybe I can help you."
He was silent.
"You might find older issues at the _Gazette_ office," the woman said,taking off her glasses. "Why don't you try there? But if you'd tell me,maybe I could help you--"
He went out.
The _Gazette_ office was down a side street; the sidewalk was broken
The Skull Page 2
