The Past Through Tomorrow

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “Take your hands off me!”

  “Now, Mary…”

  Lazarus stepped out into the room and pointed at Vanning with his blaster. “This monkey giving you trouble, Sis?”

  Vanning jerked his head around. “Who are you?” he demanded indignantly. “What are you doing here?”

  Lazarus still addressed Mary. “Say the word, Sis, and I’ll cut him into pieces small enough to hide.”

  “No, Lazarus,” she answered with her voice now under control. “Thanks just the same. Please put your gun away. I wouldn’t want anything like that to happen.”

  “Okay.” Lazarus holstered the gun but let his hand rest on the grip.

  “Who are you?” repeated Vanning. “What’s the meaning of this intrusion?”

  “I was just about to ask you that, Bud,” Lazarus said mildly, “but we’ll let it ride. I’m another one of those old Johnnies you’re looking for… like Mary here.”

  Vanning looked at him keenly. “I wonder——” he said. He looked back at Mary. “It can’t be, it’s preposterous. Still… it won’t hurt to investigate your story. I’ve plenty to detain you on, in any event, I’ve never seen a clearer case of anti-social atavism.” He moved toward the videophone.

  “Better get away from that phone, Bud,” Lazarus said quickly, then added to Mary, “I won’t touch my gun, Sis. I’ll use my knife.”

  Vanning stopped. “Very well,” he said in annoyed tones, “put away that vibroblade. I won’t call from here.”

  “Look again, it ain’t a vibroblade. It’s steel. Messy.”

  Vanning turned to Mary Sperling. “I’m leaving. If you are wise, you’ll come with me.” She shook her head. He looked annoyed, shrugged, and faced Lazarus Long. “As for you, sir, your primitive manners have led you into serious trouble. You will be arrested shortly.”

  Lazarus glanced up at the ceiling shutters. “Reminds me of a patron in Venusburg who wanted to have me arrested.”

  “Well?”

  “I’ve outlived him quite a piece.”

  Vanning opened his mouth to answer—then turned suddenly and left so quickly that the outer door barely had time to clear the end of his nose. As the door snapped closed Lazarus said musingly, “Hardest man to reason with I’ve met in years. I’ll bet he never used an unsterilized spoon in his life.”

  Mary looked startled, then giggled. He turned toward her. “Glad to see you sounding perky, Mary. Kinda thought you were upset.”

  “I was. I hadn’t known you were listening. I was forced to improvise as I went along.”

  “Did I queer it?”

  “No. I’m glad you came in—thanks. But we’ll have to hurry now.”

  “I suppose so. I think he meant it—there’ll be a proctor looking for me soon. You, too, maybe.”

  “That’s what I meant. So let’s get out of here.”

  Mary was ready to leave in scant minutes but when they stepped out into the public hall they met a man whose brassard and hypo kit marked him as a proctor. “Service,” he said. “I’m looking for a citizen in company with Citizen Mary Sperling. Could you direct me?”

  “Sure,” agreed Lazarus. “She lives right down there.” He pointed at the far end of the corridor. As the peace officer looked in that direction, Lazarus tapped him carefully on the back of the head, a little to the left, with the butt of his blaster, and caught him as he slumped.

  Mary helped Lazarus wrestle the awkward mass into her apartment. He knelt over the cop, pawed through his hypo kit, took a loaded injector and gave him a shot. “There,” he said, “that’ll keep him sleepy for a few hours.” Then he blinked thoughtfully at the hypo kit, detached it from the proctor’s belt. “This might come in handy again. Anyhow, it won’t hurt to take it.” As an afterthought he removed the proctor’s peace brassard and placed it, too, in his pouch.

  They left the apartment again and dropped to the parking level. Lazarus noticed as they rolled up the ramp that Mary had set the North Shore combination. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “The Families’ Seat. No place else to go where we won’t be checked on. But we’ll have to hide somewhere in the country until dark.”

  Once the car was on beamed control headed north Mary asked to be excused and caught a few minutes sleep. Lazarus watched a few miles of scenery, then nodded himself.

  They were awakened by the jangle of the emergency alarm and by the speedster slowing to a stop. Mary reached up and shut off the alarm. “All cars resume local control,” intoned a voice. “Proceed at speed twenty to the nearest traffic control tower for inspection. All cars resume local control. Proceed at——”

  She switched that off, too. “Well, that’s us,” Lazarus said cheerfully. “Got any ideas?”

  Mary did not answer. She peered out and studied their surroundings. The steel fence separating the high-speed control way they were on from the uncontrolled local-traffic strip lay about fifty yards to their right but no changeover ramp broke the fence for at least a mile ahead—where it did, there would be, of course, the control tower where they were ordered to undergo inspection. She started the car again, operating it manually, and wove through stopped or slowly moving traffic while speeding up. As they got close to the barrier Lazarus felt himself shoved into the cushions; the car surged and lifted, clearing the barrier by inches. She set it down rolling on the far side.

  A car was approaching from the north and they were slashing across his lane. The other car was moving no more than ninety but its driver was taken by surprise—he had no reason to expect another car to appear out of nowhere against him on a clear road. Mary was forced to duck left, then right, and left again; the car slewed and reared up on its hind wheel, writhing against the steel grip of its gyros. Mary fought it back into control to the accompaniment of a teeth-shivering grind of herculene against glass as the rear wheel fought for traction.

  Lazarus let his jaw muscles relax and breathed out gustily. “Whew!” he sighed. “I hope we won’t have to do that again.”

  Mary glanced at him, grinning. “Women drivers make you nervous?”

  “Oh, no, no, not at all! I just wish you would warn me when something like that is about to happen.”

  “I didn’t know myself,” she admitted, then went on worriedly, “I don’t know quite what to do now. I thought we could lie quiet out of town until dark… but I had to show my hand a little when I took that fence. By now somebody will be reporting it to the tower. Mmm…”

  “Why wait until dark?” he asked. “Why not just bounce over to the lake in this Dick Dare contraption of yours and let it swim us home?”

  “I don’t like to,” she fretted. “I’ve attracted too much attention already. A trimobile faked up to look like a groundster is handy, but… well, if anyone sees us taking it under water and the proctors hear of it, somebody is going to guess the answer. Then they’ll start fishing—everything from seismo to sonar and Heaven knows what else.”

  “But isn’t the Seat shielded?”

  “Of course. But anything that big they can find—if they know what they’re looking for and keep looking.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Lazarus admitted slowly. “Well, we certainly don’t want to lead any nosy proctors to the Families’ Seat. Mary, I think we had better ditch your car and get lost.” He frowned. “Anywhere but the Seat.”

  “No, it has to be the Seat,” she answered sharply.

  “Why? If you chase a fox, he——”

  “Quiet a moment! I want to try something.” Lazarus shut up; Mary drove with one hand while she fumbled in the glove compartment.

  “Answer,” a voice said.

  “Life is short——” Mary replied.

  They completed the formula. “Listen,” Mary went on hurriedly, “I’m in trouble—get a fix on me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is there a sub in the pool?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good! Lock on me and home them in.” She explained hurriedly the details of what
she wanted, stopping once to ask Lazarus if he could swim. “That’s all,” she said at last, “but move! We’re short on minutes.”

  “Hold it, Mary!” the voice protested. “You know I can’t send a sub out in the daytime, certainly not on a calm day. It’s too easy to——”

  “Will you, or won’t you!”

  A third voice cut in. “I was listening, Mary—Ira Barstow. We’ll pick you up.”

  “But——” objected the first voice.

  “Stow it, Tommy. Just mind your burners and home me in. See you, Mary.”

  “Right, Ira!”

  While she had been talking to the Seat, Mary had turned off from the local-traffic strip into the unpaved road she had followed the night before, without slowing and apparently without looking. Lazarus gritted his teeth and hung on. They passed a weathered sign reading contaminated area—proceed at your own risk and graced with the conventional purple trefoil. Lazarus blinked at it and shrugged—he could not see how, at the moment, his hazard could be increased by a neutron or so.

  Mary slammed the car to a stop in a clump of stunted trees near the abandoned road. The lake lay at their feet, just beyond a low bluff. She unfastened her safety belt, struck a cigarette, and relaxed. “Now we wait. It’ll take at least half an hour for them to reach us no matter how hard Ira herds it. Lazarus, do you think we were seen turning off into here?”

  “To tell the truth, Mary, I was too busy to look.”

  “Well… nobody ever comes here, except a few reckless boys.”

  (“—and girls,” Lazarus added to himself.) Then he went on aloud, “I noted a ‘hot’ sign back there. How high is the count?”

  “That? Oh, pooh. Nothing to worry about unless you decided to build a house here. We’re the ones who are hot. If we didn’t have to stay close to the communicator, we——”

  The communicator spoke. “Okay, Mary. Right in front of you.”

  She looked startled. “Ira?”

  “This is Ira speaking but I’m still at the Seat. Pete Hardy was available in the Evanston pen, so we homed him in on you. Quicker.”

  “Okay—thanks!” She was turning to speak to Lazarus when he touched her arm.

  “Look behind us.”

  A helicopter was touching down less than a hundred yards from them. Three men burst out of it. They were dressed as proctors.

  Mary jerked open the door of the car and threw off her gown in one unbroken motion. She turned and called, “Come on!” as she thrust a hand back inside and tore a stud loose from the instrument panel. She ran.

  Lazarus unzipped the belt of his kilt and ran out of it as he followed her to the bluff. She went dancing down it; he came after with slightly more caution, swearing at sharp stones. The blast shook them as the car exploded, but the bluff saved them.

  They hit the water together.

  The lock in the little submarine was barely big enough for one at a time; Lazarus shoved Mary into it first and tried to slap her when she resisted, and discovered that slapping will not work under water. Then he spent an endless time, or so it seemed, wondering whether or not he could breathe water. “What’s a fish got that I ain’t got?” he was telling himself, when the outer latch moved under his hand and he was able to wiggle in.

  Eleven dragging seconds to blow the lock clear of water and he had a chance to see what damage, if any, the water had done to his blaster.

  Mary was speaking urgently to the skipper. “Listen, Pete—there are three proctors back up there with a whirly. My car blew up in their faces just as we hit the water. But if they aren’t all dead or injured, there will be a smart boy who will figure out that there was only one place for us to go—under water. We’ve got to be away from here before they take to the air to look for us.”

  “It’s a losing race,” Pete Hardy complained, slapping his controls as he spoke. “Even if it’s only a visual search, I’ll have to get outside and stay outside the circle of total reflection faster than he can gain altitude—and I can’t.” But the little sub lunged forward reassuringly.

  Mary worried about whether or not to call the Seat from the sub. She decided not to; it would just increase the hazard both to the sub and to the Seat itself. So she calmed herself and waited, huddled small in a passenger seat too cramped for two. Peter Hardy swung wide into deep water, hugging the bottom, picking up the Muskegon-Gary bottom beacons and conned himself in blind.

  By the time they surfaced in the pool inside the Seat she had decided against any physical means of communication, even the carefully shielded equipment at the Seat. Instead she hoped to find a telepathic sensitive ready and available among the Families’ dependents cared for there. Sensitives were as scarce among healthy members of the Howard Families as they were in the rest of the population, but the very inbreeding which had conserved and reinforced their abnormal longevity had also conserved and reinforced bad genes as well as good; they had an unusually high percentage of physical and mental defectives. Their board of genetic control plugged away at the problem of getting rid of bad strains while conserving the longevity strain, but for many generations they would continue to pay for their long lives with an excess of defectives.

  But almost five per cent of these defectives were telepathically sensitive.

  Mary went straight to the sanctuary in the Seat where some of these dependents were cared for, with Lazarus Long at her heels. She braced the matron. “Where’s Little Stephen? I need him.”

  “Keep your voice down,” the matron scolded. “Rest hour—you can’t.”

  “Janice, I’ve got to see him,” Mary insisted. “This won’t wait. I’ve got to get a message out to all the Families—at once.”

  The matron planted her hands on her hips. “Take it to the communication office. You can’t come here disturbing my children at all hours. I won’t have it.”

  “Janice, please! I don’t dare use anything but telepathy. You know I wouldn’t do this unnecessarily. Now take me to Stephen.”

  “It wouldn’t do you any good if I did. Little Stephen has had one of his bad spells today.”

  “Then take me to the strongest sensitive who can possibly work. Quickly, Janice! The safety of every member may depend on it.”

  “Did the trustees send you?”

  “No, no! There wasn’t time!”

  The matron still looked doubtful. While Lazarus was trying to recall how long it had been since he had socked a lady, she gave in. “All right—you can see Billy, though I shouldn’t let you. Mind you, don’t tire him out.” Still bristling, she led them along a corridor past a series of cheerful rooms and into one of them. Lazarus looked at the thing on the bed and looked away.

  The matron went to a cupboard and returned with a hypodermic injector. “Does he work under a hypnotic?” Lazarus asked.

  “No,” the matron answered coldly, “he has to have a stimulant to be aware of us at all.” She swabbed skin on the arm of the gross figure and made the injection. “Go ahead,” she said to Mary and lapsed into grim-mouthed silence.

  The figure on the bed stirred, its eyes rolled loosely, then seemed to track. It grinned. “Aunt Mary!” it said. “Oooh! Did you bring Billy Boy something?”

  “No,” she said gently. “Not this time, hon. Aunt Mary was in too much of a hurry. Next time? A surprise? Will that do?”

  “All right,” it said docilely.

  “That’s a good boy.” She reached out and tousled its hair; Lazarus looked away again. “Now will Billy Boy do something for Aunt Mary? A big, big favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you hear your friends?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “All of them?”

  “Uh huh. Mostly they don’t say anything,” it added.

  “Call to them.”

  There was a very short silence. “They heard me.”

  “Fine! Now listen carefully, Billy Boy: All the Families—urgent warning! Elder Mary Sperling speaking. Under an Action-in-Council the Administrator is about to arre
st every revealed member. The Council directed him to use ‘full expedience’—and it is my sober judgment that they are determined to use any means at all, regardless of the Covenant, to try to squeeze out of us the so-called secret of our long lives. They even intend to use the tortures developed by the inquisitors of the Prophets!” Her voice broke. She stopped and pulled herself together. “Now get busy! Find them, warn them, hide them! You may have only minutes left to save them!”

  Lazarus touched her arm and whispered; she nodded and went on:

  “If any cousin is arrested, rescue him by any means at all! Don’t try to appeal to the Covenant, don’t waste time arguing about justice… rescue him! Now move!”

  She stopped and then spoke in a tired, gentle voice, “Did they hear us, Billy Boy?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are they telling their folks?”

  “Uh huh. All but Jimmie-the-Horse. He’s mad at me,” it added confidentially.

  “ ‘Jimmie-the-Horse’? Where is he?”

  “Oh, where he lives.”

  “In Montreal,” put in the matron. “There are two other sensitives there —your message got through. Are you finished?”

  “Yes…” Mary said doubtfully. “But perhaps we had better have some other Seat relay it back.”

  “No!”

  “But, Janice——”

  “I won’t permit it. I suppose you had to send it but I want to give Billy the antidote now. So get out.”

  Lazarus took her arm. “Come on, kid. It either got through or it didn’t; you’ve done your best. A good job, girl.”

  Mary went on to make a full report to the Resident Secretary; Lazarus left her on business of his own. He retraced his steps, looking for a man who was not too busy to help him; the guards at the pool entrance were the first he found. “Service——” he began.

  “Service to you,” one of them answered. “Looking for someone?” He glanced curiously at Long’s almost complete nakedness, glanced away again —how anybody dressed, or did not dress, was a private matter.

  “Sort of,” admitted Lazarus. “Say, Bud, do you know of anyone around here who would lend me a kilt?”

  “You’re looking at one,” the guard answered pleasantly. “Take over, Dick —back in a minute.” He led Lazarus to bachelors’ quarters, outfitted him, helped him to dry his pouch and contents, and made no comment about the arsenal strapped to his hairy thighs. How elders behaved was no business of his and many of them were even touchier about their privacy than most people. He had seen Aunt Mary Sperling arrive stripped for swimming but had not been surprised as he had heard Ira Barstow briefing Pete for the underwater pickup; that the elder with her chose to take a dip in the lake weighed down by hardware did surprise him but not enough to make him forget his manners.