NINE TOMORROWS Tales of the Near Future Read online

  Miss Fellowes did not have a chance to see Hoskins on the all-circuit hookup, and though his interview was beamed to every part of the world and even to the outpost on the Moon, it did not penetrate the apartment in which Miss Fellowes and the ugly little boy lived.

  But he was down the next morning, radiant and joyful.

  Miss Fellowes said, “Did the interview go well?”

  “Extremely. And how is—Timmie?”

  Miss Fellowes found herself pleased at the use of the name. “Doing quite well. Now come out here, Timmie, the nice gentleman will not hurt you.”

  But Timmie stayed in the other room, with a lock of his matted hair showing behind the barrier of the door and, occasionally, the corner of an eye.

  “Actually,” said Miss Fellowes, “he is settling down amazingly. He is quite intelligent.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  She hesitated just a moment, then said, “Yes, I am. I suppose I thought he was an ape-boy.”

  “Well, ape-boy or not, he’s done a great deal for us. He’s put Stasis, Inc. on the map. We’re in, Miss Fellowes, we’re in.” It was as though he had to express his triumph to someone, even if only to Miss Fellowes.

  “Oh?” She let him talk.

  He put his hands in his pockets and said, “We’ve been working on a shoestring for ten years, scrounging funds a penny at a time wherever we could. We had to shoot the works on one big show. It was everything, or nothing. And when I say the works, I mean it. This attempt to bring in a Neanderthal took every cent we could borrow or steal, and some of it was stolen—funds for other projects, used for this one without permission. If that experiment hadn’t succeeded, I’d have been through.”

  Miss Fellowes said abruptly, “Is that why there are no ceilings?”

  “Eh?” Hoskins looked up.

  “Was there no money for ceilings?”

  “Oh. Well, that wasn’t the only reason. We didn’t really know in advance how old the Neanderthal might be exactly. We can detect only dimly in time, and he might have been large and savage. It was possible we might have had to deal with him from a distance, like a caged animal.”

  “But since that hasn’t turned out to be so, I suppose you can build a ceiling now.”

  “Now, yes. We have plenty of money, now. Funds have been promised from every source. This is all wonderful, Miss Fellowes.” His broad face gleamed with a smile that lasted and when he left, even his back seemed to be smiling.

  Miss Fellowes thought: He’s quite a nice man when he’s off guard and forgets about being scientific.

  She wondered for an idle moment if he was married, then dismissed the thought in self-embarrassment.

  “Timmie,” she called. “Come here, Timmie.”

  In the months that passed, Miss Fellowes felt herself grow to be an integral part of Stasis, Inc. She was given a small office of her own with her name on the door, an office quite close to the dollhouse (as she never stopped calling Timmie’s Stasis bubble). She was given a substantial raise. The dollhouse was covered by a ceiling; its furnishings were elaborated and improved; a second washroom was added—and even so, she gained an apartment of her own on the institute grounds and, on occasion, did not stay with Timmie during the night. An intercom was set up between the dollhouse and her apartment and Timmie learned how to use it.

  Miss Fellowes got used to Timmie. She even grew less conscious of his ugliness. One day she found herself staring at an ordinary boy in the street and finding something bulgy and unattractive in his high domed forehead and jutting chin. She had to shake herself to break the spell. It was more pleasant to grow used to Hoskins’ occasional visits. It was obvious he welcomed escape from his increasingly harried role as head of Stasis, Inc., and that he took a sentimental interest in the child who had started it all, but it seemed to Miss Fellowes that he also enjoyed talking to her.

  (She had learned some facts about Hoskins, too. He had invented the method of analyzing the reflection of the past-penetrating mesonic beam; he had invented the method of establishing Stasis; his coldness was only an effort to hide a kindly nature; and, oh yes, he was married.)

  What Miss Fellowes could not get used to was the fact that she was engaged in a scientific experiment. Despite all she could do, she found herself getting personally involved to the point of quarreling with the physiologists.

  On one occasion, Hoskins came down and found her in the midst of a hot urge to kill. They had no right; they had no right— Even if he was a Neanderthal, he still wasn’t an animal.

  She was staring after them in a blind fury; staring out the open door and listening to Timmie’s sobbing, when she noticed Hoskins standing before her. He might have been there for minutes.

  He said, “May I come in?”

  She nodded curtly, then hurried to Timmie, who clung to her, curling his little bandy legs—still thin, so thin— about her.

  Hoskins watched, then said gravely, “He seems quite unhappy.”

  Miss Fellowes said, “I don’t blame him. They’re at him every day now with their blood samples and their probings. They keep him on synthetic diets that I wouldn’t feed a pig.”

  “It’s the sort of thing they can’t try on a human, you know.“ :

  “And they can’t try it on Timmie, either. Dr. Hoskins, I insist. You told me it was Timmie’s coming that put Stasis, Inc. on the map. If you have any gratitude for that at all, you’ve got to keep them away from the poor thing at least until he’s old enough to understand a little more. After he’s had a bad session with them, he has nightmares, he can’t sleep. Now I warn you,” (she reached a sudden peak of fury) “I’m not letting them in here any more.”

  (She realized that she had screamed that, but she couldn’t help it.)

  She said more quietly, “I know he’s Neanderthal but there’s a great deal we don’t appreciate about Neanderthals. I’ve read up on them. They had a culture of their own. Some of the greatest human inventions arose in Neanderthal times. The domestication of animals, for instance; the wheel; various techniques in grinding stone. They even had spiritual yearnings. They buried their dead and buried possessions with the body, showing they believed in a life after death. It amounts to the fact that they invented religion. Doesn’t that mean Timmie has a right to human treatment?”

  She patted the little boy gently on his buttocks and sent him off into his playroom. As the door was opened, Hoskins smiled briefly at the display of toys that could be seen.

  Miss Fellowes said defensively, “The poor child deserves his toys. It’s all he has and he earns them with what he goes through.”

  “No, no. No objections, I assure you. I was just thinking how you’ve changed since the first day, when you were quite angry I had foisted a Neanderthal on you.”

  Miss Fellowes said in a low voice, “I suppose I didn’t—” and faded off.

  Hoskins changed the subject, “How old would you say he is, Miss Fellowes?”

  She said, “I can’t say, since we don’t know how Neanderthals develop. In size, he’d only be three but Neanderthals are smaller generally and with all the tampering they do with him, he probably isn’t growing. The way he’s learning English, though, I’d say he was well over four.”

  “Really? I haven’t noticed anything about learning English in the reports.”

  “He won’t speak to anyone but me. For now, anyway. He’s terribly afraid of others, and no wonder. But he can ask for an article of food; he can indicate any need practically; and he understands almost anything I say. Of course,” (she watched him shrewdly, trying to estimate if this was the time), “his development may not continue.”

  “Why not?”

  “Any child needs stimulation and this one lives a life of solitary confinement. I do what I can, but I’m not with him all the time and I’m not all he needs. What I mean, Dr. Hoskins, is that he needs another boy to play with.”

  Hoskins nodded slowly. “Unfortunately, there’s only one of him, isn’t there? Poor child.�
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  Miss Fellowes warmed to him at once. She said, “You do like Timmie, don’t you?” It was so nice to have someone else feel like that.

  “Oh, yes,” said Hoskins, and with his guard down, she could see the weariness in his eyes.

  Miss Fellowes dropped her plans to push the matter at once. She said, with real concern, “You look worn out, Dr. Hoskins.”

  “Do I, Miss Fellowes? I’ll have to practice looking more lifelike then.”

  “I suppose Stasis, Inc. is very busy and that that keeps you very busy.”

  Hoskins shrugged. “You suppose right. It’s a matter of animal, vegetable, and mineral in equal parts, Miss Fellowes. But then, I suppose you haven’t ever seen our displays.”

  “Actually, I haven’t. —But it’s not because I’m not interested. It’s just that I’ve been so busy.”

  “Well, you’re not all that busy right now,” he said with impulsive decision. “I’ll call for you tomorrow at eleven and give you a personal tour. How’s that?”

  She smiled happily. “I’d love it.”

  He nodded and smiled in his turn and left.

  Miss Fellowes hummed at intervals for the rest of the day. Really—to think so was ridiculous, of course—but really, it was almost like—like making a date.

  He was quite on time the next day, smiling and pleasant. She had replaced her nurse’s uniform with a dress. One of conservative cut, to be sure, but she hadn’t felt so feminine in years.

  He complimented her on her appearance with staid formality and she accepted with equally formal grace. It was really a perfect prelude, she thought. And then the additional thought came, prelude to what?

  She shut that off by hastening to say good-by to Timmie and to assure him she would be back soon. She made sure he knew all about what and where lunch was.

  Hoskins took her into the new wing, into which she had never yet gone. It still had the odor of newness about it and the sound of construction, softly heard, was indication enough that it was still being extended.

  “Animal, vegetable, and mineral,” said Hoskins, as he had the day before. “Animal right there; our most spectacular exhibits.”

  The space was divided into many rooms, each a separate Stasis bubble. Hoskins brought her to the view-glass of one and she looked in. What she saw impressed her first as a scaled, tailed chicken. Skittering on two thin legs it ran from wall to wall with its delicate birdlike head, surmounted by a bony keel like the comb of a rooster, looking this way and that. The paws on its small forelimbs clenched and unclenched constantly.

  Hoskins said, “It’s our dinosaur. We’ve had it for months. I don’t know when we’ll be able to let go of it.”

  “Dinosaur?”

  “Did you expect a giant?”

  She dimpled. “One does, I suppose. I know some of them are small.”

  “A small one is all we aimed for, believe me. Generally, it’s under investigation, but this seems to be an open hour. Some interesting things have been discovered. For instance, it is not entirely cold-blooded. It has an imperfect method of maintaining-internal temperatures higher than that of its environment. Unfortunately, it’s a male. Ever since we brought it in we’ve been trying to get a fix on another that may be female, but we’ve had no luck yet.”

  “Why female?”

  He looked at her quizzically. “So that we might have a fighting chance to obtain fertile eggs, and baby dinosaurs.”

  “Of course.”

  He led her to the trilobite section. “That’s Professor Dwayne of Washington University,” he said. “He’s a nuclear chemist. If I recall correctly, he’s taking an isotope ratio on the oxygen of the water.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s primeval water; at least half a billion years old. The isotope ratio gives the temperature of the ocean at that time. He himself happens to ignore the trilobites, but others are chiefly concerned in dissecting them. They’re the lucky ones because all they need are scalpels and microscopes. Dwayne has to set up a mass spectrograph each time he conducts an experiment.”

  “Why’s that? Can’t he—”

  “No, he can’t. He can’t take anything out of the room as far as can be helped.”

  There were samples of primordial plant life too and chunks of rock formations. Those were the vegetable and mineral. And every specimen had its investigator. It was like a museum; a museum brought to life and serving as a superactive center of research.

  “And you have to supervise all of this, Dr. Hoskins?”

  “Only indirectly, Miss Fellowes. I have subordinates, thank heaven. My own interest is entirely in the theoretical aspects of the matter: the nature of Time, the technique of mesonic intertemporal detection and so on. I would exchange all this for a method of detecting objects closer in Time than ten thousand years ago. If we could get into historical times—”

  He was interrupted by a commotion at one of the distant booths, a thin voice raised querulously. He frowned, muttered hastily, “Excuse me,” and hastened off.

  Miss Fellowes followed as best she could without actually running.

  An elderly man, thinly-bearded and red-faced, was saying, “I had vital aspects of my investigations to complete. Don’t you understand that?”

  A uniformed technician with the interwoven SI monogram (for Stasis, Inc.) on his lab coat, said, “Dr. Hoskins, it was arranged with Professor Ademewski at the beginning that the specimen could only remain here two weeks.”

  “I did not know then how long my investigations would take. I’m not a prophet,” said Ademewski heatedly.

  Dr. Hoskins said, “You understand, Professor, we have limited space; we must keep specimens rotating. That piece of chalcopyrite must go back; there are men waiting for the next specimen.”

  “Why can’t I have it for myself, then? Let me take it out of there.”

  “You know you can’t have it.”

  “A piece of chalcopyrite; a miserable five-kilogram piece? Why not?”

  “We can’t afford the energy expense!” said Hoskins brusquely. “You know that.”

  The technician interrupted. “The point is, Dr. Hoskins, that he tried to remove the rock against the rules and I almost punctured Stasis while he was in there, not knowing he was in there.”

  There was a short silence and Dr. Hoskins turned on the investigator with a cold formality. “Is that so, Professor?”

  Professor Ademewski coughed. “I saw no harm—”

  Hoskins reached up to a hand-pull dangling just within reach, outside the specimen room in question. He pulled it.

  Miss Fellowes, who had been peering in, looking at the totally undistinguished sample of rock that occasioned the dispute, drew in her breath sharply as its existence flickered out. The room was empty.

  Hoskins said, “Professor, your permit to investigate matters in Stasis will be permanently voided. I am sorry.”

  “But wait—”

  “I am sorry. You have violated one of the stringent rules.”

  “I will appeal to the International Association—”

  “Appeal away. In a case like this, you will find I can’t be overruled.”

  He turned away deliberately, leaving the professor still protesting and said to Miss Fellowes (his face still white with anger), “Would you care to have lunch with me, Miss Fellowes?”

  He took her into the small administration alcove of the cafeteria. He greeted others and introduced Miss Fellowes with complete ease, although she herself felt painfully self-conscious.

  What must they think, she thought, and tried desperately to appear businesslike.

  She said, “Do you have that kind of trouble often, Dr. Hoskins? I mean like that you just had with the professor?” She took her fork in hand and began eating.

  “No,” said Hoskins forcefully. “That was the first time. Of course I’m always having to argue men out of removing specimens but this is the first time one actually tried to do it.”

  “I remember you once talked abou
t the energy it would consume.”

  “That’s right. Of course, we’ve tried to take it into account. Accidents will happen and so we’ve got special power sources designed to stand the drain of accidental removal from Stasis, but that doesn’t mean we want to see a year’s supply of energy gone in half a second—or can afford to without having our plans of expansion delayed for years.—Besides, imagine the professor’s being in the room while Stasis was about to be punctured.”

  “What would have happened to him if it had been?”

  “Well, we’ve experimented with inanimate objects and with mice and they’ve disappeared. Presumably they’ve traveled back in time; carried along, so to speak, by the pull of the object simultaneously snapping back into its natural time. For that reason, we have to anchor objects within Stasis that we don’t want to move and that’s a complicated procedure. The professor would not have been anchored and he would have gone back to the Pliocene at the moment when we abstracted the rock— plus, of course, the two weeks it had remained here in the present.”

  “How dreadful it would have been.”

  “Not on account of the professor, I assure you. If he were fool enough to do what he did, it would serve him right. But imagine the effect it would have on the public if the fact came out. All people would need is to become aware of the dangers involved and funds could be choked off like that.” He snapped his fingers and played moodily with his food.

  Miss Fellowes said, “Couldn’t you get him back? The way you got the rock in the first place?”

  “No, because once an object is returned, the original fix is lost unless we deliberately plan to retain it and there was no reason to do that in this case. There never is. Finding the professor again would mean relocating a specific fix and that would be like dropping a line into the oceanic abyss for the purpose of dredging up a particular fish.—My God, when I think of the precautions we take to prevent accidents, it makes me mad. We have every individual Stasis unit set up with its own puncturing device—we have to, since each unit has its separate fix and must be collapsible independently. The point is, though, none of the puncturing devices is ever activated until the last minute. And then we deliberately make activation impossible except by the pull of a rope carefully led outside the Stasis. The pull is a gross mechanical motion that requires a strong effort, not something that is likely to be done accidentally.”