Is he still alive somewhere? Perhaps Manfred saw him, lost as the boy was–according to Jack–in disfigured time. What a surprise is in store for them when they make contact with the boy and find they have rekindled that sad little specter . . . but more likely their theory is right, and it is the next, he sees the next. They will have what they want. Why is it, Jack? What do you want it for, Jack? Affinity between you and that ill child. That it? Oh . . . Her thoughts gave way to darkness.
And then what? Will you care about me again?
No affinity between the sick and the sound. You are different; it weighs me down. Leo knows it, I know it. Do you? Care?
She slept.
High in the sky circled meat-eating birds. At the base of the windowed building lay their excrement. He picked up the wads until he held several. They twisted and swelled like dough, and he knew there were living creatures within; he carried them carefully into the empty corridor of the building. One wad opened, parted with a split in its woven, hairlike side; it became too large to hold, and he saw it now in the wall. A compartment where it lay on its side, the rent so wide that he perceived the creature within.
Gubbish! A worm, coiled up, made of wet, bony-white pleats, the inside gubbish worm, from a person’s body. If only the high-flying birds could find it and eat it down, like that. He ran down the steps, which gave beneath his feet. Boards missing. He saw down through the sieve of wood to the soil beneath, the cavity, dark, cold, full of wood so rotten that it lay in damp powder, destroyed by gubbish-rot.
Arms lifted up, tossed him to the circling birds; he floated up, falling at the same time. They ate his head off. And then he stood on a bridge over the sea. Sharks showed in the water, their sharp, cutting fins. He caught one on his line and it came sliding up from the water, mouth open, to swallow him. He stepped back, but the bridge caved in and sagged so that the water reached his middle.
It rained gubbish, now; all was gubbish, wherever he looked. A group of those who didn’t like him appeared at the end of the bridge and held up a loop of shark teeth. He was emperor. They crowned him with the loop, and he tried to thank them. But they forced the loop down past his head to his neck, and they began to strangle him. They knotted the loop and the shark teeth cut his head off. Once more he sat in the dark, damp basement with the powdery rot around him, listening to the tidal water lap-lapping everywhere. A world where gubbish ruled, and he had no voice; the shark teeth had cut his voice out.
I am Manfred, he said.
“I tell you,” Arnie Kott said to the girl beside him in the wide bed, “you’re really going to be delighted when we make contact with him–I mean, we got an inside track, there: we got the future, and where else do you think things happen except in the future?”
Stirring, Doreen Anderton murmured.
“Don’t go to sleep,” Arnie said, leaning over to light another cigarette. “Listen, guess what–a big-time land speculator came over from Earth, today; we had a union guy at the rocket terminal, and he recognized him, although naturally the speculator registered under an assumed name. We checked with the carrier, and he got right out of there, eluding our guy. I predicted they’d be showing up! Listen, when we hear from that Steiner kid, it’ll blow the lid off this whole thing. Right?” He shook the sleeping girl. “If you don’t wake up,” Arnie said, “I’m gonna shove you right out of bed on your ass, and you can walk home to your apartment.”
Doreen groaned, turned over, sat up. In the dim light of Arnie Kott’s master bedroom, she sat palely translucent, tucking her hair back from her eyes and yawning. One strap of her nightgown slipped down her arm, and Arnie saw with appreciation her high, hard left breast with its gem of a nipple set dead-center.
Gosh, I really got a gal, Arnie said to himself. She’s really something. And she’s done a terrific job in keeping that Bohlen from shucking it all and wandering off, the way those hebephrenic schizophrenics do–I mean, it’s almost impossible to keep them at the grindstone, they’re so moody and irresponsible. That guy Bohlen; he’s an idiot savant, an idiot who can fix things, and we have to cater to his idiocy, we have to yield. You can’t force a guy like that; he don’t force. Arnie took hold of the covers and tossed them aside, off Doreen; he smiled at her bare legs, smiled to see her draw her nightgown down to her knees.
“How can you be tired?” he asked her. “You ain’t done nothin’ but lie. Isn’t that so? Is lying there so hard?”
She eyed him narrowly. “No more,” she said.
“What?” he said. “You kidding? We just begun. Take off that nightgown.” Catching it by the hem he whisked it back up once more; he put his arm beneath her, lifted her up, and in an instant had it off over her head. He deposited it on the chair by the bed.
“I’m going to sleep,” Doreen said, closing her eyes. “If you don’t mind.”
“Why should I mind?” Arnie said. “You’re still there, aren’t you? Awake or asleep–you’re plenty there in the flesh, and how.”
“Ouch,” she protested.
“Sorry.” He kissed her on the mouth. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Her head lolled; she actually was going to sleep. Arnie felt offended. But what the hell–she never did much anyhow.
“Put my nightgown back on me,” Doreen murmured, “when you’re through.”
“Yeah, well I’m not through.” I’m good for an hour more, Arnie said to himself. Maybe even two. I sort of like it this way, too. A woman asleep don’t talk. That’s what spoils it, when they start to talk. Or make those moans. He could never stand the moans.
He thought, I’m dying to get results on that project of Bohlen’s. I can’t wait; I know we’re going to hear something really downright wonderful when we do start hearing. The closed-up mind of that kid; think of all the treasures it contains. Must be like fairyland, in there, all beautiful and pure and real innocent.
In her half-sleep Doreen moaned.
9
Into Leo Bohlen’s hand his son Jack put a large green seed. Leo examined it, handed it back.
“What did you see?” Jack asked.
“I saw it, the seed.”
“Did anything happen?”
Leo pondered, but he could not think of anything he had seen happen, so at last he said, “No.”
Seated at the movie projector, Jack said, “Now watch.” He snapped off the lights in the room, and then, on the screen, an image appeared as the projector whirred. It was a seed, embedded in soil. As Leo watched, the seed split open. Two probing feelers appeared; one started upward, the other divided into fine hairs and groped down. Meanwhile, the seed revolved in the soil. Enormous projections unfolded from the upward moving feeler, and Leo gasped.
“Say, Jack,” he said, “some seeds you got here on Mars; look at it go. My gosh, it’s working away like mad.”
Jack said, “That’s a plain ordinary lima bean, the same as I gave you just now. This film is speeded up, five days compressed into seconds. We can now see the motion that goes on in a germinating seed; normally, the process takes place too slowly for us to see any motion at all.”
“Say, Jack,” Leo said, “that’s really something. So this kid’s time-rate is like this seed. I understand. Things that we can see move would whiz around him so darn fast they’d be practically invisible, and I bet he sees slow processes like this seed here; I bet he can go out in the yard and sit down and watch the plants growing, and five days for him is like say ten minutes for us.”
Jack said, “That’s the theory, anyhow.” He went on, then, to explain to Leo how the chamber worked. The explanation was filled with technical terms, however, which Leo did not understand, and he felt a little irritable as Jack droned on. The time was eleven A.M., and still Jack showed no sign of taking him on his trip over the F.D.R. Mountains; he seemed completely immersed in this.
“Very interesting,” Leo murmured, at one point.
“We take a tape recording, done at fifteen inches per second, and run it off for Manfred at three and three-fourths inches per second. A single word, such as ‘tree.’ And at the same time we flash up a picture of a tree and the word beneath it, a still, which we keep in sight for fifteen or twenty minutes. Then what Manfred says is recorded at three and threefourths inches per second, and for our own listening we speed it up and replay at fifteen.”