“I started some of ’em wood-carving, and other ones farming, and some of them making glass. I scoured the woods for new plants we could raise for food, and I kept trying out new dirt samples for other metals. Now we’ve got copper and lead and a little gold—and I’ve trained people to go on looking. I’ve started ’em thinking about things and trying new ideas. And ever since I drowned the witch doctor, I’ve played down the spirit angle. The younger generation doesn’t need the threat of spooks to do things; they’ve got an interest that keeps them busy. A lot of them are way ahead of me now. They learn fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of ’em doesn’t invent chemistry any day now, or fire up a steam engine, or discover medicine.”
“But a tyrant . . . ”
“Any tyrant that sets up shop around here better be damned sure he doesn’t develop any unpopular taste,” said Case. “These folks put up with me because I bring ’em good things. They’re selfish, just like me. I’ve established a precedent. The next boss better keep it up, or he’ll be joining the witch doctor.”
“It seems to have worked out well,” Chester said, looking around at the peaceful village in the gathering twilight. “Still, I can’t help feeling you should have instilled a little more idealism in them. Suppose they fall on hard times? What if the climate changes, or an epidemic strikes, or even a forest fire?”
“I don’t think phony idealism would help. As far as I can see, all these schemes to make people squeeze into somebody’s Grand Plan for Elevating Humanity usually end up with the elevatees on the short end of the stick. Everybody has his place in this village and a job to do that he’s good at. My shoemakers can hold their heads up and the same goes for the fishermen and the hunters and the miners and the weavers and the vintners and the potmakers.”
“What about the arts? With this materialistic orientation . . . ”
“Everybody dances and everybody sings. They all play games and they all make statues out of mud and they all paint. Some are better than others, but it’s doing it that counts. In our setup everybody’s an artist, not just a few half-cracked far-outers.”
“There don’t seem to be many people here,” said Genie. “Not more than three hundred, I’d estimate.”
“Too many people in one place mean problems. Sanitation, transportation, noise, conflict of interests. There’s plenty of wide-open real estate. I’ve got twelve other villages going within fifty miles of here—and none of them have over three hundred people. Everybody can have all the kids they want, but if you put the village over the three hundred mark, off you go to start your own. There’s always plenty of volunteers to go along—people that want to get a good spot right on a lake or river, or hunters that like the idea of a virgin territory. There’s a lot of trade among the towns, and the men usually get their wives from another village. Seems like it’s human nature to prefer to go to bed with a stranger.”
“It makes the Internal Revenue Bureau seem very remote,” Chester said. “Why do we surround ourselves with unnecessary complexities?”
“Chester, this is a pretty good place here. Why don’t you just settle down and forget all that?”
Chester shook his head. “I started off by trying to wiggle out of my tax problem with illegal schemes to make money. Then, when I landed you in trouble, I sneaked away and left you.”
“But we agreed—”
“Genie tried to help me, and I left her stranded, too,” Chester went on. “I’d just about hit bottom when Kuve took me in hand. When I broke out of the Research Center, I made up my mind I’d settle my score. I helped out a fellow named Bandon, and I paid Devant for a couple of undignified incidents. Then I was lucky enough to find Genie. I’m sorry about your tough time, Case. I’ve cost you thirty years.”
“Best thirty years of my life, Chester. And now you’re even.”
“No, I still have the circus to think about.”
“Hey, that’s right, Chester. If it’s really thirty years ago—I mean if thirty years haven’t gone by—then maybe it’s not too late to salvage something yet!”
“And,” Chester went on, “there’s Great-grandfather’s invention to see to. He spent his life on it—and he’s left it in my hands. It’s up to me to save it. And there’s something else, too.”
Case got to his feet. “Well, no time like the present, Chester. Let’s get going.”
Half an hour later, Chester, Case, and Genie and a chattering group of villagers stepped under the trees toward the rug and the two brocaded chairs.
“Case, I suppose you’ll want to make a speech, appoint a successor, make a few prophecies, whatever white gods do before sailing off into the sunset.”
Case sighed. “I’ve got a lot of friends here, Chester. I’ll hate to leave ’em. But there’s no point in making a national holiday out of it. I’ve been trying to teach ’em how to run things for thirty years. I don’t guess any last-minute instructions are going to change anything.”
“Then let’s go, Genie,” Chester said. “But be sure you put us back in the right spot: specifically, Great-grandfather’s underground control room.”
Genie had a faraway look in her eyes. “I’m in touch with the computer,” she said. “But . . . ”
“What is it, Genie?”
“It appears,” she said, “that the world we started from no longer exists.”
14
“A number of awful suspicions are beginning to crystallize into convictions,” Chester said. “Your villages, with their population limit of three hundred, and the Tricennia, where I spent a year. Could that have been this society at some remote time in the future?”
“Beats me, Chester. I’ve given up trying to figure out anything that has to do with that blasted computer.”
“If so, that would mean we’ve tampered with actual reality. We asked the computer to show us scenes of the past in the simplest possible way—”
“You mean that infernal contraption came up with the genuine article instead of a good honest fake?”
Chester nodded. “I’m afraid our hoax has backfired, Case. The computer really is a time machine.”
“When we were bodily transferred into the past,” Chester said, “our presence there altered the future. I recall now that the computer seemed to imagine that the Tricennium was Great-grandfather’s basement.”
“But what about the city with those awful pink policemen, Chester?” Genie asked. “It was very similar to home, except for being a little out of date—and I imagine that was because Mr. Mulvihill’s absence unbalanced things a little.”
“Case had only been here a short time then; he hadn’t yet altered things completely out of recognizable shape.”
“So I guess we settle here after all.”
“Let’s ask the computer a few questions. Are we completely cut off from getting back home, Genie?”
“A wide spectrum of entropic streams was rendered invalid by factors at the eighth level of complexity stemming from Mr. Mulvihill’s introduction . . . ”
“Yeah,” Case cut in, “but what about Chester’s estate?”
“It has been relegated to the status of an unrealized pseudo-reality.”
“Why didn’t that moronic aggregation of war-surplus parts mention this in the first place?”
“It’s a machine, remember,” Chester said. “No initiative. We didn’t ask.”
“Well, if the house is gone, then where’s the computer?”
“Shunted to a temporal vacuole,” Genie said.
“Hey, Chester,” Case said. “I’ve got a crafty notion. He raised his voice. “Computer, could you . . . ah . . . show us what Great-grandpop’s place looked like—if it existed?”
“Oh, yes, easily.” There was a moment of delay; then glassy walls shimmered into view around the group.
“I must caution you that this is a mere optical effect,” Genie said. “It represents no substantive referent.”
“You may have something here, Case,” Chester said. “Computer, I’d like this view firmed up a little—more detail, greater verisimilitude. More realism.”
“I’m not at all sure I can manage it, Mr. Chester. It involves readjusting my parameters drastically, which induces a severe electronic itch.”
“Try.”
“The effort may leave you isolated in a mass-probability environment whose very existence I have every reason to doubt.”
“We’ll take the chance.”
There was a moment of silence. Then:
“There, I’ve managed tactile quality. You could feel the wall now if you touched it.”
“Now add in taste, smell and sound effects. And daub in some externals, too.”
After a moment the computer said, “I’ve extended the effect to include a pseudo-house, with pseudo-grounds, surrounded by pseudo-atmosphere.”
“Breathable, I hope?”
“Oh, of course. All my illusions are of the finest quality and extremely accurate.”
“In that case, you may proceed to supply the rest of the planet. Take your time and do a good job now.”