North America’s two senators find themselves diametrically opposed, as indeed they have been opposed throughout the greater part of their political careers. Senator Chandler Horton has taken a firm stand in approval of the proposal, which will be submitted at the beginning of next year to a worldwide referendum. Senator Solomon Stone is as firmly opposed to it.
That these two men should find themselves on opposite sides of the fence is nothing new. But the political significance of this issue goes deeper because of the so-called Unanimous Consent rule, whereby, on special issues of this sort, submitted to universal referendum, the mandate of the voters must be unanimously approved on the floor of the World Senate at Geneva. Thus, should the vote be favourable, Senator Stone would be required to stipulate that he would vote to confirm the measure on the senate floor. Failing in this, he would be bound to step aside by resignation of his seat. In this case a special election would be held to fill the vacancy caused by his resignation. Only candidates who made prior pledges to uphold the measure would be eligible to file for the special election. If the referendum should go against the measure, Senator Horton would find himself in a similar position.
In the past, when this situation obtained, certain senators have retained their seats by voting for the proposals which they had opposed. This would not be the case, most observers agree, with either Stone or Horton. Both have placed their political lives and reputations squarely on the line. Their political philosophies are at opposite poles of the spectrum and over the years their personal antipathy toward one another has become a senatorial legend. It is not believed, at this late date, that either…
‘You’ll pardon me, sir,’ said the House, ‘but Upstairs informs me that a strange thing happened to you. You are all right, I trust.’
Blake looked up from the paper.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am all right.’
‘But might it not,’ the House insisted, ‘be a good idea for you to see a medic.’
Blake laid down the paper and opened his mouth – then closed it firmly. After all, officious as it might be, the House had his good at heart. It was a servo-mechanism and its sole thought and purpose was to serve the human that it sheltered.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘you’re right.’
For there was no question that there was something wrong. Within less than twenty-four hours something strange had happened to him twice.
‘There was that doctor in Washington,’ he said. ‘At the hospital where they took me to revive me. I think his name was Daniels.’
‘Dr Michael Daniels,’ said the House.
‘You know his name?’
‘Our file on you.’ said the House, ‘is really quite complete. How, otherwise, could we serve you as we are supposed to do?’
‘You have his number, then. You could call him.’
‘Why, of course. If you wish me to.’
‘If you please’ said Blake.
He laid the paper on the table and got up and walked into the living-room. He sat down before the phone and the small vision panel lit up, flickering.
‘In just a moment, sir,’ said the House.
The panel cleared and in it were the head and shoulders of Dr Michael Daniels.
‘Andrew Blake. You remember me?’
‘Certainly I remember you,’ said Daniels. ‘I was wondering just last night about you. How you were getting on.’
‘Physically, I’m OK,’ said Blake. ‘But I’ve been having – well, until you find otherwise, I suppose you’d call them hallucinations.’
‘But you don’t think they are hallucinations.’
‘I’m fairly sure they’re not,’ said Blake.
‘Could you come in?’ asked Daniels. ‘I’d like to check you out.’
‘I’d be glad to come in, doctor.’
‘Washington’s bulging at the seams,’ said Daniels. ‘Everything is full. People coming in for the bioengineering show. There’s a housing lot just across the street from us. Can you wait while I make a check?’
‘I can wait,’ said Blake.
Daniels’ face disappeared and the fuzzy blur of an office, out of focus, danced vaguely on the screen.
Kitchen’s voice bellowed: ‘One oatmeal cooked and waiting. Also toast. Also eggs and bacon. Also a pot of coffee.’
‘Master’s busy on the phone,’ said the House, disapprovingly. ‘And all he ordered was the oatmeal.’
‘He might change his mind,’ said Kitchen. ‘Oatmeal might not be enough. He might be hungrier than he thought. You would not want it said that we were starving him.’
Daniels came back into the panel.
‘Thanks for waiting,’ he said. ‘I checked. There is no space available right now. There’ll be one foundation in the morning. I reserved it for you. Can it wait that long?’
‘I think it can,’ said Blake. ‘I only want to talk with you.’
‘We could talk right now.’
Blake shook his head.
‘I understand,’ said Daniels. ‘See you tomorrow, then. Let’s say one o’clock. What are your plans today?’
‘I haven’t any plans.’
‘Why don’t you go fishing. Get your mind off things. Occupy yourself. Are you a fisherman?’
‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. It seems to me I may have been. The sport has a familiar sound to it.’
‘Things still dribbling back,’ said Daniels, ‘Still remembering…’
‘Not remembering. Just the background. Pieces of it falling into shape every now and then. But it doesn’t really tell me anything. Someone mentions something or I read of something and it’s suddenly familiar, a statement or a fact or a situation that I can accept. Something that I’ve known or encountered at some former time, but not when or how or under what conditions I encountered it.’
‘I’d give a lot,’ said Daniels, ‘for us to get a clue or two from that background of yours.’
‘I simply live with it,’ said Blake. ‘That’s the only way I can get along.’
‘It’s the only sensible approach,’ Daniels agreed. ‘You have a good day fishing and I’ll see you tomorrow. Seems to me there are some trout streams out in your locality. Hunt up one of them.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’
The phone clicked off and the screen went blank. Blake swung around.
‘As soon as you’ve finished breakfast,’ said the House, ‘we’ll have the floater waiting on the patio. You’ll find fishing tackle in the back bedroom, which is used as a sort of store house, and Kitchen will fix you up a lunch. In the meantime I’ll look up a good trout stream and have directions for you and…’
‘Cut out that yammering!’ howled the Kitchen. ‘Breakfast is getting cold.’
8
The water foamed through the jam of fallen trees and brush that in some earlier springtime flood had been caught between the clump of birch and the high cut bank that marked a sharp curve in the stream – foamed through the barrier and then smoothed out in a quiet, dark pool.
Carefully Blake guided the chairlike floater to the ground at one end of the barrier, close to the clump of birch, snapped off the gravity field as it came to rest. For a moment he sat in the chair unmoving, listening to the churning of the water, charmed by the deep quietness of the pool. Ahead of him the mountain range lifted in the sky.
Finally he got out of the floater and from its back unstrapped the hamper of lunch to get at his fishing tackle. He set the hamper to one side on the grassy bank from which the clump of birches grew.
Something scrabbled in the dam of twisted tree trunks that lay across the stream. At the sound, Blake spun about. A pair of beady eyes stared at him from beneath a log.
A mink, he thought. Or perhaps an otter. Peering out at him from its den inside the log jam.
‘Hello, there,’ said Blake. ‘Do you mind if I try my luck.’
‘Hello, there,’ said the otter-mink, in a high and piping voice. ‘What is this luck that you wish to try? Please elucidate.’
‘What was that you. . .’ Blake’s voice ran down to a stop. The otter-mink emerged from beneath the log. It was neither an otter nor a mink. It was a bipedal being – like something that had stepped from the pages of a children’s book. A hairy rodent snout was topped by a high domed skull from which flared a pair of pointed ears with tassels on the tips of them. It stood two feet high or so and its body was covered with a smooth, brown coat of fur. It wore a pair of bright red trousers that were mostly pockets and its hands were equipped with long and slender fingers.
Its snout twitched. ‘Would you, perhaps,’ it asked in its squeaking voice, ‘have food inside that basket?’
‘Why, yes,’ said Blake. ‘I take it you are hungry.’
It was absurd, of course. In just a little while – in another minute, if not less – this illustration from a children’s book would simply go away and he could get on with his fishing.