Paycheck

  Into all the microphones available, of all sorts, tempunaut Addison Doug was saying, more quietly now, ‘We must not eliminate the cause of reentry implosion. The only way out of this trip is for us to die. Death is the only solution for this. For the three of us.’ He was interrupted as the procession of Cadillacs began to move forward.

  Shutting off his mike momentarily, Henry Cassidy said to his engineer, ‘Is he nuts?’

  ‘Only time will tell,’ his engineer said in a hard-to-hear voice.

  ‘An extraordinary moment in the history of the United States’ involvement in time travel,’ Cassidy said, then, into his now live mike. ‘Only time will tell - if you will pardon the inadvertent pun - whether tempunaut Doug’s cryptic remarks, uttered impromptu at this moment of supreme suffering for him, as in a sense to a lesser degree it is for all of us, are the words of a man deranged by grief or an accurate insight into the macabre dilemma that in theoretical terms we knew all along might eventually confront - confront and strike down with its lethal blow - a time-travel launch, either ours or the Russians’.’

  He segued, then, to a commercial.

  ‘You know,’ Branton’s voice muttered in his ear, not on the air but just to the control room and to him, ‘if he’s right they ought to let the poor bastards die.’

  ‘They ought to release them,’ Cassidy agreed. ‘My God, the way Doug looked and talked, you’d imagine he’d gone through this for a thousand years and then some! I wouldn’t be in his shoes for anything.’

  ‘I’ll bet you fifty bucks,’ Branton said, ‘they have gone through this before. Many times.’

  ‘Then we have, too,’ Cassidy said.

  Rain fell now, making all the lined-up mourners shiny. Their faces, their eyes, even their clothes - everything glistened in wet reflections of broken, fractured light, bent and sparkling, as, from gathering gray formless layers above them, the day darkened.

  ‘Are we on the air?’ Branton asked.

  Who knows? Cassidy thought. He wished the day would end.

  The Soviet chrononaut N. Gauki lifted both hands impassionedly and spoke to the Americans across the table from him in a voice of extreme urgency. ‘It is the opinion of myself and my colleague R. Plenya, who for his pioneering achievements in time travel has been certified a Hero of the Soviet People, and rightly so, that based on our own experience and on theoretical material developed both in your own academic circles and in the Soviet Academy of Sciences of the USSR, we believe that tempunaut A. Doug’s fears may be justified. And his deliberate destruction of himself and his teammates at reentry, by hauling a huge mass of auto back with him from ETA, in violation of his orders, should be regarded as the act of a desperate man with no other means of escape. Of course, the decision is up to you. We have only an advisory position in this matter.’

  Addison Doug played with his cigarette lighter on the table and did not look up. His ears hummed, and he wondered what that meant. It had an electronic quality. Maybe we’re within the module again, he thought. But he didn’t perceive it; he felt the reality of the people around him, the table, the blue plastic lighter between his fingers. No smoking in the module during reentry, he thought. He put the lighter carefully away in his pocket.

  ‘We’ve developed no concrete evidence whatsoever,’ General Toad said, ‘that a closed time loop has been set up. There’s only the subjective feelings of fatigue on the part of Mr Doug. Just his belief that he’s done all this repeatedly. As he says, it is very probably psychological in nature.’ He rooted, piglike, among the papers before him. ‘I have a report, not disclosed to the media, from four psychiatrists at Yale on his psychological makeup. Although unusually stable, there is a tendency toward cyclothymia on his part, culminating in acute depression. This naturally was taken into account long before the launch, but it was calculated that the joyful qualities of the two others in the team would offset this functionally. Anyhow, that depressive tendency in him is exceptionally high, now.’ He held the paper out, but no one at the table accepted it. ‘Isn’t it true, Dr Fein,’ he said, ‘that an acutely depressed person experiences time in a peculiar way, that is, circular time, time repeating itself, getting nowhere, around and around? The person gets so psychotic that he refuses to let go of the past. Reruns it in his head constantly.’

  ‘But you see,’ Dr Fein said, ‘this subjective sensation of being trapped is perhaps all we would have.’ This was the research physicist whose basic work had laid the theoretical foundation for the project. ‘If a closed loop did unfortunately lock into being.’

  ‘The general,’ Addison Doug said, ‘is using words he doesn’t understand.’

  ‘I researched the one I was unfamiliar with,’ General Toad said. ‘The technical psychiatric terms … know what they mean.’

  To Addison Doug, Benz said, ‘Where’d you get all those VW parts, Addi?’

  ‘I don’t have them yet,’ Addison Doug said.

  ‘Probably picked up the first junk he could lay his hands on,’ Crayne said. ‘Whatever was available, just before we started back.’

  ‘Will start back,’ Addison Doug corrected.

  ‘Here are my instructions to the three of you,’ General Toad said. ‘You are not in any way to attempt to cause damage or implosion or malfunction during reentry, either by lugging back extra mass or by any other method that enters your mind. You are to return as scheduled and in replica of the prior simulations. This especially applies to you, Mr Doug.’ The phone by his right arm buzzed. He frowned, picked up the receiver. An interval passed, and then he scowled deeply and set the receiver back down, loudly.

  ‘You’ve been overruled,’ Dr Fein said.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ General Toad said. ‘And I must say at this time that I am personally glad because my decision was an unpleasant one.’

  ‘Then we can arrange for implosion at reentry,’ Benz said after a pause.

  ‘The three of you are to make the decision,’ General Toad said. ‘Since it involves your lives. It’s been entirely left up to you. Whichever way you want it. If you’re convinced you’re in a closed time loop, and you believe a massive implosion at reentry will abolish it—’ He ceased talking, as tempunaut Doug rose to his feet. ‘Are you going to make another speech, Doug?’ he said.

  ‘I just want to thank everyone involved,’ Addison Doug said. ‘For letting us decide.’ He gazed haggard-faced and wearily around at all the individuals seated at the table. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  ‘You know,’ Benz said slowly, ‘blowing us up at reentry could add nothing to the chances of abolishing a closed loop. In fact that could do it, Doug.’

  ‘Not if it kills us all,’ Crayne said.

  ‘You agree with Addi?’ Benz said.

  ‘Dead is dead,’ Crayne said. ‘I’ve been pondering it. What other way is more likely to get us out of this? Than if we’re dead? What possible other way?’ What other way is more likely to get us out of this? Than if we’re dead? What possible other way?’

  ‘You may be in no loop,’ Dr Fein pointed out.

  ‘But we may be,’ Crayne said.

  Doug, still on his feet, said to Crayne and Benz, ‘Could we include Merry Lou in our decision-making?’

  ‘Why?’ Benz said.

  ‘I can’t think too clearly any more,’ Doug said. ‘Merry Lou can help me; I depend on her.’

  ‘Sure,’ Crayne said. Benz, too, nodded.

  General Toad examined his wristwatch stoically and said, ‘Gentlemen, this concludes our discussion.’

  Soviet chrononaut Gauki removed his headphones and neck mike and hurried toward the three US tempunauts, his hand extended; he was apparently saying something in Russian, but none of them could understand it. They moved away somberly, clustering close.

  ‘In my opinion you’re nuts, Addi,’ Benz said. ‘But it would appear that I’m the minority now.’

  ‘If he is right,’ Crayne said, ‘if - one chance in a billion - if we are going back again and again forever, that wo
uld justify it.’

  ‘Could we go see Merry Lou?’ Addison Doug said. ‘Drive over to her place now?’

  ‘She’s waiting outside,’ Crayne said.

  Striding up to stand beside the three tempunauts, General Toad said, ‘You know, what made the determination go the way it did was the public reaction to how you, Doug, looked and behaved during the funeral procession. The NSC advisors came to the conclusion that the public would, like you, rather be certain it’s over for all of you. That it’s more of a relief to them to know you’re free of your mission than to save the project and obtain a perfect reentry. I guess you really made a lasting impression on them, Doug. That whining you did.’ He walked away, then, leaving the three of them standing there alone.

  ‘Forget him,’ Crayne said to Addison Doug. ‘Forget everyone like him. We’ve got to do what we have to.’

  ‘Merry Lou will explain it to me,’ Doug said. She would know what to do, what would be right.

  ‘I’ll go get her,’ Crayne said, ‘and after that the four of us can drive somewhere, maybe to her place, and decide what to do. Okay?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Addison Doug said, nodding; he glanced around for her hopefully, wondering where she was. In the next room, perhaps, somewhere close. ‘I appreciate that,’ he said.

  Benz and Crayne eyed each other. He saw that, but did not know what it meant. He knew only that he needed someone, Merry Lou most of all, to help him understand what the situation was. And what to finalize on to get them out of it.

  Merry Lou drove them north from Los Angeles in the superfast lane of the freeway toward Ventura, and after that inland to Ojai. The four of them said very little. Merry Lou drove well, as always; leaning against her, Addison Doug felt himself relax into a temporary sort of peace.

  ‘There’s nothing like having a chick drive you,’ Crayne said, after many miles had passed in silence.

  ‘It’s an aristocratic sensation,’ Benz murmured. ‘To have a woman do the driving. Like you’re nobility being chauffeured.’

  Merry Lou said, ‘Until she runs into something. Some big slow object.’

  Addison Doug said, ‘When you saw me trudging up to your place … up the redwood round path the other day. What did you think? Tell me honestly.’

  ‘You looked,’ the girl said, ‘as if you’d done it many times. You looked worn and tired and - ready to die. At the end.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s how you looked, Addi. I thought to myself, he knows the way too well.’

  ‘Like I’d done it too many times.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Then you vote for implosion,’ Addison Doug said.

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Be honest with me,’ he said.

  Merry Lou said, ‘Look in the back seat. The box on the floor.’

  With a flashlight from the glove compartment the three men examined the box. Addison Doug, with fear, saw its contents. VW motor parts, rusty and worn. Still oily.

  ‘I got them from behind a foreign-car garage near my place,’ Merry Lou said. ‘On the way to Pasadena. The first junk I saw that seemed as if it’d be heavy enough. I had heard them say on TV at launch time that anything over fifty pounds up to—’

  ‘It’ll do it,’ Addison Doug said. ‘It did do it.’

  ‘So there’s no point in going to your place,’ Crayne said. ‘It’s decided. We might as well head south toward the module. And initiate the procedure for getting out of ETA. And back to reentry.’ His voice was heavy but evenly pitched. ‘Thanks for your vote, Miss Hawkins.’

  She said, ‘You are all so tired.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Benz said. ‘I’m mad. Mad as hell.’

  ‘At me?’ Addison Doug said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Benz said. ‘It’s just - Hell.’ He lapsed into brooding silence then. Hunched over, baffled and inert. Withdrawn as far as possible from the others in the car.

  At the next freeway junction she turned the car south. A sense of freedom seemed now to fill her, and Addison Doug felt some of the weight, the fatigue, ebbing already.

  On the wrist of each of the three men the emergency alert receiver buzzed its warning tone; they all started.

  ‘What’s that mean?’ Merry Lou said, slowing the car.

  ‘We’re to contact General Toad by phone as soon as possible,’ Crayne said. He pointed. ‘There’s a Standard Station over there; take the next exit, Miss Hawkins. We can phone in from there.’

  A few minutes later Merry Lou brought her car to a halt beside the outdoor phone booth. ‘I hope it’s not bad news,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll talk first,’ Doug said, getting out. Bad news, he thought with labored amusement. Like what? He crunched stiffly across to the phone booth, entered, shut the door behind him, dropped in a dime and dialed the toll-free number.

  ‘Well, do I have news!’ General Toad said when the operator had put him on the line. ‘It’s a good thing we got hold of you. Just a minute - I’m going to let Dr Fein tell you this himself. You’re more apt to believe him than me.’ Several clicks, and then Dr Fein’s reedy, precise, scholarly voice, but intensified by urgency.

  ‘What’s the bad news?’ Addison Doug said.

  ‘Not bad, necessarily,’ Dr Fein said. ‘I’ve had computations run since our discussion, and it would appear - by that I mean it is statistically probable but still unverified for a certainty - that you are right, Addison. You are in a closed time loop.’

  Addison Doug exhaled raggedly. You nowhere autocratic mother, he thought. You probably knew all along.

  ‘However,’ Dr Fein said excitedly, stammering a little, ‘I also calculate - we jointly do, largely through Cal Tech - that the greatest likelihood of maintaining the loop is to implode on reentry. Do you understand, Addison? If you lug all those rusty VW parts back and implode, then your statistical chances of closing the loop forever is greater than if you simply reenter and all goes well.’

  Addison Doug said nothing.

  ‘In fact, Addi - and this is the severe part that I have to stress - implosion at reentry, especially a massive, calculated one of the sort we seem to see shaping up - do you grasp all this, Addi? Am I getting through to you? For Chrissake, Addi? Virtually guarantees the locking in of an absolutely unyielding loop such as you’ve got in mind. Such as we’ve all been worried about from the start.’ A pause. ‘Addi? Are you there?’

  Addison Doug said, ‘I want to die.’

  ‘That’s your exhaustion from the loop. God knows how many repetitions there’ve been already of the three of you—’

  ‘No,’ he said and started to hang up.

  ‘Let me speak with Benz and Crayne,’ Dr Fein said rapidly. ‘Please, before you go ahead with reentry. Especially Benz; I’d like to speak with him in particular. Please, Addison. For their sake; your almost total exhaustion has—’

  He hung up. Left the phone booth, step by step.

  As he climbed back into the car, he heard their two alert receivers still buzzing. ‘General Toad said the automatic call for us would keep your two receivers doing that for a while,’ he said. And shut the car door after him. ‘Let’s take off.’

  ‘Doesn’t he want to talk to us?’ Benz said.

  Addison Doug said, ‘General Toad wanted to inform us that they have a little something for us. We’ve been voted a special Congressional Citation for valor or some damn thing like that. A special medal they never voted anyone before. To be awarded posthumously.’

  ‘Well, hell - that’s about the only way it can be awarded,’ Crayne said.

  Merry Lou, as she started up the engine, began to cry.

  ‘It’ll be a relief,’ Crayne said presently, as they returned bumpily to the freeway, ‘when it’s over.’

  It won’t be long now, Addison Doug’s mind declared.

  On their wrists the emergency alert receivers continued to put out their combined buzzing.

  ‘They will nibble you to death,’ Addison Doug said. ‘The endless wearing down by various bu
reaucratic voices.’

  The others in the car turned to gaze at him inquiringly, with uneasiness mixed with perplexity.

  ‘Yeah,’ Crayne said. ‘These automatic alerts are really a nuisance.’ He sounded tired. As tired as I am, Addison Doug thought. And, realizing this, he felt better. It showed how right he was.

  Great drops of water struck the windshield; it had now begun to rain. That pleased him too. It reminded him of that most exalted of all experiences within the shortness of his life: the funeral procession moving slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue, the flag-draped caskets. Closing his eyes he leaned back and felt good at last. And heard, all around him once again, the sorrow-bent people. And, in his head, dreamed of the special Congressional Medal. For weariness, he thought. A medal for being tired.

  He saw, in his head, himself in other parades too, and in the deaths of many. But really it was one death and one parade. Slow cars moving along the street in Dallas and with Dr King as well … He saw himself return again and again, in his closed cycle of life, to the national mourning that he could not and they could not forget. He would be there; they would always be there; it would always be, and every one of them would return together again and again forever. To the place, the moment, they wanted to be. The event which meant the most to all of them.

  This was his gift to them, the people, his country. He had bestowed upon the world a wonderful burden. The dreadful and weary miracle of eternal life.

  The Pre-Persons

  Past the grove of cypress trees Walter - he had been playing king of the mountain - saw the white truck, and he knew it for what it was. He thought, That’s the abortion truck. Come to take some kid in for a postpartum down at the abortion place.

  And he thought, Maybe my folks called it. For me.