andcracked. He went inside. A heater glowed in the corner of the smalloffice. A heavy-set man stood up and came slowly over to the counter.
"What did you want, mister?" he said.
"Old papers. A month. Or more."
"To buy? You want to buy them?"
"Yes." He held out some of the money he had. The man stared.
"Sure," he said. "Sure. Wait a minute." He went quickly out of the room.When he came back he was staggering under the weight of his armload, hisface red. "Here are some," he grunted. "Took what I could find. Coversthe whole year. And if you want more--"
Conger carried the papers outside. He sat down by the road and began togo through them.
* * * * *
What he wanted was four months back, in December. It was a tiny item, sosmall that he almost missed it. His hands trembled as he scanned it,using the small dictionary for some of the archaic terms.
MAN ARRESTED FOR UNLICENSED DEMONSTRATION
An unidentified man who refused to give his name was picked up in Cooper Creek by special agents of the sheriff's office, according to Sheriff Duff. It was said the man was recently noticed in this area and had been watched continually. It was--
Cooper Creek. December, 1960. His heart pounded. That was all he neededto know. He stood up, shaking himself, stamping his feet on the coldground. The sun had moved across the sky to the very edge of the hills.He smiled. Already he had discovered the exact time and place. Now heneeded only to go back, perhaps to November, to Cooper Creek--
He walked back through the main section of town, past the library, pastthe grocery store. It would not be hard; the hard part was over. Hewould go there; rent a room, prepare to wait until the man appeared.
He turned the corner. A woman was coming out of a doorway, loaded downwith packages. Conger stepped aside to let her pass. The woman glancedat him. Suddenly her face turned white. She stared, her mouth open.
Conger hurried on. He looked back. What was wrong with her? The womanwas still staring; she had dropped the packages to the ground. Heincreased his speed. He turned a second corner and went up a sidestreet. When he looked back again the woman had come to the entrance ofthe street and was starting after him. A man joined her, and the two ofthem began to run toward him.
He lost them and left the town, striding quickly, easily, up into thehills at the edge of town. When he reached the cage he stopped. What hadhappened? Was it something about his clothing? His dress?
He pondered. Then, as the sun set, he stepped into the cage.
Conger sat before the wheel. For a moment he waited, his hands restinglightly on the control. Then he turned the wheel, just a little,following the control readings carefully.
The grayness settled down around him.
But not for very long.
* * * * *
The man looked him over critically. "You better come inside," he said."Out of the cold."
"Thanks." Conger went gratefully through the open door, into theliving-room. It was warm and close from the heat of the little keroseneheater in the corner. A woman, large and shapeless in her flowereddress, came from the kitchen. She and the man studied him critically.
"It's a good room," the woman said. "I'm Mrs. Appleton. It's got heat.You need that this time of year."
"Yes." He nodded, looking around.
"You want to eat with us?"
"What?"
"You want to eat with us?" The man's brows knitted. "You're not aforeigner, are you, mister?"
"No." He smiled. "I was born in this country. Quite far west, though."
"California?"
"No." He hesitated. "In Oregon."
"What's it like up there?" Mrs. Appleton asked. "I hear there's a lot oftrees and green. It's so barren here. I come from Chicago, myself."
"That's the Middle West," the man said to her. "You ain't no foreigner."
"Oregon isn't foreign, either," Conger said. "It's part of the UnitedStates."
The man nodded absently. He was staring at Conger's clothing.
"That's a funny suit you got on, mister," he said. "Where'd you getthat?"
Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily. "It's a good suit," he said."Maybe I better go some other place, if you don't want me here."
They both raised their hands protestingly. The woman smiled at him. "Wejust have to look out for those Reds. You know, the government is alwayswarning us about them."
"The Reds?" He was puzzled.
"The government says they're all around. We're supposed to reportanything strange or unusual, anybody doesn't act normal."
"Like me?"
They looked embarrassed. "Well, you don't look like a Red to me," theman said. "But we have to be careful. The _Tribune_ says--"
Conger half listened. It was going to be easier than he had thought.Clearly, he would know as soon as the Founder appeared. These people, sosuspicious of anything different, would be buzzing and gossiping andspreading the story. All he had to do was lie low and listen, down atthe general store, perhaps. Or even here, in Mrs. Appleton's boardinghouse.
"Can I see the room?" he said.
"Certainly." Mrs. Appleton went to the stairs. "I'll be glad to show itto you."
They went upstairs. It was colder upstairs, but not nearly as cold asoutside. Nor as cold as nights on the Martian deserts. For that he wasgrateful.
* * * * *
He was walking slowly around the store, looking at the cans ofvegetables, the frozen packages of fish and meats shining and clean inthe open refrigerator counters.
Ed Davies came toward him. "Can I help you?" he said. The man was alittle oddly dressed, and with a beard! Ed couldn't help smiling.
"Nothing," the man said in a funny voice. "Just looking."
"Sure," Ed said. He walked back behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket waswheeling her cart up.
"Who's he?" she whispered, her sharp face turned, her nose moving, as ifit were sniffing. "I never seen him before."
"I don't know."
"Looks funny to me. Why does he wear a beard? No one else wears abeard. Must be something the matter with him."
"Maybe he likes to wear a beard. I had an uncle who--"
"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened. "Didn't that--what was his name? TheRed--that old one. Didn't he have a beard? Marx. He had a beard."
Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl Marx. I saw a photograph of him once."
Mrs. Hacket was staring at him. "You did?"
"Sure." He flushed a little. "What's the matter with that?"
"I'd sure like to know more about him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think weought to know more, for our own good."
* * * * *
"Hey, mister! Want a ride?"
Conger turned quickly, dropping his hand to his belt. He relaxed. Twoyoung kids in a car, a girl and a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride?Sure."
Conger got into the car and closed the door. Bill Willet pushed the gasand the car roared down the highway.
"I appreciate a ride," Conger said carefully. "I was taking a walkbetween towns, but it was farther than I thought."
"Where are you from?" Lora Hunt asked. She was pretty, small and dark,in her yellow sweater and blue skirt.
"From Cooper Creek."
"Cooper Creek?" Bill said. He frowned. "That's funny. I don't rememberseeing you before."
"Why, do you come from there?"
"I was born there. I know everybody there."
"I just moved in. From Oregon."
"From Oregon? I didn't know Oregon people had accents."
"Do I have an accent?"
"You use words funny."
"How?"
"I don't know. Doesn't he, Lora?"
"You slur them," Lora said, smiling. "Talk some more. I'm interested indialects." She glanced at him, white-teethed. Conger felt his heartconstrict.
"I have a speech impediment."
"Oh." He
r eyes widened. "I'm sorry."
They looked at him curiously as the car purred along. Conger for hispart was struggling to find some way of asking them questions withoutseeming curious. "I guess people from out of town don't come here much,"he said. "Strangers."
"No." Bill shook his head. "Not very much."
"I'll bet I'm the first outsider for a long time."
"I guess so."
Conger hesitated. "A friend of mine--someone I know, might be comingthrough here. Where do you suppose I might--" He stopped. "Would therebe anyone certain to see him? Someone I could ask, make sure I don'tmiss him if he comes?"
They were puzzled. "Just keep your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn't verybig."
"No. That's right."
They drove in silence. Conger studied the outline of the girl. Probablyshe was the boy's mistress. Perhaps she was his trial wife. Or had theydeveloped trial marriage back so far? He could not remember. But surelysuch an attractive girl would be someone's mistress by this time; shewould be sixteen or so, by her looks. He might ask her sometime, if theyever met again.
* * * * *
The next day Conger went walking along the one main street of CooperCreek. He passed the general store, the two filling stations, and thenthe post office. At the corner was the soda fountain.
He stopped. Lora was sitting inside, talking to the clerk. She waslaughing, rocking back and forth.
Conger pushed the door open. Warm air rushed around him. Lora wasdrinking hot chocolate, with whipped cream. She looked up in surprise ashe slid into the seat beside her.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "Am I intruding?"
"No." She shook her head. Her eyes were large and dark. "Not at all."
The clerk came over. "What do you want?"
Conger looked at the chocolate. "Same as she has."
Lora was watching Conger, her arms folded, elbows on the counter. Shesmiled at him. "By the way. You don't know my name. Lora Hunt."
She was holding out her hand. He took it awkwardly, not knowing what todo with it. "Conger is my name," he murmured.
"Conger? Is that your last or first name?"
"Last or first?" He hesitated. "Last. Omar Conger."
"Omar?" She laughed. "That's like the poet, Omar Khayyam."
"I don't know of him. I know very little of poets. We restored very fewworks of art. Usually only the Church has been interested enough--" Hebroke off. She was staring. He flushed. "Where I come from," hefinished.
"The Church? Which church do you mean?"
"The Church." He was confused. The chocolate came and he began to sip itgratefully. Lora was still watching him.
"You're an unusual person," she said. "Bill didn't like you, but henever likes anything different. He's so--so prosaic. Don't you thinkthat when a person gets older he should become--broadened in hisoutlook?"
Conger nodded.
"He says foreign people ought to stay where they belong, not come here.But you're not so foreign. He means orientals; you know."
Conger nodded.
The screen door opened behind them. Bill came into the room. He staredat them. "Well," he said.
Conger turned. "Hello."
"Well." Bill sat down. "Hello, Lora." He was looking at Conger. "Ididn't expect to see you here."
Conger tensed. He could feel the hostility of the boy. "Something wrongwith that?"
"No. Nothing wrong with it."
There was silence. Suddenly Bill turned to Lora. "Come on. Let's go."
"Go?" She was astonished. "Why?"
"Just go!" He grabbed her hand. "Come on! The car's outside."
"Why, Bill Willet," Lora said. "You're jealous!"
"Who is this guy?" Bill said. "Do you know anything about him? Look athim, his beard--"
She flared. "So what? Just because he doesn't drive a Packard and go toCooper High!"
Conger sized the boy up. He was big--big and strong. Probably he waspart of some civil control organization.
"Sorry," Conger said. "I'll go."
"What's your business in town?" Bill asked. "What are you doing here?Why are you hanging around Lora?"
Conger looked at the girl. He shrugged. "No reason. I'll see you later."
He turned away. And froze. Bill had moved. Conger's fingers went to hisbelt. _Half pressure_, he whispered to himself. _No more. Halfpressure._
He squeezed. The room leaped around him. He himself was protected by thelining of his clothing, the plastic sheathing inside.
"My God--" Lora put her hands up. Conger cursed. He hadn't meant any ofit for her. But it would wear off. There was only a half-amp to it. Itwould tingle.
Tingle, and paralyze.
He walked out the door without looking back. He was almost to the cornerwhen Bill came slowly out, holding onto the wall like a drunken man.Conger went on.
* * * * *
As Conger walked, restless, in the night, a form loomed in front of him.He stopped, holding his breath.
"Who is it?" a man's voice came. Conger waited, tense.
"Who is it?" the man said again. He clicked something in his hand. Alight flashed. Conger moved.
"It's me," he said.
"Who is 'me'?"
"Conger is my name. I'm staying at the Appleton's place. Who are you?"
The man came slowly up to him. He was wearing a leather jacket. Therewas a gun at his waist.
"I'm Sheriff Duff. I think you're the person I want to talk to. You werein Bloom's today, about three o'clock?"
"Bloom's?"
"The fountain. Where the kids hang out." Duff came up beside him,shining his light into Conger's face. Conger blinked.
"Turn that thing away," he said.
A pause. "All right." The light flickered to the ground. "You werethere. Some trouble broke out between you and the Willet boy. Is thatright? You had a beef over his girl--"
"We had a discussion," Conger said carefully.
"Then what happened?"
"Why?"
"I'm just curious. They say you did something."
"Did something? Did what?"
"I don't know. That's what I'm wondering. They saw a flash, andsomething seemed to happen. They all blacked out. Couldn't move."
"How are they now?"
"All right."
There was silence.
"Well?" Duff said. "What was it? A bomb?"
"A bomb?" Conger laughed. "No. My cigarette lighter caught fire. Therewas a leak, and the fluid ignited."
"Why did they all pass out?"
"Fumes."
Silence. Conger shifted, waiting. His fingers moved slowly toward hisbelt. The Sheriff glanced down. He grunted.
"If you say so," he said. "Anyhow, there wasn't any real harm done." Hestepped back from Conger. "And that Willet is a trouble-maker."
"Good night, then," Conger said. He started past the Sheriff.
"One more thing, Mr. Conger. Before you go. You don't mind if I look atyour identification, do you?"
"No. Not at all." Conger reached into his pocket. He held his walletout. The Sheriff took it and shined his flashlight on it. Congerwatched, breathing shallowly. They had worked hard on the wallet,studying historic documents, relics of the times, all the papers theyfelt would be relevant.
Duff handed it back. "Okay. Sorry to bother you." The light winked off.
When Conger reached the house he found the Appletons sitting around thetelevision set. They did not look up as he came in. He lingered at thedoor.
"Can I ask you something?" he said. Mrs. Appleton turned slowly. "Can Iask you--what's the date?"
"The date?" She studied him. "The first of December."
"December first! Why, it was just November!"
They were all looking at him. Suddenly he remembered. In the twentiethcentury they still used the old twelve-month system. November feddirectly into December; there was no Quartember between.
He gasped. Then it was tomorrow! The seco
nd of December! Tomorrow!
"Thanks," he said. "Thanks."
He went up the stairs. What a fool he was, forgetting. The Founder hadbeen taken into captivity on the second of December, according to thenewspaper records. Tomorrow, only twelve hours hence, the Founder wouldappear to speak to the people and then be dragged away.
* * * * *
The day was warm and bright. Conger's shoes crunched the melting crustof snow. On he went, through the trees heavy with white. He climbed ahill and strode down the other side, sliding as he went.
He stopped to look around. Everything was silent. There was no one insight. He brought a thin rod from his waist and turned the handle of it.For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a shimmering in the