They had, they told him, about a hundred and forty members in their profession (as they called it). Several had been caught by the government and exiled to the Martian prison colonies. The group distributed inflammatory propaganda, demanding the end of the euthanors and a resumption of natural birth--at the very least, the freedom of women to conceive and give birth, or to turn their zygote over to the Soul Cube if they preferred. The element of choice. And, as an essential, the end of enforced sterilization for the young men.
Breaking into her children's account, Loris said, "You understand that I'm still Mother Superior. I've been able to get a small number of males out of the hands of the sterilization agency . . . not many, but enough to give us hope."
Parsons thought, Maybe they have to be fanatics. In a world like this, where they're fighting compulsory sterilization, exile to prison camps without trial, vicious shupos. And, underneath it all, the ethos of death. A system devoted to the extinction of the individual, for the sake of the future.
Whatever virtues it might have, whatever good aspects--
"I guess there's no chance that you could stay here," Grace said. "With mother and us."
Awkwardly, Parsons said, "I don't know if you know it, but in my own time I have a wife." He felt his face flush, but neither of the children seemed embarrassed or surprised.
"We know," Nathan said. "We've gone back several times to have a look at you. Mother took us back when we were younger; we persuaded her to. Your wife seems very nice."
Loris said, in a practical tone, "Let's be realistic. Jim, at this point, is twenty years my junior." But something in her eyes, a certitude, made Parsons wonder what she was thinking.
Does she know something important about me? he asked himself. Something that I have no way of knowing? They have use of their time-travel equipment for any purpose that they want.
In a low voice, Loris said, "I know what makes you look so worried, Jim. You saw them kill my father. I want to tell you why they did it. You're afraid it's the maniacal fanaticism of the family showing itself in one more generation. You're wrong. They killed Corith to save your life. If he had lived, he would have had you destroyed; I knew it, and so did the children. They saw you were unable to do it, and they admire you more. It was the highest morality possible. But your life is worth too much to them, to let anything happen to you. Their whole outlook is based on what I've told them about you, and what they've seen for themselves. You, with your system of values, your humane ethics, your sense of others, have formed them. And, through their profession, you will alter this society. Even if you yourself are not here."
None of them spoke, for a time.
"You were a powerful and unanswerable lesson for this society," Loris said.
To that, Parsons could say nothing.
Loris said, "And so was your profession."
"Thanks," he said finally.
The three of them smiled at him with great tenderness. And with love. My family, he said to himself. And, in these children, the best of both of us, of Loris and me.
"Do you want to go back to your own time now?" Loris said, in her considerate, mature manner.
He nodded. "I suppose I should."
Disappointment, crushing and bleak, appeared on the children's faces. But they said nothing. They accepted it.
Later on, Loris sent both Grace and Nathan off, so she and Parsons could be alone for a time.
"Will I ever be back here?" he asked her bluntly.
With composure, she said, "I won't tell you."
"But you know."
"Yes," she said.
"Why won't you tell me?"
"I don't want to rob you of the power of choosing for yourself. If I tell you, it will seem determined. Out of your hands. But of course, it would still be your choice--as it was your choice not to kill my father."
"Do you believe that choice actually exists? That it's not an illusion?"
She said, "I believe it's authentic."
He let it go at that.
"In one matter, however," she continued, "you have no choice. You know about that--what remains to be done. Of course, you can do it here as well as back in your own time."
"Yes," he said. "But I'd rather do it back there."
Rising, Loris said, "I'll take you back. Do you want to see the children again before you go?"
He hesitated, considering. "No," he decided. "I feel that I have to go back. And if I see them again, I probably won't."
Matter-of-factly, Loris said, "We've been without you for their lifetime. But for you, only an hour or so passed. If you decide to come back to us, it will follow a twenty year period for you. But--" She smiled. "For us, it will probably be during the next few days. You see?"
"You won't have to wait," he said.
Loris nodded.
"How strange," he said. "Having two families, at different periods in history."
"Do you consider that you have two? I see only one. Here, with the children. You have a wife back in your own time, but no family." Her eyes flared with the familiar determination.
Parsons said, "You would be a difficult person to live with." He spoke half-jokingly, but with more than a little seriousness.
"This is a difficult period in time," Loris said.
He could hardly argue that.
As they walked toward the time ship, Loris said, "Would you be afraid of the problems here? No, I know you wouldn't. There's no fear on your part. You would be a lot of help to us."
At the ship, as he shut the door after them, he said, "What about Helmar? Is he still around?"
Loris said, "He went over to the government, to join them."
That did not surprise him. "And Jepthe?"
"She's with us here. But in retirement. She's gotten quite feeble; in her old age she has none of Nixina's strength."
Presently she switched on the controls. He was on his way back, at last, to his own time.
"I'm afraid your car was wrecked," Loris said. "When the dredge picked you up. We hadn't had the experience we needed then."
He said, "That's all right. I have insurance."
Once more, the highway with its educational signs. Cars moving toward San Francisco, and, on the other side, the traffic on its way to Los Angeles. He stood uncertainly on the shoulder of the road, smelling the oleander that the public roads department had planted, miles of it between the two strips. Then he began to walk.
Trudging along, wondering if any of the cars would stop-- it meant unhooking from the automatic beam--he considered the work that lay ahead of him. He did not have to undertake it at once; in fact, he had years to accomplish it. Most of his lifetime.
He thought of his house, Mary standing on the front porch as he had last seen her. Image of her waving, pert and fresh in her green slacks . . . hair shining in the early-morning sunlight as he set off to his office.
How will I feel when I see her? he asked himself.
I wonder how soon I'll be going back into the future. A method of communicating with Loris had been arranged between them. How easy it would be . . .
A car slowed, left the lane, and coasted to a halt on the shoulder. "Engine trouble?" the driver called to him.
"Yes," he said. "I'd appreciate a ride into San Francisco."
A moment later he had gotten in; the car started up and rejoined the beam.
"Strange looking outfit you have on," the driver remarked politely, but with curiosity.
Parsons realized that he had come back to his time wearing clothes from another world entirely. And he had left his gray instrument case somewhere. This time it really was lost.
The ring of industrial installations around San Francisco appeared ahead. He watched the factories, tracks, towers, and sheds go by beneath the highway.
I wonder where I can get the materials, he said to himself. And where it should be placed. But evidently the placing was not a problem; he had found it, and that was what mattered. Can I do the work myself? he wondered. He had
never done anything with stone before. Of course, the inscription itself was cut directly into the metal. Probably, after practice, he could manage it; he would not have to hire the job out.
If I can, he decided, I want to do it myself. To be sure there is no slip-up. After all, my life depends on it.
It would be interesting to see the plaque come into existence, here in his own time. Contrast to the eroded, damaged monument that had greeted him in the future, countless centuries hence . . .
But a job well done. And it had outlasted all his other acts in this world.
Maybe it should be buried, he decided. Sunk deep into the earth, out of sight. After all, it won't be needed for a long, long time.
FIRST VINTAGE BOOKS EDITION, AUGUST 2005
Copyright (c) 1960 by Ace Books, Inc.
Copyright renewed 1988 by Laura Coelho,
Christopher Dick, and Isa Dick
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage
Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York,
and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited,
Toronto. Originally published in the United States by
Ace Books, New York, in 1960.
Vintage and colophon are registered trademarks
of Random House, Inc.
The Cataloging-in-Publication Data for Dr. Futurity is on file
at the Library of Congress.
eISBN : 978-0-307-42564-5
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Philip K. Dick, Dr. Futurity
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