Rainbow Mars (39 page)

“You say you slipped sideways in time?”

“I think so. A futz of a long way, too,” said Svetz. “Marooned. Gods protect me. It must have been the horse—”

Wrocky broke in. “Horse?”

“The horse. Three years ago, a horse damaged my extension cage. It was supposed to be fixed. I suppose the repairs just wore through, and the cage slipped sideways in time instead of forward. Into a world where wolves evolved instead of
Homo habilis.
Gods know where I'm likely to wind up if I try to go back.”

Then he remembered. “At least you can help me there. Some kind of monster has taken over my extension cage.”

“Extension cage?”

“The part of the time machine that does the moving. You'll help me evict the monster?”

“Of course,” said Worrel, at the same time the other was saying, “I don't think so. Bear with me, please, Worrel. Svetz, it would be a disservice to you if we chased the monster out of your extension cage. You would try to reach your own time, would you not?”

“Futz, yes!”

“But you would only get more and more lost. At least in our world you can eat the food and breathe the air. Yes, we grow food plants for the trolls; you can learn to eat them.”

“You don't understand. I can't stay here. I'm a xenophobe!”

Wrocky frowned. His ears flicked forward enquiringly. “What?”

“I'm afraid of intelligent beings who aren't human. I can't help it. It's in my bones.”

“Oh, I'm sure you'll get used to us, Svetz.”

Svetz looked from one male to the other. It was obvious enough who was in charge. Wrocky's voice was much louder and deeper than Worrel's; he was bigger than the other man, and his white fur fell about his neck in a mane like a lion's. Worrel was making no attempt to assert himself. As for the women, neither had spoken a word since Svetz entered the room.

Wrocky was emphatically the boss. And Wrocky didn't want Svetz to leave.

“You don't understand,” Svetz said desperately. “The air—” He stopped.

“What about the air?”

“It should have killed me by now. A dozen times over. In fact, why hasn't it?” Odd enough that he'd ever stopped wondering about that. “I must have adapted,” Svetz said half to himself. “That's it. The cage passed too close to this line of history. My heredity changed. My lungs adapted to pre-Industrial air. Futz it! If I hadn't pulled the interrupter switch I'd have adapted back!”

“Then you can breathe our air,” said Wrocky.

“I still don't understand it. Don't you have any industries?”

“Of course,” Worrel said in surprise.

“Internal combustion cars and aircraft? Diesel trucks and ships? Chemical fertilizers, insect repellents—”

“No, none of that. Chemical fertilizers wash away, ruin the water. The only insect repellents I ever heard of smelled to high heaven. They never got beyond the experimental stage. Most of our vehicles are battery powered.”

“There
was
a fad for internal combustion once,” said Wrocky. “It didn't spread very far. They stank. The people inside didn't care, of course, because they were leaving the stink behind. At its peak there were over two hundred cars tootling around the city of Detroit, poisoning the air. Then one night the citizenry rose in a pack and tore all the cars to pieces. The owners too.”

Worrel said, “I've always thought that men have more sensitive noses than trolls.”

“Wrona noticed my smell long before I noticed hers. Wrocky, this is getting us nowhere. I've
got
to go home. I seem to have adapted to the air, but there are other things. Foods: I've never eaten anything but dole yeast; everything else died out long ago. Bacteria.”

Wrocky shook his head. “Anywhere you go, Svetz, your broken time machine will only take you to more and more exotic environments. There must be a thousand ways the world could end. Suppose you stepped out into one of them? Or just passed near one?”

“But—”

“Here, on the other paw, you will be an honored guest. Think of all the things you can teach us! You, who were born into a culture that builds time traveling vehicles!”

So that was it. “Oh, no. You couldn't use what I know,” said Svetz. “I'm no mechanic. I couldn't show you how to do anything. Besides, you'd hate the side effects. Too much of past civilizations was built on petrochemicals. And plastics. Burning plastics produces some of the strangest—”

“But even the most extensive oil reserves could not last forever. You must have developed other power sources by your own time.” Wrocky's yellow eyes seemed to bore right through him. “Controlled hydrogen fusion?”

“But I can't tell you how it's done!” Svetz cried desperately. “I know nothing of plasma physics!”

“Plasma physics? What are plasma physics?”

“Using electromagnetic fields to manipulate ionized gasses. You
must
have plasma physics.”

“No, but I'm sure you can give us some valuable hints. Already we have fusion bombs. And so do the Europeans … but we can discuss that later.” Wrocky stood up. His black nails made pressure points on Svetz's arm. “Think it over, Svetz. Oh, and make yourself free of the house, but don't go outside without an escort. The trolls, you know.”

*   *   *

Svetz left the room with his head whirling. The wolves would not let him leave.

“Svetz, I'm glad you're staying,” Wrona chattered. “I like you. I'm sure you'll like it here. Let me show you the house.”

Down the length of the hallway, one frosted globe burned dimly in the gloom, like a full moon transported indoors. Nocturnal, they were nocturnal.

Wolves.

“I'm a xenophobe,” he said. “I can't help it. I was born that way.”

“Oh, you'll learn to like us. You like me a little already, don't you, Svetz?” She reached up to scratch him behind the ear. A thrill of pleasure ran through him, unexpectedly sharp, so that he half closed his eyes.

“This way,” she said.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought I'd show you some trolls. Svetz, are you really descended from trolls? I can't believe it!”

“I'll tell you when I see them,” said Svetz. He remembered the
Homo habilis
in the Vivarium. It had been a man, an Advisor, until the Secretary-General ordered him regressed.

They went through the dining room, and Svetz saw unmistakable bones on the plates. He shivered. His forebears had eaten meat; the trolls were brute animals here, whatever they might be in Svetz's world—but Svetz shuddered. His thinking seemed turgid, his head felt thick. He had to get out of here.

“If you think Uncle Wrocky's tough, you should meet the European ambassador,” said Wrona. “Perhaps you will.”

“Does he come here?”

“Sometimes.” Wrona growled low in her throat. “I don't like him. He's a different species, Svetz. Here it was the wolves that evolved into men; at least that's what our teacher tells us. In Europe it was something else.”

“I don't think Uncle Wrocky will let me meet him. Or even tell him about me.” Svetz rubbed at his eyes.

“You're lucky. Herr Dracula smiles a lot and says nasty things in a polite voice. It takes you a minute to—Svetz! What's wrong?”

Svetz groaned like a man in agony. “My eyes!” He felt higher. “My forehead! I don't have a forehead anymore!”

“I don't understand.”

Svetz felt his face with his fingertips. His eyebrows were a caterpillar of hair on a thick, solid ridge of bone. From the brow ridge his forehead sloped back at forty-five degrees. And his chin, his chin was gone too. There was only a regular curve of jaw into neck.

“I'm regressing, I'm turning into a troll,” said Svetz. “Wrona, if I turn into a troll, will they eat me?”

“I don't know. I'll stop them, Svetz!”

“No. Take me down to the extension cage. If you're not with me the trolls will kill me.”

“All right. But, Svetz, what about the monster?”

“He should be easier to handle by now. It'll be all right. Just take me there. Please.”

“All right, Svetz.” She took his hand and led him.

The mirror hadn't lied. He'd been changing even then, adapting to this line of history. First his lungs had lost their adaptation to normal air. There had been no Industrial Age here. But there had been no
Homo sapiens
either …

Wrona opened the door. Svetz sniffed at the night. His sense of smell had become preternaturally acute. He smelled the trolls before he saw them, coming uphill toward him across the living green carpet. Svetz's fingers curled, wishing for a weapon.

Three of them. They formed a ring around Svetz and Wrona. One of them carried a length of white bone. They all walked upright on two legs, but they walked as if their feet hurt them. They were as hairless as men. Apes' heads mounted on men's bodies.

Homo habilis,
the killer plains ape. Man's ancestor.

“Pay them no attention,” Wrona said offhandedly. “They won't hurt us.” She started down the hill. Svetz followed closely.

“He really shouldn't have that bone,” she called back.

“We try to keep bones away from them. They use them as weapons. Sometimes they hurt each other. Once one of them got hold of the iron handle for the lawn sprinkler and killed a gardener with it.”

“I'm not going to take it away from him.”

“That glaring light, is that your extension cage?”

“Yes.”

“I'm not sure about this, Svetz.” She stopped suddenly. “Uncle Wrocky's right. You'll only get more lost. Here you'll at least be taken care of.”

“No. Uncle Wrocky was wrong. See the dark side of the extension cage, how it fades away to nothing? It's still attached to the rest of the time machine. It'll just reel me in.”

“Oh.”

“No telling how long it's been veering across the time lines. Maybe ever since that futzy horse poked his futzy horn through the controls. Nobody ever noticed before. Why should they? Nobody ever stopped a time machine halfway before.”

“Svetz, horses don't have horns.”

“Mine does.”

There was noise behind them. Wrona looked back into a darkness Svetz's eyes could not pierce. “Somebody must have noticed us! Come on, Svetz!”

She pulled him toward the lighted cage. They stopped just outside.

“My head feels thick,” Svetz mumbled. “My tongue too.”

“What are we going to do about the monster? I can't hear anything—”

“No monster. Just a man with amnesia, now. He was only dangerous in the transition stage.”

She looked in. “Why, you're right! Sir, would you mind—Svetz, he doesn't seem to understand me.”

“Sure not. Why should he? He thinks he's a white arctic wolf.” Svetz stepped inside. The white-haired wolf man was backed into a corner, warily watching. He looked a lot like Wrona.

Svetz became aware that he had picked up a tree branch. His hand must have done it without telling his brain. He circled, holding the weapon ready. An unreasoning rage built up and up in him. Invader! The man had no business here in Svetz's territory.

The wolf man backed away, his slant eyes mad and frightened. Suddenly he was out the door and running, the trolls close behind.

“Your father can teach him, maybe,” said Svetz.

Wrona was studying the controls. “How do you work it?”

“Let me see. I'm not sure I remember.” Svetz rubbed at his drastically sloping forehead. “That one closes the door—”

Wrona pushed it. The door closed.

“Shouldn't you be outside?”

“I want to come with you,” said Wrona.

“Oh.” It was getting terribly difficult to think. Svetz looked over the control panel. Eeny, meeny—that one? Svetz pulled it.

Free fall. Wrona yipped. Gravity came, vectored radially outward from the center of the extension cage. It pulled them against the walls.

“When my lungs go back to normal, I'll probably go to sleep,” said Svetz. “Don't worry about it.” Was there something else he ought to tell Wrona? He tried to remember.

Oh, yes. “You can't go home again,” said Svetz. “We'd never find this line of history again.”

“I want to stay with you,” said Wrona.

“All right.”

*   *   *

Within a deep recess in the bulk of the time machine, a fog formed. It congealed abruptly—and Svetz's extension cage was back, hours late. The door popped open automatically. But Svetz didn't come out.

They had to pull him out by the shoulders, out of air that smelled of beast and honeysuckle.

“He'll be all right in a minute. Get a filter tent over that other thing,” Ra Chen ordered. He stood over Svetz with his arms folded, waiting.

Svetz began breathing.

He opened his eyes.

“All right,” said Ra Chen. “What happened?”

Svetz sat up. “Let me think. I went back to pre-Industrial America. It was all snowed in. I … shot a wolf.”

“We've got it in a tent. Then what?”

“No. The wolf left. We chased him out.” Svetz's eyes went wide. “Wrona!”

Wrona lay on her side in the filter tent. Her fur was thick and rich, white with black markings. She was built something like a wolf, but more compactly, with a big head and a short muzzle and a tightly curled tail. Her eyes were closed. She did not seem to be breathing.

Svetz knelt. “Help me get her out of there! Can't you tell the difference between a wolf and a dog?”

“No. Why would you bring back a dog, Svetz? We've got dozens of dogs.”

Svetz wasn't listening. He pulled away the filter tent and bent over Wrona. “I think she's a dog. More dog than wolf, anyway. People tend to domesticate each other. She's adapted to our line of history. And our brand of air.” Svetz looked up at his boss. “Sir, we'll have to junk the old extension cage. It's been veering sideways in time.”