The Universe Maker (19 page)

Back in Shadow City, he located it in the top drawer of Grannis' desk. The list was there, complete with names, places and actions taken.

The job done, he returned to Office One, Building C,
Shadow
City. It was one minute after his previous departure. The time was 1:01
p.m.
Because of the time paradox, only a few hours had gone by in Shadow City ' since he had first arrived at the terminal center.

At five minutes after one the phone rang. It was the instructor who had given him Shadow training. "If you will come to cubicle eleven," he instructed Cargill, "we will discuss further training. There isn't much but still it is a part of our pattern."

Cargill walked over to the cubicle, thinking, "If only I could ask a question about that death scene in such a way that I wouldn't give myself away." He had tried to imagine just how he might be present when the therapy was executed but he rejected the idea. There
might be such a thing as straining a paradox to the point where it wouldn't work.

As soon as he had entered cubicle eleven the light went out and the disembodied voice spoke out of the air in front of him. "Long ago, when we first discovered the processes involved, we decided that every Shadow must go through the experiences of death and, of course, revival. The reason for this is the universal fear of death. When a person actually goes through death and is brought back to life the associative terror, except in rare cases, is gone forever. The process of dying also has other effects on the system. Particularly, it breaks forever certain types of tensions. For this latter reason we do not hesitate to recommend it as a therapy for people we bring out of the past in our inter-time psychological work—"

"What's that?" Cargill thought at that point. "What did you say?" But he did not utter the startled questions out loud.

The instructor continued, "We always revive the therapy patient after he and the complaining party are convinced on the action level that death has indeed taken place, though the complainant is never aware of the resurrection. Many" of these latter are morally shocked by what has happened, but we use the million
tube
to persuade them that justice has been done. And with that combination, and that only, the effect we want is achieved."

Cargill said slowly, "This death experience—can the same person undergo it several times without being harmed?"

"Very few Shadows," was the reply, "would live to be a thousand years old if that were not true. You cannot imagine the number of accidents that take place despite all precautions." He finished with a hint of irony in his tone, "We do not, however, recommend the death experience more than a dozen tunes. The cells begin to remember the process."

Cargill hesitated. "There's another thing that's been bothering me. Can I go into my own future?"

"No. Only a pattern which has already occurred can be repeated by the body. For you to go into the future from here would require that somebody from the future pull you 'up.' The pattern would then be established, and you could operate from that particular future into the past."

Cargill didn't argue against the limitations. His reason for asking had to do with his experience with Lan Bruch. He was certain now that in some way Lan Bruch had drawn him into the future that was Merlica. The rest of the "happenings" seemed to be more in the nature of a stirring-up of long-buried memory.

He didn't want anything like that to happen here, didn't want any random intrusion of extra-sensory phenomena to interfere with his Shadow training. The question was, however, how would he avoid it? If there were any kind of
separation
at death, then he, with his previous experiences, would be aware of it and would afterwards remember.

Cargill said slowly: "When should I have this death experience?"

"That's up to you. You can take it now or wait for an accidental death. The point is
you
must decide."

Cargill hesitated. The idea of dying right now startled him. And, besides, he could already think of several things he ought to accomplish first. It was also possible that he could disassociate his "death" from Betty Lane's therapy and instead consider it as part of his necessary training, and get it over with.

"I'll wait," he said finally.

"Very well," said the voice; "call me when you're ready."

There was a click and the door unlocked.

Cargill wasted no time. He had thought of several additional things he ought to do before he could be certain he was in this age to stay.

There was, for instance, that very first time when Ann Reece had brought Captain Morton Cargill, newly arrived from the twentieth century, to a marble room where he had had an opportunity to see and be seen by the Shadow Grannis. The reason for contact had been obscure. Now, it was suddenly clear. "Of course," he thought, "it was important that Cargill see a Shadow. Besides that was the simplest way to get back the transport instrument that had to be loaned to Ann so that she could make the
rescue.
"

And there was the matter of the false notions the Tweeners and Planiacs had had about what the Shadows could and could not do. Some of that, of course, was due to
their own
ignorance, but Grannis must have confirmed their ideas with deliberate intent to deceive. And finally there was the fact that there had been previous getaways. It seemed incredible, now, that some Tweeners and Planiacs had escaped by themselves. Grannis must have helped them. Why? In order to establish among Planiacs the reality of the existence of such people, so that when Morton Cargill came along, his identity as a getaway would be taken for granted.

Cargill sighed. The task of establishing oneself in the future was an intricate one, involving many details.

But he carried these out, one by one. . . .

Later, heading for the therapy room in Shadow City, he was willing at last to receive the treatment that had once seemed so incredible. Apparently, going through the act of dying would be a minor experience to go through. It was Betty Lane, the observer, who would have the shock; he anticipated none. Nevertheless, there was one question in Cargill's mind as he waited in his half of the double apartment for the executioner to come for him. The question concerned Lan Bruch, of far Merlica.

The man had been at the point of telling him what he, Cargill, must do so that the Tweeners would win. It was strange that the entire Merlica scene had faded at the precise moment when those words were spoken.

The question was, had he, in fact, heard the words? Was it possible that he knew what the method was by which the Tweeners could win? Could all that he had done to insure that the Tweeners did
not
win be undone at this late stage by some unexpected event?

Cargill assured himself that no change was likely. But as the voice of the "therapist" projected into the air near his head, Cargill thought: "If I can recall how those geometric designs looked, maybe I can get close enough to Merlica to remember exactly what Lan Bruch said."

Eerily, Cargill appeared to be detached from his real self and able to watch the scene below him. And yet, in a paradoxical fashion, he was still part of it. He would have liked to withdraw the billions of energy flows that connected him with the inanimate thing down there. But he knew the body wasn't as yet really dead, although the major motion had ceased. The heart, the lungs, all the organs had stopped functioning.

The holding effect of the body was highly disturbing because there was some place
he
was supposed to go. He realized that this experience was different than others he had had. In the past he had not questioned the need to go, had not questioned where he should go, had simply gone there. Now, he thought: "Why
should
I go anywhere?"

And that was, indeed, a new idea. There was confidence in it: as a concept, not as an emotion. Curiously, he observed the body that had been Morton Cargill; dispassionately, he watched what was being done. He directed a flow through the wall toward the energy tube that had
effected
the body's death, and was now forcing alterations. Some of the alterations interfered with the long-established all-wave flow that interrelated him with the space-time-energy complex below, which he suddenly realized was just a part of his own universe. The interference was interesting in that it seemed to be armed at
enturbulated
areas, which looked black from where he was.

As the tube did its work, the disturbed flow in the area under attack slowly took on a whitish hue. Interested, Cargill looked around for black areas, and, finding some outside of the body somewhat to his left, turned them white, also. He was still busily engaged in turning even more distant black spots white when he remembered the geometric design that had led him to the lake and the statue, and to- Merlica. He had come upon Merlica as if by chance, he recalled. The "fabric" of the design had moved, as if someone other than
he
himself were controlling it. He conjured it up, to one side, near him. And there was the movement! The fabric shook and twisted, and would not hold still.

Somehow, he knew exactly what to do. He picked first a small area of the design, blotted out the rest, and exaggerated all of the automatic movements of the tiny area, periodically trying to hold it still. On his third try he held it completely motionless without effort.

Immediately, he brought the entire design into view and began to exaggerate the automatic motions in the larger area. And this, also, he strove every few moments to hold still.

It took four tries. Then he succeeded.

"What have I accomplished?" he wondered.

He was still somehow hovering above the dead body of Morton Cargill, above the white-faced descendant of Marie Chanette. He looked around and saw that several dozen energy flows came out of the distance, and connected to the body. He knew, without thinking about it, that their
sources,
were far away in space-time.

Cargill reached down firmly with a complex flow of his own and disconnected the intruding "lines," one by one. The first one had a startled thought behind it. It was the thought of
Lan
Bruch, saying: "He's defeated us." -The second line went down, and a thought came along it, which stated: "I doubt if the cities of space should interfere."

The messages that came along the other lines were more difficult to translate into words, but the meaning of the thoughts was that such disconnection had never occurred before. Laughter came along one of the lines. There was no humor in it, but there was sardonic understanding. The meaning of the laughter and of the understanding came to Cargill. They implied that he had learned some of the rules of the game, and therefore had become a sub-player, at least.

Somewhere, a strong voice said: "Let's change the rules of that universe."

The answer echoed along the same line: "He's already making his own rules."

— "That," was the reply, "is the quickest way to become a broken piece."

Cargill thought grimly: "So Lan Bruch thinks I've defeated him. Good." Then he wouldn't need
to
 
know
what the man had said. That control was broken at an energy level.

Cargill thought tensely:
"There isn't
redly
anybody else in my universe. All those thoughts are my own. I'm playing this game, and I'm all the pieces, and all the players, and I'm the
—"

He couldn't quite let that last idea come to full flowering.

He made the effort not to know what he had thought. He made an agreement with himself that he would not remember. He reinforced those rules of the game that made it necessary for him to hide the memory from himself. He considered several methods by which he could punish himself for all future time for having even momentarily revealed—what? He couldn't remember.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the two Shadows who had performed the therapy. One of them walked away almost immediately. The other gazed down at Cargill with inscrutable dull eyes, and then made an unmistakable gesture: Sit up!

As he obeyed, he realized the difference within himself. He felt refreshed and energized, wonderfully alert and alive. The million-tube had probably been used on him to educate him, to explain why he passed through this experience. For he knew with a sharper understanding that he had been relaxed while Betty Lane had had the equivalent of a cathartic experience.

Old, old was that pattern. Punishment is known among animals and when there is none, neurosis strikes as deeply into the mind of the beast as any comparable situation in man. A bull elephant, nursing along his females, is attacked by a larger bull and is driven into the jungle. The injustice of it tears him to pieces, and after a time a dangerous rogue elephant roams the forest
There
was a hell before heaven was thought of. Once people were hanged for stealing a shilling—until twenty-five cents ceased to be an important sum. Morality changed, of course. The crime of one generation was common practice in the next and so a thousand easements came automatically to the tensed descendants of people who did not have the satisfaction of catharsis. But there were eternal verities. Murder would be paid for by someone. Gross obscenities left their impress on the protoplasm. Revolutions and wars conducted without regard for the humanities—ah, but how they would be paid for! Disaster shocked the universe and the impulse went on and on. The shock waves of the collapse of vanished empires continued for ages.

The victim gains catharsis when the thief is captured and imprisoned. The prisoner, his guilt expiated by his imprisonment, also gains easement. . . . There was only one thing wrong with that. As Cargill sat up, relaxed and free, he realized for the first time that there was still another thing he must do.

This "prisoner" had not yet committed the crime which would make it possible for Morton Cargill to come to the twenty-fourth century.

It was 1953. A Shadow moved along a street of Los Angeles. It took a little while to locate the exact cocktail bar. He couldn't remember clearly where he had been that night at the beginning of the chain of events. Suddenly, however, he saw the sign that jarred his memory: ELBOW ROOM. A glance through the wall showed him Morton Cargill inside. He caught no sight of Marie Chanette.