The Universe Maker (2 page)

He had been moving with a feverish excitement. Now he retreated warily to a chair and sat there, glaring at the girl. He remembered what she had said in the cocktail bar—remembered the card and its deadly threat.

He was still thinking about it when the girl climbed to her feet and came over to the glass barrier. She said something or rather her mouth moved as if in speech. No sound came through. Cargill was galvanized. He leaped up from his chair and yelled, "Where are we?"

The girl shook her head. Baffled, Cargill explored the wall for a possible means of communication. He looked around the room for a telephone. There was none. Not, he reflected presently, angrily, that a phone would do him any good.

In order to use a phone, it was necessary to have a number to call. There was a way, however. Frantically he searched for pencil and paper in the inside breast pocket of his coat. Sighing with relief, he produced the materials. His fingers trembled as he wrote:
Where are we?

He held the paper against the glass. The girl nodded her understanding and went back to get her purse. Cargill could see her writing in a small notebook; then she was back at the glass barrier. She held up the paper. Cargill read:

I think this is Shadow City.

That was meaningless.
Where's that?
Cargill wrote.

The girl shrugged and answered,
Somewhere
in the future from both your time and mine.

That calmed him. He had his first conviction that he was dealing with queer people. His eyes narrowed with calculation. Cautiously he considered the potential danger to himself from a cult that put forward such nonsense. The girl was forgotten, and he went back slowly and settled down in the chair.

"They won't dare harm me," he told himself.

Just how it had been worked he couldn't decide. But apparently the family of Marie Chanette had somehow discovered the identity of the man who had been with the girl when she was killed. In the distorted fashion of kinfolk, they blamed him completely for the accident.

He had no sense of guilt, Cargill told himself. And he certainly had no intention of accepting any nonsense from a bunch of neurotic relatives. Anger welled up in him, but now it was directed and no longer was stimulated by fear and confusion. A dozen plans for counteraction sprang full-grown into his mind. He'd break the glass, smash the door that led from the bathroom, break every stick of furniture in the room. These people were going to regret even this tiny action they had taken against him. For the third time, with deliberation now, he climbed to his feet. He was hefting a chair for his first attack when a man's voice spoke at him from the air directly in front of him.

"Morton Cargill, it is my duty to explain to you why you must be killed."

Cargill remained where he was, rigid.

He unfroze as his mind started to work again. Wildly, he looked around him, seeking the hidden speaker from which the voice had come. He assumed that it had been mechanical. He rejected the momentary illusion that the voice had come from mid-air. In vain, his gaze raked the ceiling, the floor,
the
walls. He was about to explore more thoroughly with his fingers, with his eyes close up, when the voice spoke again, this time almost in his ear.

"It is necessary," it said
,
"to talk to you in advance, because of the effect on your nervous system."

The meaning scarcely penetrated. He fought against a sense of panic. The voice had come from a point only inches away from his ear and yet there was nothing. No matter which way he turned the room was empty. Still he discovered no sign of any mechanical device— nothing that could have produced the illusion of somebody speaking directly into his ear.

For a third time, the voice spoke, this time from behind him. "You see, Captain Cargill, the important thing in such a therapy as this is that there
be
a readjustment on the electro-colloidal level of the body. Such changes cannot be artificially induced. Hypnosis is not adequate because no matter how deep the trance, there is a part of the mind which is aware of the illusion. You will readily see what I mean when I say that even in cases of the most profound amnesia you can presently tell the subject that he will remember everything that has happened. The fact that that memory is here, capable of recall under proper stimulus, explains the futility of standard therapies."

This time there was no doubt. The speech was long, and Cargill had time to turn around, time to assure
himself
that the voice was coming from a point in the air about a foot or so above his head. The discovery shocked some basic point of stability in him. He had released the chair with which he had intended to smash the furniture. Now he snatched it up again. He stood with it clenched in his
hands,
eyes narrowed, body almost as stiff as the wood of the chair itself, and listened as once more that disembodied voice spoke.

"Only a fact," it said inexorably, "can affect quick and violent changes. It is not enough to imagine that a machine is bearing down upon you at top speed, even if the imagining is accomplished in a state of deep hypnosis. Only when the machine actually rushes at you and the danger is there in concrete fashion before your eyes—only then does doubt end. Only then does every part of the mind and body accept the reality."

Cargill was beginning to lose some of his own doubts. He had his first sharp feeling that this was real. Here were not just a few angry relatives. He let go of the chair, uncertain now. Here was danger, definite, personal,
immediate
. And that was something that he could face. For more than a year he had been conditioned to a series of reactions when he was threatened —a remorseless alertness and an almost paradoxical combination of keyed-up relaxation.

He said, "What is all this
? "
Where am I?"

That was becoming tremendously important. He needed information now to stabilize himself. This situation was new and different from anything that he had ever experienced before. What was particularly vital was that he had taken the first step necessary to combat a threat: he tentatively accepted the danger as real.

Someone was doing something against him. Whoever it was had enough money to set up these two quarters in this curious fashion. It looked very expensive, and for that reason alone, convincing. From the air, the voice, ignoring his question, continued:

"It would not be enough to tell the descendants of Marie Chanette that you had been killed. The girl has to see the death scene. She has to look down at you after you have been killed. She has to be able to touch your cold flesh and realize the finality of what has happened. Only thus can we assure adjustment on the electro-colloidal level." The voice finished quietly. "But now, I would suggest that you rest awhile. I want you to have time to evaluate my words. You will hear from me once more this evening—prior to the therapy."

Cargill did not accept the finality of the words. For several minutes he asked questions, talking directly at the point from which the voice had come. There was no reply. In the end, grim and determined, he gave up this approach and returned to an earlier, more violent one. For ten minutes he struck against the glass barrier with the chair. The wooden chair creaked and vibrated from each blow, and shattered section by section. However, the glass was not even scratched.

Reluctantly, Cargill accepted its impregnability. He headed for the bathroom and tested the door that led from it. He gave one tug at the knob and his heart sank —the door was made of a hard metal. For an hour he worked on it without once affecting it in any visible fashion.

Finally, he headed for the bedroom and lay down, intending to rest briefly. He must have instantly fallen asleep.

Somebody was shaking him. Cargill came out of the stupor of sleep to the sound of a woman's voice saying urgently in his ear, "Hurry! There's no time to waste. We must leave at once."

He was a man who expected to be murdered, and that was his first memory. He jerked so spasmodically he felt the wrench of muscles.

And then he was sitting up. He was still in the bedroom of the apartment with the glass wall. The girl who was bending over him was a complete stranger. As he looked at her, she stepped back from him and bent over a small machine. He saw her profile: intent now and almost girlish in the anxiety she was feeling. Something must have gone wrong, for she began to swear in a low tone in a most
ungirlish
fashion. Abruptly, in evident desperation, she looked at him.

"For... sake,"—Cargill didn't get the word—"don't just sit there. Come over here and pull on this jigger. We've got to get out of here."

He was a man trying to grasp many things at once. His gaze flicked apprehensively toward the open door. "
Ssssssh
!" he whispered instinctively.

The girl's eyes followed his gaze. "Don't worry about them . . . yet. But quick now!"

Cargill moved heavily. His mind held him down. Her presence baffled him. He knelt beside her and grew aware of the faint perfume that emanated from her body. It gave him a heady sensation. For a moment, the tiny pin she was tugging at wavered in his vision. And then once more the girl spoke:

"Grab it," she said, "and
pull
hard."

Cargill sat there. The expression on his face must have penetrated to her at last for she paused and looked at him hard.

"Oh, mud," she said—it sounded like "mud"—"tell mother all about it. What's eating you?"

He couldn't help it. His mind was twisting, turning, writhing with doubts and fears. "Who are you?" he mumbled.

The girl sagged back. "I get it," she said. "Everything's too fast. You haven't had time to think. You poor little
grud
you." It sounded like "
grud
." She shrugged. "Fine, we'll stay here until one of the Shadows comes."

"The what?"

The girl moaned. "Won't I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? I've started him off again."

Her tone cut him at last. A flush touched his cheeks.

He said harshly: "What's all this about? What are you doing here? What—"

The girl held up one hand as if to defend herself from attack. "All right, all right," she said. "I give up. Let's sit down and have a cozy chat, shall we? My name is Ann Reece. I was born twenty-four years ago in a hospital. I spent my first year more or less lying on my back. Then—"

The anger she aroused in him acted like an astringent. It tightened his thoughts and pulled back a dozen wandering impulses into a sort of unity. His very intentness must have impressed her. She parted her lips as if to say something light. After looking at him—she closed them again.

Then she said, "Maybe we're going to get somewhere, after all. All right, my friend, a minute ago I wouldn't have told you anything. You've been pulled out of the twentieth century to the—well, the present. And that's all I'm going to tell you about that. I belong to a group who are opposed to the Shadows. And I was sent here after you—"

She stopped. Her brows knitted. "Never mind! Now, please, don't ask me how we knew you were here. Don't ask any more questions. This machine brought me into this room in the heart of Shadow City and it will take the two of us out if you will
unjam
that pin. If you don't want to go with me, loosen the pin anyway, so that I can get to"—Cargill missed the word completely —"out of here. You can stay and be murdered for all I care. Now,
please,
the pin!"

Murdered! That did it. It wasn't that he had forgotten. It was the insensate wriggling of his mind that pushed that danger into the background. He leaned forward, his fingers forming to take hold. "Do I pull or push?" he whispered.

"Pull."

Cargill snatched at it. The first touch startled him. It was as if he had grasped a film of oil. His skin slid over the immense smoothness of it as if there were nothing there. He grabbed again, sweating abruptly with the realization of the problem.

"Jerk!" said the girl harshly.

He jerked. And felt the slight tug as it yielded a fraction of an inch. "Got it!" It was
his own
voice, hoarse and triumphant.

The girl reached past him. "Quick, grab that smooth bar." Even as she spoke her hand guided his. He snatched for a hold. Her hand clutched the same bar just above where he was clinging.

He remembered then a dull glow from the bulbous section near his face. His body tingled. And then he was lying on a hard smooth floor in a large room.

Cargill did not look at the girl immediately. He climbed gingerly to his feet and put his hand to his head. It was an instinctive gesture, part of his absorption with himself. He found no pain, no dizziness,
no
sense of unbalance.

Why he had expected such reaction he didn't know. He began to brace up to the situation. With brightening eyes, he glanced around the room. It was bigger and higher than his first impression had indicated. It was made of marble and seemed to be an anteroom. Except for minor seating arrangements for temporary visitors it had virtually no furniture. There was a high arched doorway at either long end of the room, but in each case the doors merely opened onto a wide hallway. A single large window to Cargill's left faced onto
shubbery
, so he could not see what was beyond.

He was staring avidly at the window when he became aware that the girl was watching him with an ironic smile. Cargill turned and looked at her. "Why shouldn't I be curious?" he asked defensively.

"Go right ahead," she said. She giggled. "But you look funny."

He stared at her angrily. She was a much smaller girl than he had thought and somewhat older. He remembered her language and decided she was probably around twenty-five—and unmarried. Young married women with children watched their tongues. And besides, they didn't go out risking their lives by joining exotic groups of adventurous rebels.

The shrewdness of the analysis pleased Cargill. It helped to relax his taut mind. For the first time since leaving the cell, he thought, "Why, I'm way up in the future! And this time I'm free." He had a sudden desperate desire to see everything before he was returned to the twentieth century. A will came: to know, to experience. He had a thrill of imminent pleasure. Once more he whirled toward the window. Then again he stopped, remembering what the girl had said: "you look funny."