Time To Teleport Page 8

  And where were the men of sense? They were there. They were many. They were in the majority. But how many individuals does it take to cause a panic in a crowded theater? How many to start an army retreating on the battlefield? If one man runs amok on a crowded street, how many others flee, how many reach for weapons?

  Only in the backwaters like the station containing Eli was there sanity and peace. And while Paris burned and Calcutta mobs tore suspects limb from limb, Eli underwent another operation.

  The first operation had been concerned with large body repairs and the replacement of a few major organs. This second was a relatively minor affair which can perhaps best be described as a tinkering with several of the more obscure glands. It was neither as extensive, nor as difficult—though possibly a shade more delicate—than the first. Eli came out of it in short order to find himself feeling very close to normal.

  He spent his days recuperating up in the solar, in Tammy's company. Between the two of them an unspoken agreement of intention seemed to have established itself; and Eli found himself, to his amusement and his own quietly intense surprise, literally falling in love. He found also, in this new emotion that he had come to disbelieve in many years before, and now rediscovered with curiosity, a welcome excuse to ignore what was presently taking place in the outside world and to concentrate on such relatively minor things as his own recovery from the operations and the reactions of Mel Bruger.

  This unfortunate young man, it became finally apparent, had fallen hopelessly in love with Tammy at the moment at which she had first appeared at the station, some eight months before. And, in spite of the fact, that she had then, as now, been completely dedicated to the worship of Eli, had continued to torture himself by remaining at the station and working himself foolish on the behalf of his elder rival. It was a sort of romantic casting of himself upon the spearpoint that appealed to a type of young and gloomy temperament; and Eli was faintly appalled to find that he, himself, had a good deal more sympathy for Mel, than did Tammy, who was inclined to laugh at the boy.

  The other two men that made up the station's complement seemed both aware and unconcerned with the situation, Ntoane's reaction being one of polite acceptance, and Howell's one of somewhat grim amusement. Altogether, Eli floated at the midpoint of four points of view concerning himself; and examined and reacted to these emotional vectors with the same sort of minute sensitivity with which he had formerly held his position among the political heads of the globe.

  So he occupied himself, while his body mended and changed. But deeply as he buried himself, it was not possible for him to ignore a general knowledge of how outside affairs were progressing. A certain little portion of his consciousness remained sandpapered-sensitive to the world he had withdrawn from; and, although he never listened to news broadcasts himself, he could not keep himself from picking up stray remarks of the others concerning it and building from these, against his will, the overall picture of what was happening.

  He knew, for example, that the Underseas Domes, alone of the world, had held aloof from the general hysteria, evidently protected by their submarine insularity, and that they were at the present, jammed and overcrowded by refugees from the disordered cities of the land. He knew that the rioting was generally being brought under control; that the groups, were for all practical purposes, dead as effective organizations; and that the people controlled by Sellars spearheaded by his armbanded Transportation members who moved under the guise of relief organizations and temporary local authorities were gradually taking over the reins of government in all important centers. Finally, it was becoming apparent that the news broadcasts were being slanted in Sellar's favor, which was clear indication that Clyde and the Communications Group had, indeed, gone over to the winning side.

  Such a state of affairs could, of course, have only one end. It was reached on the morning that Eli walked into the automat for breakfast and found the others violently in discussion—a discussion that cut off abruptly at his entrance.

  "What's this?" asked Eli.

  He looked from Howell, to Tammy, to Mel, For a moment nobody answered anything and then Howell spoke.

  "They're setting up a central headquarters to replace group authority," he said, a little sardonically. "There was a broadcast by Spokesman Sellars asking group authorities to meet at Cable Island to arrange it."

  "Ah," said Eli. For a minute he stood silent, looking at them. Then he turned toward the coffee dispenser. "Looks like I got out of the job just in time."

  He took his coffee over to the table and sat down.

  "Did you?" asked Howell.

  "Did I what?"

  "Did you actually get out?"

  Eli looked at him.

  "I don't think I'll bother to answer that," he said a little coldly.

  Howell waved his hand, no whit abashed.

  "There's been no announcement from the Domes," he said. "I thought I'd make sure. I don't want you dashing off to Cable Island just yet."

  "Rest easy," said Eli, and drank from his coffee cup.

  "When you get through here," Howell went on, "come back to the lab. I want to check you over again."

  Eli nodded and the conversation once more became general. As he followed his coffee with breakfast, eating and listening, he learned that the broadcast by Sellars had come in the small hours of the morning from Cable Island, timed as nearly as possible to hit the whole of the globe during daylight hours. The meeting was scheduled for the soonest possible moment after the necessary representatives of the now non-functioning groups could be gathered together.

  Eli finished his breakfast, nodded to Ntoane and Mel, smiled at Tammy, and went off with Howell to the lab. There, the lean medician took samples and went over the surface of Eli's body with an epithelioscope.

  "All right," he said, flipping back his head screen at last. "There's no doubt about it now. You're regenerating."

  "Regenerating?" echoed Eli blankly, and stared at the older man for a second before the word penetrated. "Oh, regenerating."

  It was the moment of climax, the second of triumph for both of them; and yet, somehow, almost it seemed, unfairly, the occasion had crept up on them so naturally that they could not at first react.

  "Well that's fine," said Eli, finally, reaching for his tunic. "I suppose this calls for a celebration."

  "I suppose so," said Howell. He looked at Eli and abruptly he began to smile. The smile broadened, as Eli, catching on to the humor of the situation began to smile back, until finally it broke into a rare bellow of laughter in which Eli found himself joining.

  "The trouble with us," said Howell finally, when they had done laughing, "is that we're getting old. Come on. Let's break the news to the ones who're young enough to appreciate it."

  And he led the way out of the lab. Eli followed, wondering a little uncomfortably if his age had really atrophied him to the extent Howell had implied.

  This was the second party centering around Eli at the station. It differed from the first mainly in that Seth was not present and that Eli was now allowed alcohol. And of course he discovered, as he had been discovering for the past half-dozen years, that once it was available he didn't want it anyway. He drank several mixed drinks, in spite of that, so as not to spoil the spirit of the occasion.

  The chiming tones of the station's message center, coming over the lounge's annunciator, broke in on their hubbub. Howell leaned across the bar and flipped the stud on the room screen.

  "Yes?" he said.

  The voice of the mechanical operator came dulcetly through to them.

  "Person to person for Eli Johnstone from Dome One."

  "Oh," said Eli, putting down his glass. "I'll be right there." He saw Tammy looking at him, with apprehension, and smiled at her.

  "Be right back," he said, and walked out into the hall.

  As the soundproof baffles of the lounge entrance cut off the noise behind him, it came home to him that he was really more than a little under the influence of t
he drinks he had had. He stopped for a second and leaned against the wall to collect himself. Then he went on to the message center, a little room on the same floor with a two-way, three-quarter size screen.

  He sat down in the operator's chair and snapped his call-stud. Kurt swelled from a pin-point on the screen before him. The young underspokesman was haggard and thin-looking. His eyes were staring and dark with strain.

  "Eli!" he said.

  "Hello, Kurt," Eli answered, keeping his voice carefully even. " What's on your mind?"

  "Eli," said Kurt again. There was a despair in his voice that touched Eli in spite of himself. He steeled himself against the weakness. "Eli, you've got to come back!"

  "No," the word came automatically from his lips, the long-thought-out responses that was the victory note of many self-battles. "Eli. Don't say 'no' like that. Listen!"

  "All right," he said. "I'll listen." And he leaned forward with his elbows on the control board, gazing into Kurt's face on the screen and wishing he had not the drinks inside him that he had, so that his mind could move swiftly and un-clogged.

  "Sellars is wrecking the groups," said Kurt.

  "I know," Eli nodded.

  "We've held out"—the younger man's voice almost broke—"here at the Domes, because the people were all expecting you to come back."

  "That's your fault," said Eli quietly. There was an unpleasant, metallic taste in his mouth from the drinks. "You should have published my resignation earlier."

  "But there's been no chance!" protested Kurt. "It's been one crisis after another."

  Eli looked at him, remembering what Clyde had said about the underspokesman: we all like him… but not Spokesman material … let alone fill your shoes, Eli…

  "You know that's what politics is, Kurt," he said. "One crisis after another. The only difference is in the order of magnitude of the crisis." Abruptly he was tired of this fencing aground. "You know why you didn't publish the resignation, Kurt," he said. "You were hoping I'd be back."

  Kurt's face sagged. "Yes," he said.

  "You should know by this time that when I do something I stick to it," said Eli. He sat looking into the hopeless face in front of him, feeling sorry for Kurt, and wondering what to say. "Look," he went on, finally, "you think that if I came back I could pull a rabbit out of the hat for you. Well, I couldn't. You can do anything you want with history but turn the clock back. Remember I told you the world was going to hell in a handbasket? Well, this is it. It's just come along a little faster than I expected."

  "Has it?" said Kurt. "Has it?"

  "What do you mean by that?" asked Eli.

  Kurt's face was tight. "You didn't by chance know this was going to happen, did you?" demanded Kurt. "You didn't by any chance sell out to Sellars, and that's the reason for your resignation?"

  Eli looked at him and drew a deep breath. "Kurt," he said. "I'm sorry for you."

  And he cut off the connection. For a moment he sat gazing at the blank screen. Then the chime of the operator calling rang once more through the station and he reached over to shut the sound off. There was left nothing but a signal calling-light winking whitely and mutely on the control panel.

  He got up and headed back for the party.

  In the elevator, however, as his finger was hovering above the button that would send him to join those below again, he suddenly changed his mind. He jabbed instead at the button that would send him to the solar, and felt the elevator shoot him upward. A couple of seconds later he stepped out into the peace and silence of that glassed-in area.

  The call from Kurt had disturbed him; and as usual when he was disturbed he woke suddenly into instinctive struggle with anything that acted as a clog upon his thinking processes. The liquor he had just been drinking was just such a clog. Eli was far from drunk, but he felt his wits slowed and mired by the depressing effect of the drinks. He wanted room and air, to rid himself of their effect.

  He stepped over to the center table of the solar and pressed the button that caused the large sections of the transparent dome to sink down into the walls of the station. They slid from view and he felt the sea air fresh on his face. He breathed deeply of it, pacing around the circumference of the solar as he did so, like a man at exercise on an ocean liner.

  What was bothering him and what had bothered him from the start of this whole business from the moment he announced his resignation to Kurt on Cable Island was the fact that there had always been something hidden at work in the action of this project of his. Something he had been unable to out his finger on, but which he sensed as certainly as he might have sensed some vague but persistent pain.

  He was not used to anything about him remaining elusive for long. Once he had become conscious of anything affecting him, it was his normal habit to track it down in a hurry and bring it out in the open where he could handle it. But this time…

  He wondered for a second, with a sort of cold shock, if Mel was right, and that there was something about himself he was deliberately refusing to face. And maybe it was this that was taking the control of the present situation out of his hands. He punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand, cursing softly as he limped around the circle of the solar. Whatever it was, it was making him merely one of the pawns of the present situation, instead of leaving him master of it—as he had always been master of any situation.

  Now, it was exactly as if he was being used by some mind, some force greater than himself. And that was intolerable. Intolerable! The very structure of Eli's nature rebelled against it. He was, and life had taught him to recognize the fact, one of those few who were simply incapable of being a servant, let alone a slave to any person or thing. He could not—could not—any more than dynamite could be used to make firecrackers. In the days of galleys, Eli would not have survived his first day of being chained to an oar. He would have died—died fighting. It was the one thing about himself over which he knew he had no control; and, for that reason, feared. It was the one piece of knowledge which an enemy could use to force Eli to destroy himself. And it frightened him now to think that perhaps at the present moment Anthony Sellars or someone else did know it.

  He broke the circle of his pacing and limped over to the communicator on the center table. He looked at its blank bubble screen and paused irresolute. He had been on the verge of calling Hassan. But before he could touch a button, the thought had come: What could he ask the man? He could not even formulate a question or a demand for information. He could only say, / feel uneasy. Find out why.

  And to that, Hassan would only return his customary shrug. And I wouldn't blame him either, thought Eli, wryly. He turned away from the set, defeated.

  The fumes of the drinks were all but gone from his brain. Sheer body adrenalin had counteracted the dullness he had felt after talking to Kurt. He remembered suddenly that the party was still going on downstairs; and if he did not return soon, they were liable to start wondering about him. And someone—it would probably be Tammy—would be coming up to find out what was keeping him.

  He turned once more and headed toward the elevator to go back down. Before he reached it, however, there was a movement through the fresh, salt air about him, and out of nowhere, a small brown body sailed to light with no more pressure than an autumn leaf, on the index finger of his right hand.

  He stared at it. It was one of Johann's little birds. It cocked an eye at him, then threw back its head and poured forth a short, sweet trill of sound.

  Then it pecked idly at his fingernail, once—Eli felt the tiny beak like the touch of a toothpick, faintly against the nail—and flew off. Eli looked around for it, but its smallness had immediately become lost in the immensity of sky and seascape.

  Bemused, his fingers went to the ring Johann had given him. He pressed it. The miniscule voice he had heard once before, spoke to him.

  "The order for your death has been given. The assassin is someone you know. You are to die tomorrow."

  Eli stood for a long moment, not mov
ing, after the voice had ceased, his fingers still on the ring. Then, with an abrupt movement, he let go, stepped briskly into the elevator capsule and punched for the level of the gathering downstairs. The elevator dropped.

  Tammy slipped to his side the moment he came back through the lounge entrance.

  "What was it?" she whispered.

  "Just Kurt wanting me back," he said. "I told him no." He slipped an arm around her. "Let's get me another drink."

  8

  Eli woke suddenly and without warning, sitting bolt upright in his bed.

  "What happened?" he said aloud.

  Nobody answered; there was nobody in the room.

  For a moment he continued to sit there. What had happened? What was he doing in bed? There had been the party yesterday and it had lasted until evening and he had drunk a good deal and then…

  "Did I get drunk?" he asked himself; and realized immediately that that was not what was troubling him. It was not just that he had drunk too much and could not remember how the evening had ended—something had happened last night that he could not remember. And something else had awakened him suddenly, just now.

  What was the matter with him? He was not drunk now. In fact he was oddly clear-headed—almost feverishly bright and awake. His mind seemed to be working at a tremendous pace on something he could not understand. He jumped out of the bed and began throwing on his clothes. As soon as he was dressed, he limped rapidly out of his room and down the corridor.