Second Variety and Other Stories (37 page)

"So much?" Douglas shrugged. "I suppose so. I remember what I was doing seven years ago. I
was still in school. Learning. I had an apartment and a car. I went out dancing. I bought a TV set. But
these things were there. The twilight. This. Only I didn't know. None of us knew. But they were there."

"I supervise the troops. Watch for political deviation. In a total war we have to keep people
under constant surveillance. One Commie down in the Webs could wreck the whole business. We can't
take chances."

Tim nodded. "Yes. It was there. The twilight. Only we didn't understand it."

Douglas examined the books in the bookcase. "I'll take a couple of these along. I haven't seen
fiction in months. Most of it disappeared. Burned back in '77."

"Burned?"

Douglas helped himself. "Shakespeare. Milton. Dryden. I'll take the old stuff. It's safer. None of
the Steinbeck and Dos Passos. Even a polic can get in trouble. If you stay here, you better get rid of that
." He tapped a volume of Dostoevski, The Brothers Karamazov.

"If we stay! What else can we do?"

"You want to stay?"

"No," Mary said quietly.

Douglas shot her a quick glance. "No, I suppose not. If you stay you'll be separated, of course.
Children to the Canadian Relocation Centers. Women are situated down in the under-surface
factory-labor camps. Men are automatically a part of Military."

"Like those there who left," Tim said.

"Unless you can qualify for the id block."

"What's that?"

"Industrial Designing and Technology. What training have you had? Anything along scientific
lines?"

"No. Accounting."

Douglas shrugged. "Well, you'll be given a standard test. If your IQ is high enough you could go
in the Political Service. We use a lot of men." He paused thoughtfully, his arms loaded with books. "You
better go back, McLean. You'll have trouble getting accustomed to this. I'd go back, if I could. But I
can't."

"Back?" Mary echoed. "How?"

"The way you came."

"We just came."

Douglas halted at the front door. "Last night was the worst rom attack so far. They hit this whole
area."

"Rom?"

"Robot operated missiles. The Soviets are systematically destroying continental America, mile by
mile. Roms are cheap. They make them by the million and fire them off. The whole process is automatic.
Robot factories turn them out and fire them at us. Last night they came over here -- waves of them. This
morning the patrol came in and found nothing. Except you, of course."

Tim nodded slowly. "I'm beginning to see."

"The concentrated energy must have tipped some unstable time fault. Like a rock fault. We're
always starting earthquakes. But a time quake... Interesting. That's what happened, I think. The release
of energy, the destruction of matter, sucked your house into the future. Carried the house seven years
ahead. This street, everything here, this very spot, was pulverized. Your house, seven years back, was
caught in the undertow. The blast must have lashed back through time."

"Sucked into the future," Tim said. "During the night. While we were asleep."

Douglas watched him carefully. "Tonight," he said, "there will be another rom attack. It should
finish off what is left." He looked at his watch. "It is now four in the afternoon. The attack will begin in a
few hours. You should be undersurface. Nothing will survive up here. I can take you down with me, if
you want. But if you want to take a chance, if you want to stay here --"

"You think it might tip us back?"

"You think it might tip us back?"

"If not we wouldn't have a chance of survival."

Douglas flicked out a pocket map and spread it open on the couch. "A patrol will remain in this
area another half-hour. If you decide to come undersurface with us, go down the street this way." He
traced a line on the map. "To this open field here. The patrol is a Political unit. They'll take you the rest of
the way down. You think you can find the field?"

"I think so," Tim said, looking at the map. His lips twisted. "That open field used to be the
grammar school my kids went to. That's where they were going when the troops stopped them. Just a
little while ago."

"Seven years ago," Douglas corrected. He snapped the map shut and restored it to his pocket.
He pulled his mask down and moved out the front door onto the porch. "Maybe I'll see you again.
Maybe not. It's your decision. You'll have to decide one way or the other. In any case -- good luck."

He turned and walked briskly from the house.

"Dad," Earl shouted, "are you going in the Army? Are you going to wear a mask and shoot one
of those guns?" His eyes sparkled with excitement. "Are you going to drive a snake?"

Tim McLean squatted down and pulled his son to him. "You want that? You want to stay here?
If I'm going to wear a mask and shoot one of those guns we can't go back."

Earl looked doubtful. "Couldn't we go back later?"

Tim shook his head. "Afraid not. We've got to decide now, whether we're going back or not."

"You heard Mr Douglas," Virginia said disgustedly. "The attack's going to start in a couple
hours."

Tim got to his feet and paced back and forth. "If we stay in the house we'll get blown to bits.
Let's face it. There's only a faint chance we'll be tipped back to our own time. A slim possibility -- a long
shot. Do we want to stay here with roms falling all around us, knowing any second it may be the end -hearing
them come closer, hitting nearer -- lying on the floor, waiting, listening --"

"Do you really want to go back?" Mary demanded.

"Of course, but the risk --"

"I'm not asking you about the risk. I'm asking you if you really want to go back. Maybe you want
to stay here. Maybe Earl's right. You in a uniform and a mask, with one of those needle guns. Driving a
snake."

"With you in a factory-labor camp! And the kids in a Government Relocation Center! How do
you think that would be? What do you think they'd teach them? What do you think they'd grow up like?
And believe..."

"They'd probably teach them to be very useful."

"Useful! To what? To themselves? To mankind? Or to the war effort...?"

"They'd be alive," Mary said. "They'd be safe. This way, if we stay in the house, wait for the
attack to come --"

"Sure," Tim grated. "They would be alive. Probably quite healthy. Well fed. Well clothed and
cared for." He looked down at his children, his face hard. "They'd stay alive, all right. They'd live to grow
up and become adults. But what kind of adults? You heard what he said! Book burnings in '77. What'll
they be taught from? What kind of ideas are left, since '77? What kind of beliefs can they get from a
Government Relocation Center? What kind of values will they have?"

"There's the id block," Mary suggested.

"Industrial Designing and Technology. For the bright ones. The clever ones with imagination.
Busy slide rules and pencils. Drawing and planning and making discoveries. The girls could go into that.
They could design the guns. Earl could go into the Political Service. He could make sure the guns were
used. If any of the troops deviated, didn't want to shoot, Earl could report them and have them hauled off
for reeducation. To have their political faith strengthened -- in a world where those with brains design
weapons and those without brains fire them."

"But they'd be alive," Mary repeated.

"But they'd be alive," Mary repeated.

"I didn't say that," Mary said softly. "Tim, I had to find out if you really understood why it's
worth it. Worth staying in the house, taking the chance we won't be tipped back."

"Then you want to take the chance?"

"Of course! We have to. We can't turn our children over to them -- to the Relocation Center. To
be taught how to hate and kill and destroy." Mary smiled up wanly. "Anyhow, they've always gone to the
Jefferson School. And here, in this world, it's only an open field."

"Are we going back?" Judy piped. She caught hold of Tim's sleeve imploringly. "Are we going
back now?"

Tim disengaged her arm. "Very soon, honey."

Mary opened the supply cupboards and rooted in them. "Everything's here. What did they take?"

"The case of canned peas. Everything we had in the refrigerator. And they smashed the front
door."

"I'll bet we're beating them!" Earl shouted. He ran to the window and peered out. The sight of the
rolling ash disappointed him. "I can't see anything! Just the fog!" He turned questioningly to Tim. "Is it
always like this, here?"

"Yes," Tim answered.

Earl's face fell. "Just fog? Nothing else. Doesn't the sun shine ever?"

"I'll fix some coffee," Mary said.

"Good." Tim went into the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. His mouth was cut,
caked with dried blood. His head ached. He felt sick at his stomach.

"It doesn't seem possible," Mary said, as they sat down at the kitchen table.

Tim sipped his coffee. "No. It doesn't." Where he sat he could see out the window. The clouds
of ash. The dim, jagged outline of ruined buildings.

"Is the man coming back?" Judy piped. "He was all thin and funny-looking. He isn't coming back,
is he?"

Tim looked at his watch. It read ten o'clock. He reset it, moving the hands to four-fifteen.
"Douglas said it would begin at nightfall. That won't be long."

"Then we're really staying in the house," Mary said.

"That's right."

"Even though there's only a little chance?"

"Even though there's only a little chance we'll get back. Are you glad?"

"I'm glad," Mary said, her eyes bright. "It's worth it, Tim. You know it is. Anything's worth it, any
chance. To get back. And something else. We'll all be here together... We can't be -- broken up.
Separated."

Tim poured himself more coffee. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable. We have
maybe three hours to wait. We might as well try to enjoy them."

At six-thirty the first rom fell. They felt the shock, a deep rolling wave of force that lapped over
the house.

Judy came running in from the dining-room, face white with fear. "Daddy! What is it?"

"Nothing. Don't worry."

"Come on back," Virginia called impatiently. "It's your turn." They were playing Monopoly.

Earl leaped to his feet. "I want to see." He ran excitedly to the window. "I can see where it hit!"

Tim lifted the shade and looked out. Far off, in the distance, a white glare burned fitfully. A
towering column of luminous smoke rose from it.

A second shudder vibrated through the house. A dish crashed from the shelf, into the sink.

It was almost dark outside. Except for the two spots of white Tim could make out nothing. The
clouds of ash were lost in the gloom. The ash and the ragged remains of buildings.

"That was closer," Mary said.

"That was closer," Mary said.

"We better get back," Tim said.

"Where?"

"Down in the basement. Come on." Tim unlocked the basement door and they trooped nervously
downstairs.

"Food," Mary said. "We better bring the food that's left."

"Good idea. You kids go on down. We'll come along in a minute."

"I can carry something," Earl said.

"Go on down." The fourth rom hit, farther off than the last. "And stay away from the window."

"I'll move something over the window," Earl said. "The big piece of plywood we used for my
train."

"Good idea." Tim and Mary returned to the kitchen. "Food. Dishes. What else?"

"Books." Mary looked nervously around. "I don't know. Nothing else. Come on."

A shattering roar drowned out her words. The kitchen window gave, showering glass over them.
The dishes over the sink tumbled down in a torrent of breaking china. Tim grabbed Mary and pulled her
down.

From the broken window rolling clouds of ominous gray drifted into the room. The evening air
stank, a sour, rotten smell. Tim shuddered.

"Forget the food. Let's get back down."

"But --"

"Forget it." He grabbed her and pulled her down the basement stairs. They tumbled in a heap,
Tim slamming the door after them.

"Where's the food?" Virginia demanded.

Tim wiped his forehead shakily. "Forget it. We won't need it."

"Help me," Earl gasped. Tim helped him move the sheet of plywood over the window above the
laundry tubs. The basement was cold and silent. The cement floor under them was faintly moist.

Two roms struck at once. Tim was hurled to the floor. The concrete hit him and he grunted. For
a moment blackness swirled around him. Then he was on his knees, groping his way up.

"Everybody all right?" he muttered.

"I'm all right," Mary said. Judy began to whimper. Earl was feeling his way across the room.

"I'm all right," Virginia said. "I guess."

The lights flickered and dimmed. Abruptly they went out. The basement was pitch-black.

"Well," Tim said. "There they go."

"I have my flashlight." Earl winked the flashlight on. "How's that?"

"Fine," Tim said.

More roms hit. The ground leaped under them, bucking and heaving. A wave of force shuddering
the whole house.

"We better lie down," Mary said.

"Yes. Lie down." Tim stretched himself out awkwardly. A few bits of plaster rained down around
them.

"When will it stop?" Earl asked uneasily.

"Soon," Tim said.

"Then we'll be back?"

"Yes. We'll be back."

The next blast hit them almost at once. Tim felt the concrete rise under him. It grew, swelling
higher and higher. He was going up. He shut his eyes, holding on tight. Higher and higher he went, carried
up by the ballooning concrete. Around him beams and timbers cracked. Plaster poured down. He could
hear glass breaking. And a long way off, the licking crackles of fire.