The Whenabouts of Burr (16 page)

“You're not any relation to Aaron Burr, are you?” Ves asked suspiciously.

“My dear sir, I am indeed a very close relation to Aaron Burr,” the colonel said, “being the gentleman himself.”

“Well,” Ves said. “This is an honor, sir, a real honor.” He shook Colonel Burr's hand firmly. “I've been searching for you.”

“Do tell,” Colonel Burr said cautiously. “And now you've found me. I trust you hold neither a warrant nor a subpoena, and I warn you I shall not be extradited.”

“Neither,” Ves said. “As far as I know, my interest in you is purely friendly. I have an interesting story to tell you, in return for some information you may be able to give me.”

“I like stories,” Burr said, settling down into his chair. “Commence!”

“Wait a second,” Tatiana Petrovna said. “First of all, where are we, and how are we to get back to Prime?”

“We are floating in mid-air over
Terra Incognita
, which land in another world would be known as New Jersey. We return to Prime Time by flying to the congruence of certain magnetic lines of force, as I understand it, where our captain shall push a button or connect a lever or screw a knob and we shall be translated.”

“Why are you here?” Ves asked.

“An expedition,” Colonel Burr said. “Only not in the grim, serious terms in which we usually think of the word. More like a picnic for the Primes—they expected no trouble in this new land. It's in a sector, apparently, where they have the patterns of change very well mapped.”

“What happened?” Ves asked.

Colonel Burr shook his head. “The dergs,” he said. “They're about three feet high, and seem to have but slight individual intelligence, like ants. But they get their orders from somewhere—probably the tin helmets. They kill people. Perhaps they eat them, we don't know. We think they are not from this planet.”

“If it happened here, will it happen elsewhere?” Ves asked. “I mean, on other time-lines?”

Burr shrugged. “There's no sign of it,” he said. “On this time-line it's nineteen thirty-five, or thereabouts. If your time is past nineteen thirty-five, I guess you're safe. We'll have to research it, if the Primes let us.”

“Isn't it in their interest?” Ves asked.

“You'd think so,” Burr said. “But they'd find it easier to interdict the whole area. Very conservative about their time-lines, are the Primes.”

The steward padded softly back into the room and distributed the drinks. Then he padded out again.

“Your health,” Colonel Burr said, raising his glass formally. “And yours, Countess.” He sipped. “And now that story you were about to tell me…”

“Did you sign the Constitution of the United States?” Ves asked.

Burr looked at him strangely. “No, sir,” he replied. “I was in New York at the time. The Constitution was drawn up and signed by the framers in Philadelphia. The document came down more strongly for a centralization of powers than I would have liked.”

“
Would
you have signed it?” Ves asked.

“I wasn't asked,” Burr snapped. But then he looked thoughtful, holding his thumb alongside his nose and staring off into space for a while. “I would have changed it if I could,” he said, “in some small detail. But I could have signed it as it stood, with honor and pride.”

“You did, Colonel, you did,” Ves told him.

“How's that?”

“In one of these alternate time-tracks, Aaron Burr signed the Constitution of the United States in the space that is otherwise filled by Alexander Hamilton.”

“With no changes?” Burr asked. “I had so little influence? Ah, well… Does Hamilton know? It would crush poor Alex's heart if he were to hear. How do you know?”

Ves told the full story of the exchanged Constitution, and the events that had resulted from that. Burr sipped his drink slowly, his eyes veiled by some secret thoughts; but Ves never doubted that he heard and weighed carefully every word. Burr was an excellent listener: there was no doubt but that he cared, and that he took every word as seriously as you did yourself. When you finished telling Burr about a problem, you felt relieved; he cared, he listened, he asked intelligent questions, and surely the problem was now halfway to being solved. Ves felt this very strongly as he talked to Colonel Burr; it was an aura the Colonel projected. Ves knew that it was projected because it was true.

Ves would not have imagined that telling his story would take very long, but under the impetus of Burr's skillful questions, an hour had passed before he had brought Burr up to date.

Burr spoke not a word for a long while after Ves had finished talking, but sat and stared out the port and sipped what was now his second rum toddy. Finally he shook his head sadly. “The implications are broad,” he said, “and not altogether pleasant for me. It brings a complex pattern into view—I shall have to think on it.”

“Any light you can shed on my problem would be appreciated,” Ves said.

“Oh, yours,” Burr said. “I presume you mean the theft of your Constitution. No problem there. Only a limited number of choices; the task will be sorting them out to the right one. Then, of course, there'll be the problem of recovering the document after we establish who has it. But I'm sure something will present itself.”

Burr drummed his fingers on the small table by his chair. “No, it's not the actual theft which concerns me,” he said. “It's the implications in their choice of objects, and what that may mean to Hamilton and me.”

“I'm sorry,” Ves said, “I don't think I understand.”

“We're fetish objects, you realize,” Burr said. “Because of our involvement with one of the major branch-points in their parallel worlds, the Primes treat Hamilton and me somewhere between honored guests and minor deities. That's why Hamilton can set up his own little colony on an alternate world and maintain his network of informants on twenty others with no bitching from them. That's why I'm allowed free access to any of these exploration trips—even to the point of letting me head an occasional one so they can get some useful work out of what I'm going to do anyhow.”

“Then this is what you do?” Ves asked.

“As often as possible,” Burr said. “I also read a lot. Imagine having two hundred and fifty years of literature suddenly thrust at you. That alone should keep me busy for a while.”

“I would imagine,” Ves said.

“Have you read Charles Dickens?” Burr asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“The Old Curiosity Shop, Great Expectations, Cowber Limited, Oliver Twist
… Have you read Lewis Carroll?”

“I have.”

“My enthusiasms bore you?”

“Not at all. Two of my favorite authors.”

“Yes. Imagine being born too early to have read either in your lifetime. Truly a tragedy. A true tragedy.”

“I never thought of it that way before,” Ves said.

“Certainly,” Burr said. “Think of
Jabberwocky
. What would life be like without
Jabberwocky
? Or
Father William
:

You are old, said the youth, and your limbs are unstable

And your hands are incessantly shaking

Yet you dance down the length of the dining room table

Without any crockery breaking.”

“I don't think I know that verse,” Ves said.

“Alternate universe?” Burr asked. “You might have an entire alternate version of Alice to read. Think of that!

I'm sorry that bothers you, William said to his ward,

I do it to pleasure my dates.

When next I assay a gavotte on these boards,

I'll endeavor to step on the plates.”

“I think I prefer the one I'm familiar with,” Ves said.

“It's the possibility of choice that makes it so interesting,” Burr said. “But now I must get back to my duties, such as they are. Make yourselves comfortable in here. I'll have some food sent in. We must speak further when we arrive at Prime.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Prime Time was a disappointment. Nate didn't know what he'd expected, but this wasn't it. The trouble was, it was so much like everyplace else.
Every
place else. It looked like you were standing in the middle of one of the big Thirties movie lots: Modern New York in one direction, ancient Rome in another; from out of the corner of your eye you saw a bit of old Tombstone, and with a turn of your head Nieuw Amsterdam. Except that the sets had gotten thoroughly mixed up. New York and Tombstone were intermixed with Rome and Nieuw Amsterdam. It should have been exciting. What made it disappointing was that somehow it
looked
like a set. Nate had the feeling that if he walked around to the back of the buildings, he'd see the braces holding them up.

The It was concealed in a large boulder that stood in a clearing in the uptown forest. Benjamin Franklin drove him up there in a chaise after breakfast, shook hands with him, wished him luck, told him to come back if he needed help, jotted down a design for a new leaf spring for the carriage he had invented on the ride up, then rode off. Nate threw the switch, and found himself in the middle of Central Park.

He was in a large roped-off area surrounded by a circle of posts about ten feet apart. Each post had a light fixture on top and a sign about halfway down, with two or three letters on it. The letters were in alphabetical order on the posts, going around toward the right. Beside each post was a small desk with a stool. A man wearing a blue uniform and a visored cap was sitting at the C-D-E desk. Two ducks, male mallards, were standing solemnly between the S-T and the U-V-W posts, staring at Nate.

After what seemed a long pause one of the ducks quacked briefly at the other and the two waddled off. The man said, “Go to your proper post, please. Have you filled out your customs declaration?”

Nate looked around. Except for the man and the retreating mallards, there was no other animate life in sight. So the man must be talking to him. “No,” he said. “Which post is proper?” He thought briefly about an improper post.

“State your name, comma, family,” the man said.

Nate thought about that for a moment. “Swift,” he said finally.

“Proceed to the S-T post and fill out the form you find on the desk,” the man told him. “Someone will be along presently to help you.”

Nate proceeded and found a pad of forms on the desk.

CUSTOMS DECLARATION

Prime Time

TO BE FILLED OUT UPON ENTERING PRIME TIME. PLEASE PRINT. ALTERNATE LANGUAGE FORMS ARE AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST.

Name, Family:

Name, Given:

Name, Additional:

Address:

State:

Country:

Zone*:

Sector*:

Present Sectorality:

Sectorality of Birth:

Sex

[ ] MALE

[ ] FEMALE

[ ] OTHER (specify)_________

Purpose of visit (be brief):

Proposed length of stay:

CIRCLE ANY OF THE FOLLOWING ITEMS IN YOUR POSSESSION:

ADHESIVES

ALCOHOL

ANIMALS (living, scopic)

ANIMALS (skins, hides, bones)

ART OBJECTS

CHEESE

DRUGS/MEDICINES

ELECTRICAL BATTERIES

EXPLOSIVES

FIREARMS

FIRECRACKERS

FIREWORKS

FRUIT

JEWELRY

LIBORIAN ATTITUDES

MECHANICAL DEVICES (wrist & pocket watches excepted)

MEDICAL INSTRUMENTS

PESCULES

PLANTS (scopic)

PLAYING CARDS

PROSTHETIC DEVICES OR ARTIFICIAL PARTS

RADIOACTIVES

SEEDS

SPRAY CANS

SUGAR YEAST (packaged)

HAVE YOU ANY ITEMS FOR SALE OR BARTER?

[ ] yes

[ ] no

HAVE YOU A PRIME BONDSMAN OR ASSURER?

[ ] yes

[ ] no

HAVE YOU ANY PHYSICAL ANOMALIES?

[ ] yes

[ ] no

HAVE YOU ANY MEDICAL ANOMALIES?

[ ] yes

[ ] no

IF YES TO EITHER OF THE ABOVE, YOU MUST FILL OUT A MEDICAL CHECK CARD AND KEEP IT WITH YOU FOREVER

*if you cannot otherwise identify your zone or sector, state the exact date, Gregorian, in your sector at this moment.

WHEN THIS FORM IS COMPLETE, PASS IT TO THE INSPECTOR AND ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS HE MAY HAVE. BE POLITE. BE BRIEF.

WELCOME TO PRIME

Nate filled out the form as best he could. He was surprised to discover that he had none of the listed items in his possession. The list made no sense to him, but what customs list ever makes sense to anyone? Why is it easier to import semi-automatic rifles into the United States than canaries?

The man with the visored cap eventually came over to Nate's post and took the form. “Welcome to Prime, sir,” he said. “Have you any tobacco?”

“No,” Nate said. “I don't smoke.”

“Pity,” the customs inspector said. “Have you ever been convicted of a major crime not involving moral turpitude?”

“Did you say
not
involving moral turpitude?” Nate asked.

“We don't give a damn about your morals here,” the inspector said.

“Oh,” Nate said.

“About your convictions,” the inspector said.

“No, I have not.”

“Right,” the inspector said. “This purpose of visit: ‘To recover Constitution'. Could you expand on that a bit?”

“It was stolen,” Nate said. “I believe it is here on Prime—at Prime?—and I'm going to try to find it.”

“By what process do you intend to recover this document?” the customs official asked. “By the way, exactly which constitution is it? Whose, I mean?”

“The Constitution of the United States of America,” Nate said.

The inspector examined Nate's form and did some computation in the margin. “I see,” he said. “The Constitution of the United States of America, Zone A-27, Sector 10.”

“Is that where I'm from?” Nate asked. “Or do I mean ‘when'?”

“I've made an arbitrary decision,” the customs agent said. “That's what I'm paid for. Now: by what process do you intend to recover this document?”

Nate considered. “Sweet reason,” he said finally. “Or, if that fails, I may make a monetary offer.”

The customs officer considered that suspiciously for a long moment. “I don't see how that would violate our laws,” he said. “You don't intend using any violence or threats of violence? You don't intend to attempt a theft of the document?”

“Of course not, sir,” Nate said. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

“Humph,” the customs agent said. “You may have a twenty-one day visa.” He pulled at a corner of the desk which unhinged and opened, revealing a new writing surface and a row of rubber stamps: big stamps, small stamps, complex readjustable stamps, date stamps, time stamps, status stamps, authorizing stamps, rejecting stamps, undecided stamps. Pulling a card from a stack in one of many cubbyholes, he printed some words on it with his pen and then started using the stamps with something approaching abandon. Finally he handed the card to Nate. “Keep this with you at all times. If you wish to extend your visit past the twenty-one days, apply at any post office. I should tell you that if you get into any trouble here you are subject to immediate transtemptation without formal proceedings. Travel to Prime Time is a privilege, not a right.”

“Transtemptation?”

“Work it out. You may go.”

Nate wandered out of Central Park into a Roman-Dutch-Highrise section of town, wondering what to do next. As far as he could tell there were three things he had to accomplish: one: get hold of Ves, two: get hold of the Constitution (of the United States of America, Zone A-27, Sector 10), three: get home. But first things first; he must find a restaurant. A small, unpretentious…

“Nate!”

He looked around.

“Nate, do you hear me?”

There was no one in sight…

“Nate, this is Ves. Are you there? Do you hear me?”

The transmitter! “I'm here, Ves. Ves, where are you?”

“Nate, this is Ves, do you hear me?”

Nate found the button in his lapel and squeezed. “Ves! I'm here! I'm here!”

“Nate this is
…” there was a clicking sound, then a pause. Then a woman's voice, with exceptionally fine diction, cut in. “
Mr. Swift? Will you please hold the line for a second, I'll be right with you.”

“Certainly,” Nate said. Then: “Huh?”