Complete Short Fiction, page 422
That didn’t come until later.
There was an interlude, while Peter said to Anita, “Let me see that gun.”
She handed it to him, and he stood staring down at it; and what he was thinking was not clear, for he finally slipped it into his pocket and said in an even tone, “I didn’t know you were programmed to protect your owner.”
“Oh, yes,” said Anita.
“And what about tying and gagging these two?” He indicated Dan and Sutter.
“That was part of the pattern of getting the gun.”
The police raiding party now, belatedly, arrived; ended the questioning. The two dead—though of course, reparable and reprogrammable—Peters were carted off, with Peter I’s permission, to Dan’s office.
Dan found himself unwilling to depart. He finally found himself standing in the doorway of the apartment, silently staring at his beautiful sister and her husband. It was at this point that he caught a glance from Anita’s eyes. They flashed blue rage at him.
“Get out of here, you lunkhead!” that blue glance telegraphed.
Dan got.
It was another day. Shortly after noon.
Officer A. Sutter landed his combo in a suitable parking place in Android City, walked to the street, and presently espied Dan, Peter II, Peter III, and Anita II coming toward him.
At least Dan had said, when he called, that he was with these three persons. The two male androids had been repaired and reprogrammed.
They all stopped, and Dan said to the woman loudly, Well, my dear sister, since I can’t make you change your mind, I’ll say good-bye, and wish you luck.”
He held out his “hand. The woman ignored it. She walked off, followed by the male androids.
When they had gone, Dan said, “I’m pretty sure I convinced the two Peters that the woman with them is Anita I. And if that raid on GALS broke up the local ring, then no one is, at least for the moment, monitoring any of the superrobots in this city.”
Sutter said, “Why would you want to have them think it was actually your sister?”
Well, I got a call from Anita late yesterday, and she gave me my instructions.” Dan laughed ruefully and looked embarrassed as he continued, “Anita has a woman’s outlook on things, and she thought it would be a good idea if I programmed Anita II to feel deep love for Peter II and Peter III, and vice versa.” He went on, apologetically, “As I picture it, something in that strange head of my sister’s gets pleasure out of thinking that Peter I is going to be believing that Anita I is living with Peter II and Peter III, and of course all the time it’s Anita II.”
“But why would you do such a meaningless thing? why do what your sister wants?”
“Well,” Dan confessed, “she threatened to have the two male supers dismantled, and I may need them later as tools in my continuing assignment Now that Mr. Jarris has been removed from his high post, and Dr Schneiter is facing serious charges, everything is fine, but . . .” He left the sentence hanging.
“Do you think your sister knew consciously that she had been subjected to an android simulation?”
“No.”
“But then how did she break out of it?”
Dan was silent. Part of the answer must lie in the concept—intimated by Dr Schneiter—that she had “run amok’. But it was more than that, much more. Something in a human being resisted enslavement.
Not in all situations, of course. Not if it were subtle, not on the level of conformity—which the majority of all times and places did not even think of as slavery.
Yet the moment that a human being actually considered that enforcement was taking place, his resistance began.
The realization relieved Dan in a basic way. Human beings would survive the android fight for freedom. Women, particularly, would hold their own.
Officer A. Sutter was also silent, startled. He was visualizing two male Peter androids and a female Anita android, each programmed for deep love, endlessly making love to each other.
He was vaguely aware of Dan Thaler saying, “Kind of makes you wonder about life.”
Sutter nodded absently.
“Just imagine,” said Dan, “a woman having to spend the rest of her life pretending to be a completely programmed android. I refer to my real sister, as she is now, living with Peter.”
“Uh!” said Sutter, startled. “That!”
For a few seconds he put his attention on Anita I living with her husband under such conditions—a little enviously, he realized as he considered what a difficult female his own wife had become recently.
They had arrived—as Sutter had these thoughts—at his combo. From it there came the sound of a double buzzing.
“Just a moment,” he said, “my wife is on the line.” He walked in and pressed the switch for the—he estimated—tenth time since he had gone on the job that morning. He said resignedly:
“Yes, dear—of course I love you. I’ve already told you that nine times today . . .”
1972
THE TIMED CLOCK
“MARRIAGE,” Terry Maynard will say when he’s feeling expansive, “is a sacred institution. I ought to know. I’ve been married twice, once back in 1905, and again in 1967. That kind of time interval gives a man perspective for a fair judgment.”
And having said that, he looks blandly over at his wife Joan. She sighed on this particular evening, lit a cigarette, leaned back, and murmured, “Terry, you mad daredevil, you. Again?”
She sipped at her cocktail, looked with guileless blue eyes at the visitors, and said, “Terry is going to tell you the story of our romance. If you’ve heard it before, you’ll find sandwiches and things in the dining room.”
Two men and a woman got up and walked out. Terry called after them: “People laughed at the atomic bomb—till it dropped on them. One of these days, somebody is going to find I’m not just romancing. That what I say happened did happen and that it could happen to them. When I think of the deadly potentialities, the atomic bomb will look like a sputtering candle.”
One of the men in the group that had remained said in a puzzled tone, “I don’t get that. What can your being married in 1905 as well as now have to do with the A-bomb—entirely aside from the annoyance your charming wife may feel at not being able to sink those long fingernails of hers into the fair skin of her ancient rival?”
“Sir,” said Terry, “you are speaking of my first wife—may she rest in peace.”
“She never will,” said Joan Maynard. “Not if I can help it.”
But she settled herself comfortably. “Go on, Terry, darling, she said cozily.
“When I was ten years old,” began her husband, “I used to be fascinated by the old grandfather clock in the hall—you can all look at it on your way out. One day, I opened the door at the bottom, and I was playing with the pendulum when I saw it was marked with numbers. They started near the top of the long bar, and the first number was 1840, and they went right down to the bottom, and the last number was 1970. That was in 1950, and I remember being surprised that the little indicator on the crystalline weight pointed exactly at 1950. I thought I had made a great discovery about how clocks worked. After I got over my excitement, I began, of course, to fool around with the weight, and I recall sliding it up to 1891.
“At that moment, I had a dizzy spell. I let go of the weight and sagged to the floor, feeling quite ill. When I looked up, there was a strange woman, and everything around me looked different. You understand, it was only a matter of furniture and rug arrangement. This house has been in our family for well over a hundred years.
“But at ten I was instantly scared, particularly when I saw this woman. She was about forty years old. She wore an old-fashioned, long skirt, her lips were pressed into a thin line of anger, and she held a switch in her hand. As I climbed shakily to my feet, she spoke: ‘Joe Maynard, how many times have I told you to stay away from that clock?’
“Her calling me Joe froze me. I didn’t know then that my grandfather’s name was Joseph. Another thing that held me was her accent. Her English was quite precise; I can’t describe it. The third thing that paralyzed me was that in a vague kind of way her face began to look familiar. It was the face of my great-grandmother, whose portrait hung in my father’s study.
“Swish! The switch caught me on one leg. I dived past her and headed for the door, yowling. I heard her calling after me: ‘Joe Maynard, you wait till your father comes home—’
“Outside, I was in fantasia, a primitive world in a small town in the late 1800s. A dog yipped after me. There were horses on the street, a wooden sidewalk. I had been brought up to dodge automobiles and ride on buses. I couldn’t take the change. My mind is blank about the hours that went by. But it grew dark, and I sneaked back to the big house and peered through the only lighted window into the dining room. I saw a sight I’ll never forget. My great-grandfather and great-grandmother sat at dinner with a boy my own age; and that boy was practically my living image except that he looked more frightened than I ever hope to be. Great-grandfather was speaking; I could hear him plainly through the glass, he was so angry:
“ ‘That settles it. Practically calling your own mother a liar. I’ll take care of you after dinner.’
“I guessed Joe was getting it for me. But all that really mattered was that they were not in the hall near the clock. I sneaked into the house, trembling and without really having a plan. I tiptoed over to the clock, opened the clock case, and set the weight back to 1950. I did that without thinking. My mind was like a block of ice.
“The next thing I knew, a man was yelling at me. A familiar voice. When I looked around, it was my own dad. ‘You young wretch,’ he shouted, ‘I thought I told you to stay away from that clock.’
“For once a licking was a relief. But I never as a boy went near the clock again. I did get to the point where I asked cautiously about my ancestors. Dad was very reticent. He’d get a faraway look in his eyes, and he’d say, ‘I don’t understand a lot of things about my childhood, son. I’ll tell you about it someday.’
“He died suddenly of pneumonia when I was thirteen. It was a financial as well as emotional shock. Mother sold, among other things, the old grandfather clock; and we were thinking of transforming the old place into a rooming house, but a sudden industrial growth boomed the value of some land we had on the other side of town. I had been thinking about the old clock and about my experience, but what with college and then my stint in Vietnam—I was what you might call a glorified office boy with the rank of captain—I didn’t get a chance to look for it till early 1966. I traced it through the dealer who had bought it from us, and paid three times what we originally got for it, but of course it was worth it.
“The weight on the pendulum had slipped down to 1966. The coincidence of that startled me. But more important, under a panel at the bottom I found a treasure: my grandfather’s diary.
“The first entry was dated May 18, 1904. Kneeling there, grandfather’s diary in my hand, I naturally decided to make a test. Had my childhood experience been real, or had it been a delusion? I didn’t think then of actually arriving on the same day as the diary date, but I set it for 1904 as a matter of course. As a last-moment precaution, I slipped a .38 automatic into my coat pocket and then grasped the crystal weight.
“It felt warm to the touch. I had the distinct feeling that it vibrated.
“I had no sense of nausea this time; and I was just about to give up, rather sheepishly, when I glanced around. The hall seat had been moved. The rugs were a darker variety. Old-fashioned drapes of heavy, dark velvet hung over the door.
“My heart pounded. I worried about what I would say if I were discovered. Nevertheless, after a moment I realized that the house was silent except for the ticking of the clock. I stood up and in spite of what my eyes were seeing did not quite believe that the miracle had happened again.
“I walked out into a town that had grown since I had seen it as a boy. But it was still early twentieth century. Cows in back yards. Chicken coops. In the near distance I could see open prairie. The real growth hadn’t begun, and there was no sign of the city that would someday be. It could easily be 1904.
“In a haze of excitement, I walked along the wooden sidewalk. Twice, I passed people, a man, and then a woman. They looked at me in what I realize now was amazement, but I scarcely noticed them. It was not until two women approached me on the narrow sidewalk that I came out of my daze and realized that I was seeing flesh-and-blood people of the early 1900s.
“They wore ground-length skirts that rustled. The day was warm. But it had evidently rained earlier, for I saw mud at the bottom of their skirts.
“The older woman took one look at me and said, “Why, Joseph Maynard, so you’ve come home in time for your poor mother’s funeral. Where did you get those outlandish clothes?’ ”
The girl said nothing. She just looked at me.
“I was about to protest that I was not Joseph Maynard but realized it would be unwise to do so. Besides, I was remembering what the entry in grandfather’s diary had been for May eighteenth:
Met Mrs. Caldwell and her daughter Marietta on the street. She couldn’t seem to get over my coming back for the funeral.
“I thought, slightly dazzled, slightly blank, If this was Mrs. Caldwell and her daughter, and this was that meeting, then—
“The woman was speaking. ‘Joseph Maynard, I want you to meet my daughter Marietta. We were just speaking of the funeral, weren’t we, dear?’
“The girl continued to look at me. ‘Were we, mother?” she asked.
‘Of course we were, don’t you remember?” Mrs. Caldwell sounded flustered. She went on hastily. ‘Marietta and I are all ready for the funeral tomorrow.’
“Marietta said calmly, I thought you’d made arrangements to go to the Jones’ farm.’
‘Marietta, how can you say such a thing? That’s for the day after. If I’ve made any such arrangements, they’ll have to be changed.’ She seemed in control of herself again. She said sympathetically, ‘We were always so friendly with your mother, Mr. Maynard, weren’t we, Marietta?”
“I always liked her,’ said Marietta, with an ever so faint emphasis on the first-person pronoun.
‘Well see you then tomorrow at the church at two o’clock,’ Mrs. Caldwell said quickly. ‘Come along, Marietta, darling.’
“I drew back to let them pass, then walked around the block, back to the family home. I explored the house, half expecting to find a corpse, but evidently the body had been taken elsewhere.
“I began to feel badly. My own mother had died in 1963 when I was far off in Vietnam. And our family lawyer had had to make the funeral arrangements. On many a hot night in the jungle I had pictured the silent house when she was ill. It seemed to me that this was about as close as I had gotten to the actuality. The parallel depressed me.
“I locked the door, wound the clock, reset the weight to 1966, and returned to the twentieth century.
“The somber atmosphere of death departed slowly, and I came back to a most worrying thought: Had Joseph Maynard really returned to his home town on May 18, 1904? And if not, to whom did the May nineteenth entry in grandfather’s diary refer? The diary entry stated simply:
Attended funeral this afternoon and talked again to Marietta.
“Talked again! That’s what it said. And since it was I who had talked to her the first time, was it also I who would attend the funeral?
“I spent the evening reading the diary, searching for a word or phrase that would indicate the situation was as I was beginning to see it. I did not find a single reference to time travel, but that seemed natural enough after I thought it over. Suppose the diary fell into the wrong hands.
“I reached the entry where Joseph Maynard and Marietta Caldwell made their engagement announcement. And a little later I came to the date under which was written, ‘Married Marietta today!’ At that point, perspiring, I put the diary aside.
“The question was, if it was I who had done that, then what had become of the real Joseph Maynard? Had the only son of my great-grandparents died on some American frontier, unknown to his fellow townsmen? From the beginning that seemed the most likely explanation.
“I went to the funeral. And there was no doubt about it. I was the only Maynard present, aside from my dead greatgrandmother.
“Afterwards, I had a talk with the family lawyer, and I took formal possession of the property. I had him set up a trust for the land that fifty years later saved mother and me from having to become boarding-house keepers.
“Then I set to work to insure that my father would be born.
“Marietta was an amazingly difficult girl to marry for a man who knew that the marriage was a cinch. She had another suitor, a young fellow I could have strangled half a dozen times. He had a bubbling personality but no money. Her parents were down on him for that last, but it didn’t seem to worry Marietta.
“In the end, because I couldn’t afford to lose, I played the game unfairly. I went to Mrs. Caldwell and told her bluntly that I wanted her to start encouraging Marietta to marry this other guy and to start criticizing me. I suggested that she point out that I was not reliable and that at any time I was apt to go wandering off to some far comer of the world, taking her with me to heaven only knew what hardships.
“As I had begun to suspect, that little girl had an adventurous streak in her. I don’t know just how much her mother was able to reverse her attitude, but suddenly Marietta was more friendly. I had become so intent on the courtship that I’d kind of forgotten about the diary. After we became engaged, I looked it up, and there it was written up exactly for the day it happened.
“That gave me a grisly feeling. And when Marietta set the wedding day for the date given in the diary, I came even further out of my fantasy and in the most serious fashion considered my position. If I went through with this thing, then I would be my own grandfather. If I didn’t go through with it, then what?
“Thinking about it just made me feel blank. But I looked around for a duplicate to the ancient leather diary, copied the old one word for word, and put the new one under the panel in the bottom of the clock. I suppose they were actually the same diary since the one I put in there must be the one I later found.
