The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 333
Daniels' voice roared in.
"I'm sorry, I can't leave you out there even if you really wanted me to—the minus trip is the only way of getting you back, now. You have only five seconds, John. I'm sorry. At the speed the Galaxy is spinning we can't delay—"
"Joe! Jean! Don't let—"
Abruptly the voices ceased their bellowing. A few seconds later the second stage fell away and the weight left Carson's chest. But there was an even greater load he had to get off his chest.
"Daniels!"
"I'm really sorry, Joe. All that was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you—we need time to think about it. But I didn't want anything to happen that would ... unsettle ... you. But there is no time to talk about it because in a few minutes you will be—"
"Shut up and listen!" said Carson furiously. He felt suddenly enlightened, horribly afraid, completely ashamed of his part in the Pebbles business and angrier than he had ever been in his life. "Daniels, listen to me! Daniels, you are not going to sick Donovan on to John Pebbles. To hell with security and your project—he isn't and never was a spy and I don't want him harmed by Donovan or any other—"
Jean's voice came in then.
"I'll see that nothing happens to him. But if he arrives back in the same condition as last time, he will scarcely be a security risk. And neither will you, Joe. Will they, Mr. Daniels ...?"
She sounded angrier even than Carson, and almost on the point of tears.
"No, Doctor, of course not. There would be no point now that we know the other side are working on it, too. They must have been keeping it just as secret from their people as we are from ours, and probably for the same reasons. But how Pebbles arrived on that beach, naked—Wayne did the first plus trip naked, of course, because we weren't sure of the effects clothing might have in those days and we wanted to play safe. Pebbles must have gone off course, splashed down close inshore, and sunk. Part of the capsule parachute was found further along the beach and the rest of it is either still attached to the sunken vehicle or it was carried away by the ebb. He must have remembered—or known instinctively—how to swim ..."
Jean broke in,
"You will be able to remember something or ... or someone ..."
"I expect so, Doctor. But right now there is something you should think about Joe. You are not going the long way under conventional rocket power to the rendezvous point. Instead you will make an instantaneous plus trip to that point in space, then hang around for an hour ..."
He made a noise which was probably meant to be a laugh.
"... to avoid, well, too many comings and goings. When we give the signal from here you will return, instantaneously, to orbit around Earth.
"In a way this is an honor, Joe. Usually we send them out only a few hours equivalent distance—five or six million miles, that is—on rocket power, which can take anything up to a week, before bringing them back with the yellow button. But you we are sending out for a full day, more than eighteen million miles, using the drive both ways.
"Wayne was scheduled to make the first plus and minus trip ...
"If you look to the left of the big clock on the main panel—the one with the red and yellow hands—you will see a red and a yellow button. Between them is a counter registering seconds. When it reaches zero press the yellow button. There is no discomfort during a plus trip.
"It might help your morale a little if you pushed the button, Joe. But if you don't, we will."
Carson looked at the counter, which was flickering down through the one hundred and twenties, then out of the port. The scene was so much sharper, more awe-inspiring and beautiful than he had expected that he found him-self growing a little calmer. He still doubted that the view was worth getting himself killed for, even if his body would not technically die. Then he began to wonder if he was not mad for having any doubts at all about a thing like that. Reluctantly he tore his eyes away from the scene outside and back to the counter.
His silence seemed to be making Daniels uncomfortable.
"What I don't understand is how the other side got onto this idea. Admittedly the journals and papers which started me thinking along these lines were available to them as well, but—"
"There is a time for steam engines and a time for airplanes and now," Carson said bitterly as he reached for the yellow button, "it is time-travel time ..."
There was no discomfort, no sensation of any kind other than the shock of surprise at seeing the Earth suddenly switched off and replaced by stars and a Sun which was too far away. Carson had never felt so alone in all his life.
Tomorrow, he thought, is too far.
It was not time-travel in the accepted Wellsian sense, where a few decades of travel into the future placed the time-machine and its operator in the same house and room that he had left, but in an older, perhaps ruined version of the same building, or where a similar jaunt into the past materialized them on rough ground before the place had been built. Time-travel stories of that kind had taken too much for granted.
The present-day time-traveler had to be an astronaut as well. When he pressed the big yellow or red button he materialized in the past or future in exactly the same point in space—but in the meantime Earth, the solar system and the Galaxy had either moved on or had not arrived there yet ...
Earth rotated once every twenty-four hours to give it a rotational velocity at the equator of over one thousand miles per hour—Carson was not sure of the rotational speed at the latitude of the launching pad—and, making due allowances for the perturbations caused by major-planet gravitational effects, the Earth's orbital speed as it circled the Sun was about eighteen point five miles per second. Meanwhile the Sun and the millions of other stars comprising the spiral arm of the Galaxy which it occupied wheeled ponderously around the galactic center at a velocity of two hundred and fifteen miles per second.
Time-travel involved no spatial displacement. It was just that everything in creation was moving in several different directions at once.
Carson could imagine the early experiments and the jubilation when one of the test objects—probably a radio transponder or similar instrument capable of signaling its presence over vast distances—vanished to appear again many millions of miles out in space. They would have thought that an instantaneous space drive was almost within their grasp and that the exploration of the planets and neighboring solar systems was only a few years off. Instead they had discovered a space drive which required conventional rocket propulsion to get out to or return from the time-travel point if the astronaut was not to return a mindless idiot.
Travel towards the future was safe, apparently, but into the past meant oblivion, personality death, a one hundred percent thorough brain-wash.
Why?
The question required a quick answer, but somehow the necessity for finding it did not drive Carson into a panic, make him lose control of himself or start pleading with Daniels to be let off the hook. Out here, amid all this grandeur, it seemed to him that any display of purely human weakness would be in impossibly bad taste.
He had always prided himself on his memory and very soon he was going to lose it completely. But before that happened he would use his memory to try to find the answer. With his newly-gained knowledge of what the project was really about, he cast his mind back, going over all the clues, the overheard conversations, observations and deductions. Somewhere in that mass of remembered material there must be an answer.
But more than anything else he kept remembering John Pebbles—in the flat, at work and in the club. A grown man with high intelligence and the mind and sense of wonder of a small boy. Pebbles had returned safely from one, and by now, perhaps two minus trips. Wayne Tillotson had made only one trip into the past and they had made the mistake of assuming that he might be able to take control of his vehicle during re-entry and that he would have enough sense left not to touch anything if he did not feel capable of controlling it.
He remembered Daniels' crack about traffic congestion—too many comings and goings—and began to wonder about paradoxes. Normally a trip involved traveling conventionally for many days until the vehicle reached that pre-calculated point in space which would be in the desired number of hours in the future, then the yellow button would be pushed and Earth would materialize below—no paradoxes, no problems. But for a minus trip the module would travel back, again taking many days for the trip, to where the Earth had been a few hours earlier. In this case there would be a few hours when the pilot was both coming and going, that was, the last few hours of conventional travel before pushing the red button when he had already landed. But it was not an embarrassing paradox because the man concerned would not meet himself because he was in two very widely separated places at the same time. The real problem was that one of himself would be in no mental condition to worry about meeting the other.
The activity yesterday in the control center when he and Jean had been sent to an outer office to talk to Pebbles was because the other, amnesiac Pebbles had already been on the way in.
Carson himself, if everything had gone as planned, was already down there being fed and cleaned and nursed ...
"Carson to Control," he said sharply.
He waited grimly for the reply, remembering some of the things Daniels and Pebbles had told him. The designer had stated that time-travel had no effect on mechanical or electronic devices, minimal effects on living tissue and quite drastic effects on the thought processes. Obviously the project people tried to avoid paradoxes, but they did not know what laws, if any, they were breaking because Daniels felt that the answer might lie in the soft rather than in the hard sciences.
John Pebbles had told him much more when he had said simply that a human brain could not be made to run backwards.
Carson thought he had the answer now. There might even be a chance for him ... "Carson to Con—"
"Go ahead, Carson," Daniels replied.
"But remember to allow for the time-lapse between question and answer—even at the speed of light it takes a while for radio signals to make the round trip. You're pretty far out, you know."
"Is John Pebbles safe, and am I?"
Two hundred interminable seconds later the reply came.
"Both of you landed safely yesterday. It sounds as if you have it all figured out already, but you will want to ask questions, anyway. Fire away, Joe, this time I'll answer them all, fully and accurately."
Carson thought bitterly that Daniels had nothing to lose when he was going to forget everything, anyway, because when Carson pushed that red button and went back to yesterday the hour he had spent out here would be gone, it would never have existed so far as his mind was concerned. Aloud, he said, "I'd like you to tell me all you know about the physiological effects of forward and backwards travel in time. And up to now project security has kept you from having competent medical advice available. I would like Jean to hear this if she's there. It will help her to better understand her ... patients."
Ten seconds later Daniels said,
"Jean is here—she has been up all night and now both of her patients are sleeping peacefully. As for the physiological effects you ask about, there isn't much else I can tell you. A man going forward twelve hours in time, and that is the farthest ahead we've gone until your twenty-four hour trip yesterday, doesn't suddenly need a shave or feel hungry or want to go to the toilet. But when we send very shortlived insects on similar trips, in both directions, they showed definite signs of biological aging and rejuvenation, respectively, after trips into the future and past. They did not appear to be troubled by sudden hunger or thirst, their appendages had not grown or shortened—they simply got older or younger.
"We don't know the reason for this, Joe, but we've come up with some pretty wild theories. The one I favor at the moment goes like this: Non-living material objects show no detectable effects—a camera, for instance, can be sent into the past or future, take photographs there which we can develop and print in the present. But the physiological effects are such that we are beginning to suspect that physical age may be imposed by the mind, because it is only the mind which is seriously effected by time-travel. The new material which we got from John Pebbles yesterday supports this, but we still need to do some serious thinking about it."
"I have been doing some serious thinking about it," began Carson, and stopped. For the first time since he had looked up from his tape-recorder and seen Donovan's gun filling the universe he was beginning to feel hope.
"Probably I am just fooling myself," he went on, "and wishing out loud rather than talking sense, but how does this sound? During a forward trip, which is instantaneous, the elapsed time of the journey is not recorded in the conscious mind because nothing at all happened during that period—no impressions, no cerebration, nothing whatever to remember. On a minus trip into the past it is different—especially, as was the case with Tillotson and Pebbles, when they went the long way out to the jump point on conventional rocket power. Before they traveled back in time they had spent many days in their modules, observing, reporting, making decisions, remembering. When they pushed the red button all these sensory impressions and memories were gone, ripped out; they had never happened.
"It is possible," Carson went on, "that this sudden unlearning process, this violent removal of several days' thoughts, impressions and memories with all their associated linkages produces a very severe mental shock—complete amnesia, in fact. Everything which went on in the mind during the period covered by the minus trip is lost forever because they never really happened so far as the mind is concerned, but the memories before this time-jump period still exist but, because of the mental shock, return only slowly and with great difficulty. This fits with what we know of Pebbles before and after his first minus trip ..."
"I think you've got it, Joe ..." began Daniels excitedly, reacting to something Carson had said ten seconds earlier, then stopped because Carson had gone on talking.
On the panel a few inches away the red hands told him that he had less than twenty minutes and the red button stared at him, a little like Donovan's gun. He was going to commit suicide in sixteen minutes, and he wondered if there was any other way of getting back without effectively killing himself ...
"I am hoping that my own case may be somewhat different," he went on quickly, "in that I did not come the long way out. The only thinking I have done which will be unlearned at the jump back took place during the hour I have been out here—an hour, remember, instead of several days as was the case with Tillotson and Pebbles. I am hoping that the mental shock of having this hour removed from my mind will be less than that suffered by my predecessors. If this is so, my 'cure' should not take as long as John's did, either, because I expect to be surrounded by familiar things and people—people who know what has happened to me—from the start.
"The people who surrounded John Pebbles did not know what they were supposed to do and did not even speak his language."
Carson took a deep breath, then ended, "What do you think, Jean. Does all this sound reasonable?"
But it was Daniels who replied first.
"I think you have the answer, Joe! And you're damn right we'll take care of you and help bring back your memory as fast as we can. Jean has already started. Apparently there is a whole range of medication that could help ... She will probably tell you about it herself. I've got to go to Control right now to oversee your minus jump. You have about ten minutes. See you. And ... thanks, Joe."
Jean said, "How do you feel?"
Carson felt angry suddenly as well as afraid. She was treating him as a patient already. But then he was her patient already and he would remain her patient for months or years to come. All at once it did not matter to him that he was going to forget everything, if he could be sure of forgetting his need for her.
"I never wanted to be your patient, Jean," he said bitterly. "I was hoping for a less professional relationship."
It took much longer than two hundred seconds for the reply to come back. Then he heard her laughing, or rather making the strained, odd-sounding noise that a person makes who doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. She said,
"I know what I said about preferring healthy friends to sick patients, Joe. But please don't worry about that, I mean it. You are a special case and ... and just because a baby has to be looked after for a while does not mean that it is sick ..."
He had only a few minutes left and there did not seem to be anything else to say. Carson leaned towards the port and with his left hand near the red button he used his right to block off the glare from the Sun. He thought about Jean and he stared at the spectacle outside, trying uselessly to print it and her indelibly on his mind. He thought that if something was to go wrong out here he could dive for all eternity without ever hitting the ground, but the thought did not worry him very much. He was too busy trying to remember every thing that had ever happened to him and drink in all this splendor, the vast and incredible beauty of it all, because it was the last thing he would experience in his present life ...
The counter said minus five seconds.
"Jean," he said very seriously, "Please don't let me forget you ..."
Chapter Twenty-One
He felt very pleased with himself the day he learned how to make it light or dark at will by opening and closing his eyes. He did not know what day or light or dark or eyes were, or what was meant by opening and closing, but he could do it and it was great fun. Then a time came when it stayed dark whether he opened or closed his eyes. This made him feel angry and he cried. He did not at that time know what being angry or crying was, but he did it anyway and the light came on.
The faces of a man and a girl looked down at him. The girl put her hand on his forehead and began to stroke it. He did not know what man, girl, faces, hand and forehead were, either, but he could see and feel. He stopped crying.
"I'm sorry, I can't leave you out there even if you really wanted me to—the minus trip is the only way of getting you back, now. You have only five seconds, John. I'm sorry. At the speed the Galaxy is spinning we can't delay—"
"Joe! Jean! Don't let—"
Abruptly the voices ceased their bellowing. A few seconds later the second stage fell away and the weight left Carson's chest. But there was an even greater load he had to get off his chest.
"Daniels!"
"I'm really sorry, Joe. All that was as much of a surprise to me as it was to you—we need time to think about it. But I didn't want anything to happen that would ... unsettle ... you. But there is no time to talk about it because in a few minutes you will be—"
"Shut up and listen!" said Carson furiously. He felt suddenly enlightened, horribly afraid, completely ashamed of his part in the Pebbles business and angrier than he had ever been in his life. "Daniels, listen to me! Daniels, you are not going to sick Donovan on to John Pebbles. To hell with security and your project—he isn't and never was a spy and I don't want him harmed by Donovan or any other—"
Jean's voice came in then.
"I'll see that nothing happens to him. But if he arrives back in the same condition as last time, he will scarcely be a security risk. And neither will you, Joe. Will they, Mr. Daniels ...?"
She sounded angrier even than Carson, and almost on the point of tears.
"No, Doctor, of course not. There would be no point now that we know the other side are working on it, too. They must have been keeping it just as secret from their people as we are from ours, and probably for the same reasons. But how Pebbles arrived on that beach, naked—Wayne did the first plus trip naked, of course, because we weren't sure of the effects clothing might have in those days and we wanted to play safe. Pebbles must have gone off course, splashed down close inshore, and sunk. Part of the capsule parachute was found further along the beach and the rest of it is either still attached to the sunken vehicle or it was carried away by the ebb. He must have remembered—or known instinctively—how to swim ..."
Jean broke in,
"You will be able to remember something or ... or someone ..."
"I expect so, Doctor. But right now there is something you should think about Joe. You are not going the long way under conventional rocket power to the rendezvous point. Instead you will make an instantaneous plus trip to that point in space, then hang around for an hour ..."
He made a noise which was probably meant to be a laugh.
"... to avoid, well, too many comings and goings. When we give the signal from here you will return, instantaneously, to orbit around Earth.
"In a way this is an honor, Joe. Usually we send them out only a few hours equivalent distance—five or six million miles, that is—on rocket power, which can take anything up to a week, before bringing them back with the yellow button. But you we are sending out for a full day, more than eighteen million miles, using the drive both ways.
"Wayne was scheduled to make the first plus and minus trip ...
"If you look to the left of the big clock on the main panel—the one with the red and yellow hands—you will see a red and a yellow button. Between them is a counter registering seconds. When it reaches zero press the yellow button. There is no discomfort during a plus trip.
"It might help your morale a little if you pushed the button, Joe. But if you don't, we will."
Carson looked at the counter, which was flickering down through the one hundred and twenties, then out of the port. The scene was so much sharper, more awe-inspiring and beautiful than he had expected that he found him-self growing a little calmer. He still doubted that the view was worth getting himself killed for, even if his body would not technically die. Then he began to wonder if he was not mad for having any doubts at all about a thing like that. Reluctantly he tore his eyes away from the scene outside and back to the counter.
His silence seemed to be making Daniels uncomfortable.
"What I don't understand is how the other side got onto this idea. Admittedly the journals and papers which started me thinking along these lines were available to them as well, but—"
"There is a time for steam engines and a time for airplanes and now," Carson said bitterly as he reached for the yellow button, "it is time-travel time ..."
There was no discomfort, no sensation of any kind other than the shock of surprise at seeing the Earth suddenly switched off and replaced by stars and a Sun which was too far away. Carson had never felt so alone in all his life.
Tomorrow, he thought, is too far.
It was not time-travel in the accepted Wellsian sense, where a few decades of travel into the future placed the time-machine and its operator in the same house and room that he had left, but in an older, perhaps ruined version of the same building, or where a similar jaunt into the past materialized them on rough ground before the place had been built. Time-travel stories of that kind had taken too much for granted.
The present-day time-traveler had to be an astronaut as well. When he pressed the big yellow or red button he materialized in the past or future in exactly the same point in space—but in the meantime Earth, the solar system and the Galaxy had either moved on or had not arrived there yet ...
Earth rotated once every twenty-four hours to give it a rotational velocity at the equator of over one thousand miles per hour—Carson was not sure of the rotational speed at the latitude of the launching pad—and, making due allowances for the perturbations caused by major-planet gravitational effects, the Earth's orbital speed as it circled the Sun was about eighteen point five miles per second. Meanwhile the Sun and the millions of other stars comprising the spiral arm of the Galaxy which it occupied wheeled ponderously around the galactic center at a velocity of two hundred and fifteen miles per second.
Time-travel involved no spatial displacement. It was just that everything in creation was moving in several different directions at once.
Carson could imagine the early experiments and the jubilation when one of the test objects—probably a radio transponder or similar instrument capable of signaling its presence over vast distances—vanished to appear again many millions of miles out in space. They would have thought that an instantaneous space drive was almost within their grasp and that the exploration of the planets and neighboring solar systems was only a few years off. Instead they had discovered a space drive which required conventional rocket propulsion to get out to or return from the time-travel point if the astronaut was not to return a mindless idiot.
Travel towards the future was safe, apparently, but into the past meant oblivion, personality death, a one hundred percent thorough brain-wash.
Why?
The question required a quick answer, but somehow the necessity for finding it did not drive Carson into a panic, make him lose control of himself or start pleading with Daniels to be let off the hook. Out here, amid all this grandeur, it seemed to him that any display of purely human weakness would be in impossibly bad taste.
He had always prided himself on his memory and very soon he was going to lose it completely. But before that happened he would use his memory to try to find the answer. With his newly-gained knowledge of what the project was really about, he cast his mind back, going over all the clues, the overheard conversations, observations and deductions. Somewhere in that mass of remembered material there must be an answer.
But more than anything else he kept remembering John Pebbles—in the flat, at work and in the club. A grown man with high intelligence and the mind and sense of wonder of a small boy. Pebbles had returned safely from one, and by now, perhaps two minus trips. Wayne Tillotson had made only one trip into the past and they had made the mistake of assuming that he might be able to take control of his vehicle during re-entry and that he would have enough sense left not to touch anything if he did not feel capable of controlling it.
He remembered Daniels' crack about traffic congestion—too many comings and goings—and began to wonder about paradoxes. Normally a trip involved traveling conventionally for many days until the vehicle reached that pre-calculated point in space which would be in the desired number of hours in the future, then the yellow button would be pushed and Earth would materialize below—no paradoxes, no problems. But for a minus trip the module would travel back, again taking many days for the trip, to where the Earth had been a few hours earlier. In this case there would be a few hours when the pilot was both coming and going, that was, the last few hours of conventional travel before pushing the red button when he had already landed. But it was not an embarrassing paradox because the man concerned would not meet himself because he was in two very widely separated places at the same time. The real problem was that one of himself would be in no mental condition to worry about meeting the other.
The activity yesterday in the control center when he and Jean had been sent to an outer office to talk to Pebbles was because the other, amnesiac Pebbles had already been on the way in.
Carson himself, if everything had gone as planned, was already down there being fed and cleaned and nursed ...
"Carson to Control," he said sharply.
He waited grimly for the reply, remembering some of the things Daniels and Pebbles had told him. The designer had stated that time-travel had no effect on mechanical or electronic devices, minimal effects on living tissue and quite drastic effects on the thought processes. Obviously the project people tried to avoid paradoxes, but they did not know what laws, if any, they were breaking because Daniels felt that the answer might lie in the soft rather than in the hard sciences.
John Pebbles had told him much more when he had said simply that a human brain could not be made to run backwards.
Carson thought he had the answer now. There might even be a chance for him ... "Carson to Con—"
"Go ahead, Carson," Daniels replied.
"But remember to allow for the time-lapse between question and answer—even at the speed of light it takes a while for radio signals to make the round trip. You're pretty far out, you know."
"Is John Pebbles safe, and am I?"
Two hundred interminable seconds later the reply came.
"Both of you landed safely yesterday. It sounds as if you have it all figured out already, but you will want to ask questions, anyway. Fire away, Joe, this time I'll answer them all, fully and accurately."
Carson thought bitterly that Daniels had nothing to lose when he was going to forget everything, anyway, because when Carson pushed that red button and went back to yesterday the hour he had spent out here would be gone, it would never have existed so far as his mind was concerned. Aloud, he said, "I'd like you to tell me all you know about the physiological effects of forward and backwards travel in time. And up to now project security has kept you from having competent medical advice available. I would like Jean to hear this if she's there. It will help her to better understand her ... patients."
Ten seconds later Daniels said,
"Jean is here—she has been up all night and now both of her patients are sleeping peacefully. As for the physiological effects you ask about, there isn't much else I can tell you. A man going forward twelve hours in time, and that is the farthest ahead we've gone until your twenty-four hour trip yesterday, doesn't suddenly need a shave or feel hungry or want to go to the toilet. But when we send very shortlived insects on similar trips, in both directions, they showed definite signs of biological aging and rejuvenation, respectively, after trips into the future and past. They did not appear to be troubled by sudden hunger or thirst, their appendages had not grown or shortened—they simply got older or younger.
"We don't know the reason for this, Joe, but we've come up with some pretty wild theories. The one I favor at the moment goes like this: Non-living material objects show no detectable effects—a camera, for instance, can be sent into the past or future, take photographs there which we can develop and print in the present. But the physiological effects are such that we are beginning to suspect that physical age may be imposed by the mind, because it is only the mind which is seriously effected by time-travel. The new material which we got from John Pebbles yesterday supports this, but we still need to do some serious thinking about it."
"I have been doing some serious thinking about it," began Carson, and stopped. For the first time since he had looked up from his tape-recorder and seen Donovan's gun filling the universe he was beginning to feel hope.
"Probably I am just fooling myself," he went on, "and wishing out loud rather than talking sense, but how does this sound? During a forward trip, which is instantaneous, the elapsed time of the journey is not recorded in the conscious mind because nothing at all happened during that period—no impressions, no cerebration, nothing whatever to remember. On a minus trip into the past it is different—especially, as was the case with Tillotson and Pebbles, when they went the long way out to the jump point on conventional rocket power. Before they traveled back in time they had spent many days in their modules, observing, reporting, making decisions, remembering. When they pushed the red button all these sensory impressions and memories were gone, ripped out; they had never happened.
"It is possible," Carson went on, "that this sudden unlearning process, this violent removal of several days' thoughts, impressions and memories with all their associated linkages produces a very severe mental shock—complete amnesia, in fact. Everything which went on in the mind during the period covered by the minus trip is lost forever because they never really happened so far as the mind is concerned, but the memories before this time-jump period still exist but, because of the mental shock, return only slowly and with great difficulty. This fits with what we know of Pebbles before and after his first minus trip ..."
"I think you've got it, Joe ..." began Daniels excitedly, reacting to something Carson had said ten seconds earlier, then stopped because Carson had gone on talking.
On the panel a few inches away the red hands told him that he had less than twenty minutes and the red button stared at him, a little like Donovan's gun. He was going to commit suicide in sixteen minutes, and he wondered if there was any other way of getting back without effectively killing himself ...
"I am hoping that my own case may be somewhat different," he went on quickly, "in that I did not come the long way out. The only thinking I have done which will be unlearned at the jump back took place during the hour I have been out here—an hour, remember, instead of several days as was the case with Tillotson and Pebbles. I am hoping that the mental shock of having this hour removed from my mind will be less than that suffered by my predecessors. If this is so, my 'cure' should not take as long as John's did, either, because I expect to be surrounded by familiar things and people—people who know what has happened to me—from the start.
"The people who surrounded John Pebbles did not know what they were supposed to do and did not even speak his language."
Carson took a deep breath, then ended, "What do you think, Jean. Does all this sound reasonable?"
But it was Daniels who replied first.
"I think you have the answer, Joe! And you're damn right we'll take care of you and help bring back your memory as fast as we can. Jean has already started. Apparently there is a whole range of medication that could help ... She will probably tell you about it herself. I've got to go to Control right now to oversee your minus jump. You have about ten minutes. See you. And ... thanks, Joe."
Jean said, "How do you feel?"
Carson felt angry suddenly as well as afraid. She was treating him as a patient already. But then he was her patient already and he would remain her patient for months or years to come. All at once it did not matter to him that he was going to forget everything, if he could be sure of forgetting his need for her.
"I never wanted to be your patient, Jean," he said bitterly. "I was hoping for a less professional relationship."
It took much longer than two hundred seconds for the reply to come back. Then he heard her laughing, or rather making the strained, odd-sounding noise that a person makes who doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. She said,
"I know what I said about preferring healthy friends to sick patients, Joe. But please don't worry about that, I mean it. You are a special case and ... and just because a baby has to be looked after for a while does not mean that it is sick ..."
He had only a few minutes left and there did not seem to be anything else to say. Carson leaned towards the port and with his left hand near the red button he used his right to block off the glare from the Sun. He thought about Jean and he stared at the spectacle outside, trying uselessly to print it and her indelibly on his mind. He thought that if something was to go wrong out here he could dive for all eternity without ever hitting the ground, but the thought did not worry him very much. He was too busy trying to remember every thing that had ever happened to him and drink in all this splendor, the vast and incredible beauty of it all, because it was the last thing he would experience in his present life ...
The counter said minus five seconds.
"Jean," he said very seriously, "Please don't let me forget you ..."
Chapter Twenty-One
He felt very pleased with himself the day he learned how to make it light or dark at will by opening and closing his eyes. He did not know what day or light or dark or eyes were, or what was meant by opening and closing, but he could do it and it was great fun. Then a time came when it stayed dark whether he opened or closed his eyes. This made him feel angry and he cried. He did not at that time know what being angry or crying was, but he did it anyway and the light came on.
The faces of a man and a girl looked down at him. The girl put her hand on his forehead and began to stroke it. He did not know what man, girl, faces, hand and forehead were, either, but he could see and feel. He stopped crying.
