Wilson Tucker - The Year of the Quiet Sun

He betrayed surprise. “We may choose?”

“Within reason, sir. Mr. Seabrooke has invited each of you to suggest an appropriate date. The original plan of the survey must be followed, of course, but he would welcome your ideas. If you would rather not suggest a date, Mr. Seabrooke and the engineers will select one.”

Chaney looked down the table at Major Moresby.

“What did you take?”

Promptly: “The Fourth of July, 1999.”

“Why that one?”

“It has significance, after all!”

“I suppose so.” He turned to Saltus. “And you?”

“My birthday, civilian: November 23rd, 2000. A nice round number, don’t you think? I thought so anyway. That will be my fiftieth birthday, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I might take a jug with me. Live it up!”

Chaney considered the possibilities.

Saltus broke in. “Now, look here, mister — don’t tell Seabrooke you want to visit Jericho on the longest day of summer, ten thousand years ago! That will get you the boot right through the front gate. Play by the rules. How would you like to spend Christmas in 2001? New Year’s Eve?”

“No.”

“Party-pooper. Wet blanket. What do you want?”

“I really don’t care. Anything will do.”

“Pick something ,” Saltus urged.

“Oh, just say 2000-plus. It doesn’t much matter.”

Katrina said anxiously: “Mr. Chaney, is something wrong?”

“Only that,” he said, and indicated the photographs heaped on the table before Arthur Saltus, the new packets of mimeographed papers neatly stacked before each chair. “The future isn’t very attractive right now.”

“Do you wish to withdraw?”

“ No . I’m not a quitter. When do we go up?”

“The launch is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. You will depart at one-hour intervals.”

Chaney shuffled the papers on the table. “I suppose these will have to be studied now. We’ll have to follow up.”

“Yes, sir. The information you have developed on the trials has now become a part of the survey, and it is desirable that each segment be followed to its conclusion. We wish to know the final solutions, of course, and so you must trace these new developments.” She hesitated. “ Your role in the survey has been somewhat modified, sir.”

He was instantly wary, suspicious. “In what way?”

“You will not go into Chicago.”

“Not — But what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“You may visit any other city within range of your fifty-hour limit: Elgin, Aurora, Joliet, Bloomington, the city of your choice, but Chicago is now closed to you.”

He stared at the woman, knowing humiliation. “But this is ridiculous! The problem may be cleared away, all but forgotten twenty-two years from now.”

“It will not be forgotten so easily, sir. It will be wise to observe every precaution. Mr. Seabrooke has decided you may not enter Chicago.”

“I’ll resign — I’ll quit!”

“Yes, sir, you may do that. The Indic contract will be returned to you.”

“I won’t quit!” he said angrily.

“As you wish.”

Saltus broke in. “Civilian — sit down.”

Chaney was surprised to discover himself standing. He sat down, knowing a mixture of frustration and humbled pride. He knotted his fingers together in his lap and pressed until they hurt.

After a space he said: “I’m sorry. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” Saltus agreed easily. “And don’t let it trouble you. Seabrooke knows what he’s doing — he doesn’t want you naked and shivering in some Chicago jail, and he doesn’t want some damned fool chasing you with a gun.”

Major Moresby was eyeing him.

“I don’t quite read you, Chaney. You’ve got more guts than I suspected, or you’re a damned fool.”

“When I lose my temper I’m a damned fool. I can’t help myself.” He felt Katrina watching him and turned back to her. “What am I supposed to do up there?”

“Mr. Seabrooke wishes you to spend the greater part of your time in a library copying pertinent information. You will be equipped with a camera having a copying lens when you emerge on target; your specific assignment is to photograph those books and periodicals which are germane to the information discovered in Joliet.”

“You want me to follow the plots and the wars and the earthquakes through history. Make a copy of everything — steal a history book if I have to.”

You may purchase one, sir, and copy the pages in the room downstairs.”

“That sounds exciting. A really wild visit to the future. Why not bring back the book with me?”

She hesitated. “I will have to ask Mr. Seabrooke. It seems reasonable, if you compensate for the weight.”

“Katrina, I want to go outside and see something — I don’t want to spend the time in a hole.”

She said again: “You may visit any other city within range of your fifty-hour limit, sir. If it is safe.”

Morosely: “I wonder what Bloomington is like.”

“Girls!” Saltus answered. “One sweet liberty port!”

“Have you been there?”

“No.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Just trying to cheer you up, civilian. I’m helpful that way.” He picked up the photograph of the girl on the Joliet street corner and waggled it between thumb and forefinger. “Go up in the summertime. It’s nicer then.”

Chaney looked at him with a particular memory in the front of his mind. Saltus caught it and actually blushed. He dropped the photograph and betrayed his fleeting guilt by sneaking a sidelong glance at Katrina.

She said: “We hope for a thorough coverage, sir.”

“I wish I had more than fifty hours in a library. A decent research job requires several weeks, even months.”

“It may be possible to return again and again, at proper intervals of course. I will ask Mr. Seabrooke.”

Saltus: “Hey — what about that, Katrina? So what happens after the survey? What do we do next?”

“I can’t give you a meaningful answer, Commander. At this point in the operation nothing beyond the Chicago probe is programmed. Nothing more could be programmed until we knew the outcome of these first two steps. A final answer cannot be made until you return from Chicago.”

“Do you think we’ll do something else?”

“I would imagine that other probes will be prepared when this one is satisfactorily completed and the resultant data analyzed.” But then she added a hasty postscript. “That is only my opinion, Commander. Mr. Seabrooke has said nothing of possible future operations.”

“I like your opinion, Katrina. It’s better than a bucket in the South China Sea.”

Chaney asked: “What happened to the alternatives? To Jerusalem, and Dallas?”

Moresby broke in. “What’s this?”

The young woman explained them to Moresby and Saltus. Chaney realized that only he had been told of both alternate programs, and he wondered now if he had let a cat out of the bag by mentioning them.

Katrina said: “The alternatives are being held in abeyance; they may never be implemented.” She looked at Brian Chaney and paused. “The engineers are studying a new matter related to vehicle operations; there appears to be a question whether the vehicle may operate in reverse prior to the establishment of a power source.

“Hey — what’s that in English?”

“It means I can’t go back to old Jericho,” Chaney told him. “No electricity back there. I think she said the TDV needs power all along the line to move anywhere.”

Moresby: “But I understood you to say those test animals had been sent back a year or more?”