Clifford Simak - No Life of Their Own And Other Stories

“I suppose so,” said Martin. “But, dammit, the whole thing makes me feel good. If Einstein goes ahead with it, and I think he will, it means we’ve been of some use. Like I said last night, we may be beginning to pay our dues. We aren’t just Cub Scouts any longer. I had no idea, you see, of what was going on. The sneaky son-of-a-bitch was trying to steal the idea of medicine from me, bit by tiny bit.”

“I’d suspect we may be doing much the same thing on our part,” said Thomas. “We’re handling some of those jokers out there far too gently, more than likely, than there is any need to. Going easy on them, afraid of doing something wrong and scaring them off. I would suspect this is because of our inferiority complex, brought about by the kind of company we’re keeping. Get a few more deals like your medicine show under our belts and we’ll no longer have it. We’ll be right up there with the rest of them.”

“I hesitated to ask him,” said Martin, “about why he was sticking with me. Like you say, I probably was afraid of scaring him off. But it bugged me, it had bugged me for a long time. So I thought, why not? why not be honest with him? And once I was honest with him, he decided to be honest with me. It does beat hell how things sometimes turn out.”

“I don’t suppose you had much time to talk about FTL today. That’s all right. Maybe a few days off may help. And now you’ll feel less guilty at the time Einstein spends on it. You can bear down a little harder on him.”

“No time on FTL today at all,” said Martin. “But you may be right. I’ve been doing some thinking about it. I talked with Mary Kay last night and she asked me if I stuck to hard fact all the time or if I paid some attention to my feelings, how I felt about it. I suppose she was trying to say hunches and not quite making it. I told her my feelings played no part in it. I’ve never let them play a part. I’ve tried to stick to the pure science of it—if, in fact, there is any science in it. This afternoon I got to thinking about it and maybe I was wrong …”

“And?”

“You know, Paul, I may finally have a handle on this FTL business. Not for certain, but maybe. A new way to go. For the last several weeks, I’ve been telling myself time could be the key factor and that I should be paying more attention to it. Has this project ever held any talk with some of our aliens about time?”

“I think so. Ten or fifteen years ago. We still have the record. It was fairly inconclusive, but we have stacks of data.”

“Except in a superficial way,” said Martin, “time can’t play too much of a part in any equation, although in many problems it can be a fairly critical factor. If we knew more about time, I told myself, not as a physical, but as a mental factor in FTL, we might turn the trick. Tying a mental concept of time into the equation …”

“You think it might work?”

“Not now. Not any more. I have a hunch that time may be a variable, that it runs differently in different sectors of the universe, or differently in the minds of different intelligences. But there is something that would be a constant. Eternity would be a constant factor. It wouldn’t vary; it would be the same everywhere.”

“My God, Jay, you aren’t talking about …”

“Not about arriving at an understanding of it, but I think we might work out a way it could be used as a constant. I’m going to take a shot at it. With it in mind, some of the other factors may come clear.”

“But eternity, Jay. This business about the universe coming to an end.”

“Mary Kay told me something else last night. Her hunch of what might be left when the universe is gone.”

“I know. She was in just a while ago. She spilled it all on me.”

“And what did you say?”

“Christ, Jay, what could I say? I patted her on the shoulder and told her to stay in there pitching.”

“But if she’s right, there’d be something beyond the end of the universe. There’d still be eternity. Maybe still infinity. Two constants. And room for something else to happen.”

“You’re getting me in beyond my depth, Jay.”

“Maybe I’m beyond my depth, too. But it’s a new approach. Maybe it can be handled. Tell Russell and Brown, when they start hassling you again, that we’re going at it from a fresh angle.”

Thomas sat a long time at the desk after Martin had left.

Last night, he thought, Allen had been no help when he’d talked with him. All the same old platitudes: don’t worry, sit on it, hang in there tight, make a decision only when you have to. And this afternoon he, himself, had been no help when Jay and Mary Kay had sat across the desk from him. Stay in there pitching, he’d told Mary Kay.

These are special people, he had told Allen. He had been right, of course. They were special, but how special? How far beyond the ordinary run of mankind? Dime store clerks and car hops and raw farm boys. But what happened to them when they ventured out among the stars and made contacts with the intelligences who dwelt on planets orbiting distant suns? Allen had said, or had it been he? That all that came through from the star-flung party line was not recorded in the memory banks—the pain, the sorrow, the doubt, the hope, the fear, the prejudices, the biases, and what else? Something beyond all human experience? Something that was soaked up, that was absorbed into the fiber and the fabric of the human telepaths who listened, who chatted and gossiped with their neighbors strung across the galaxies. A factor, or factors, that made them slightly more than human or, perhaps, a great deal more than human.

Mary Kay, with her talk of a place that would still persist after the universe was gone, quite naturally was crazy. Jay, with his talk of using eternity as a constant factor, was insane as well. But crazy and insane, of course, only by human standards. And these people, these telepaths of his (perhaps, almost certainly, undeniably) had gone far beyond humanity.

A special people, a new breed, their humanity cross pollinated by the subtle intricacies of alien contact, the hope of humankind?

Ambassadors to the universe? Industrial spies? Snoopers into places where man had little right to go? Explorers of the infinite?

Dammit, he thought, it made a man proud to be a member of the human race. Even if this special breed should finally become a race apart, they still stemmed from the same origins as all the other humans.

Might it be, he wondered, that in time some of the specialness would rub off on others such as he?

And, suddenly, without any thinking on it, without due consideration, without mulling it over, without using the slow, intricate, involved process of human thought, he arrived at faith. And was convinced, as well, that his faith was justified.

Time to go for broke, he told himself.

He reached over and punched the button for Evelyn.

“Get me Senator Brown,” he told her. “No, I don’t know where he is. Track him down, wherever he may be. I want to tell the old bastard that we’re finally on the track for FTL.”

This story of World War II air combat appeared in the June 1943 issue of Sky Raiders . It features members of Great Britain’s Royal Air Force, probably because it was written before the United States entered that war. The story was sent out to American Eagle in November 1941, and while I find the name of that magazine somewhat incongruous, I have concluded that the magazine may have tried to feature stories of Americans who joined the English or Canadian forces even before the United States entered the war. The protagonist of Cliff’s story seems to be such an American, although the story does not say so. At any rate, American Eagle and two other magazines had previously rejected the story. Sky Raiders took it, but they did not, however, send Cliff the twenty-five dollars he was promised until he wrote to complain. Perhaps that was to be expected from a magazine that cost just ten cents per issue.