Pohl, Frederik - The Far Shore of Time

I didn’t expect much from that. Position emission tomography is pretty good at sorting out facts from fantasy, because those two files seem to be stored in different parts of the brain, but it takes three or four hours to test a single subject. Marcus had not only the couple hundred people at Camp Smolley to test but all the ones at Hampton Roads as well. The good part of that was that it kept him out of my hair.

And then even Hilda left me alone. When I finished my breakfast it was Dan M. who was waiting for me outside my room. “I’m your new shepherd, Dan,” he told me wryly. “Hope that’s all right with you. Hilda couldn’t put her dialysis off any longer, so she’s out of commission for the rest of the day.”

“Fine,” I said, more or less meaning it. I still wasn’t entirely easy in the company of this other myself, but as the day went on it got better. He wasn’t just someone to talk to, he was that nearly ideal person for a conversation who was nearly ideal because he had the advantage of thinking exactly the way I did. As we moved from one appointment to another we chatted about what was going on around us, and if nothing new came out of any of the chat, at least it was useful to be able to talk, but then the world obtruded itself on us.

We were just entering the chamber where the techs waited when every screen in the area turned itself on at once, and when we saw what was on all those screens it took our minds right off the planned questions.

The Scarecrows were talking to us again.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

At least the Scarecrows were no longer going to the trouble of faking the face of a human being to deliver their little homilies. The creature displayed on the screen was unquestionably a Dopey. He was squatting comfortably on a gold-colored cushion, his little hands busy in his belly bag. Behind his head was a pretty background landscape, distant hills and fleecy white clouds in a blue, blue and very Earthly sky. All faked, no doubt. The Dopey was doing his best to look amiable and trustworthy, not an easy job for a Dopey. When he spoke his voice had the cajoling quality of a late-night, golden-oldie disk jockey.

“You know who I am,” he said, the little cat eyes gleaming, his fan spread in glorious iridescence. “I have spoken to you before, bearing the generous messages of our Beloved Leaders, who know what is best for all of us and whose patience is great-but not without limit.”

His plume darkened and his voice became sorrowful. “But you are a willful species,” he scolded. “You have betrayed the trust of the Beloved Leaders. You have wickedly stolen a vehicle which is their property. You have begun the construction of armed spacecraft. And you have done even worse. You have brought to your planet a representative of the despicable Horch.

“The Beloved Leaders cannot permit this to go on.

“Therefore they command you to take two steps. Within the next four days you must broadcast an invitation for representatives of the Beloved Leaders to come to your planet. And, as a token of good faith, you must rid yourself of this evil monster, the Horch. Kill him. Do so in a public place. Broadcast his execution. And when he is dead amputate all of his limbs and head. Let it be seen that this is done, so there can be no question of the sort of trickery you have shown yourself capable of.”

He raised himself on his little legs and peered sternly into the camera. “Four days!” he said sternly. “If you have not complied by that time, at that hour you and your entire race will die.”

He stood silent for a moment, then sank back on his cushion. The colors of his peacock tail brightened into soft pastels and his tone became wheedling.

“You must understand,” he said, “that the Beloved Leaders seek no personal gain from you. It is for your own good-indeed, if you force them to put an end to your lives, even that is for your good, since it will speed your way to the Eschaton.

“The Beloved Leaders know that, in your present primitive state, this is frightening to you, for it is what you call ‘death.’ But death is only an incident. It will come sooner or later to each of you-the temporary death which all organisms experience. It is not to be feared. It is only the way which we must all pass, in order to reach that great eternity of the Eschaton.

“Yet the Beloved Leaders do not wish to take this step unless you force them to it. It would be tragic if your entire species went prematurely to the Eschaton. You are a young race. You have not attained full development. You cannot ever achieve that on your own. That can only happen to you under the wise and benevolent guidance of the Beloved Leaders. That generous proposal is still open to you, but you must act now. Destroy that vile Horch. Invite our people to come to you. Accept the great gift that is offered you.

“Remember, four days! And if you have not done as instructed, at the very moment of the end of that time you and all your species will immediately perish.”

And the Dopey curled his lipless little mouth into what he might have thought of as a friendly smile, and his image faded from the screen.

Next to me Dan M. was wearing the strangest expression I’d ever seen on his face, part anger, a lot confusion; mostly he looked as though he were either going to laugh or cry. “But, Dan,” he complained, “how? The Pats guarantee that there’s absolutely nothing in orbit that can get here in four days! Do you think he’s bluffing?”

I was staring at the blank screen, hardly hearing him. “No,” I said, “I think it’s worse than that. I think maybe we’ve been worrying about the wrong thing. I’d better talk to Hilda right away.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-T W O

When I got to Hilda’s room she was there, all right, but the medics didn’t want to let me in. “She was sleeping,” the doctor in charge told me. “We woke her up after we saw the message from the Scarecrows. She’s watching a replay now, but she doesn’t want any visitors while she’s undergoing dialysis ...”

I didn’t argue with the man. I just pushed him out of the way. As I opened her door I called, “Hilda? Sorry to break in on you, but-“

And then I stopped, because I saw why Hilda Morrisey didn’t want any visitors.

I had never seen Hilda like that before. It was bad enough trying to get used to her white-enameled box. This was worse. She was out of her steel-enamel shell, but she still didn’t look anything like the Hilda I used to know. She was lying flat on an airbed, with tubes going into her in a dozen places and a sort of steel corset surrounding her upper body. The thing pulsed rhythmically, because it was doing Hilda’s breathing for her. Apart from that, all she was wearing was one of those inadequate hospital shifts, and she looked smaller, older and more defenseless than I had ever imagined her before. The sheet that had been thrown over her didn’t hide the fact that there wasn’t much left of Hilda Morrisey.

But she spoke right up as soon as she saw me. “It isn’t going to be a comet, is it, Danno?” she demanded. “It’s something to do with the subs, isn’t it?”

She had put her finger right on it; it was what I had picked up on as soon as I heard the Dopey speak.

The fact that Hilda was ahead of me again didn’t surprise me; she often was, which was what made her bearable as a boss. Her voice did surprise me, though. It was the voice of the authentic Hilda Morrisey. I guess most of the toxins must have been dialyzed out of her blood by then. She still looked terrible, but not pathetic anymore. I said, “I think so, yes. But I want to get something settled first.” I hesitated, then got to the point. “We aren’t going to kill Beert for them, Hilda. No matter what. I won’t let that happen, and that’s definite.”