Galactic Dreams

IF

We are there; we are correct. The computations were perfect. That is our destination below.”

“You are a worm,” 17 said to her companion, 35, who resembled her every way other than in number. “Yes — that is the correct place. But we are nine years too early. Look at the meter.”

“I am a worm. I shall free you of the burden of my useless presence.” 35 removed her knife from the scabbard and tested the edge, which proved to be exceedingly sharp. She placed it against the white wattled width of her neck and prepared to cut her throat.

“Not now,” 17 hissed. “We are shorthanded already and your corpse would be valueless to this expedition. Get us to the correct time at once. Our power is limited, you may remember.”

“It shall be done as you command,” 35 said as she slithered to the bank of controls. 44 had ignored the talk, keeping her multi cellular eyes focused intently on the power control bank: constantly making adjustments with her spatulate fingers in response to the manifold dials.

“That is it,” 17 announced, rasping her hands together with pleasure. “The correct time, the correct place. We must descend and make our destiny. Give praise to the Saur of All, who rules the destinies of all.”

“Praise Saur,” her two companions muttered, all of their attention on the controls.

Straight down from the blue sky the globular vehicle fell. It was round and featureless, save for the large rectangular port on the bottom now, and made of some sort of green metal, perhaps anodized aluminium, though it looked harder. It had no visible means of flight or support, yet it fell at a steady and controlled rate. Slower and slower it moved until it dropped from sight behind the ridge at the northern end of Johnson’s Lake, just at the edge of the tall pine grove. There were fields nearby, with cows, who did not appear at all disturbed by the visitor. No human being was in sight to view the landing beside the path that cut in from the lake here: a scuffed dirt trail that led to the highway.

An oriole sat on a bush and warbled sweetly; a small rabbit hopped from the field to nibble a stem of grass. This bucolic and peaceful scene was interrupted by the scuff of feet down the trail and a high-pitched and singularly monotonous whistling. The bird flew away, a touch of soundless color, while the rabbit disappeared into the hedge. A boy came over the rise from the direction of the lake shore. He wore ordinary boy clothes and carried a schoolbag in one hand, a homemade cage of wire screen in the other. In the cage was a small lizard which clung to the screen, its eyes rolling in what presumably was fear. The boy, whistling shrilly, trudged along the path and into the shade of the pine grove.

“Boy,” a high-pitched and tremulous voice called out.

“Can you hear me, boy?”

“I certainly can,” the boy said, stopping and looking around for the unseen speaker. “Where are you?”

“I am by your side, but I am invisible. I am your fairy godmother ….”

The boy made a rude sound by sticking out his tongue and blowing across it while it vibrated. “I don’t believe in invisibility or fairy godmothers. Come out of those woods, whoever you are.”

“All boys believe in fairy godmothers,” the voice said, but a worried tone edged the words now. “I know all kinds of secrets. I know your name is Don and …”

“Everyone knows my name is Don and no one believes anymore in fairies. Boys now believe in rockets, submarines, and atomic energy.”

“Would you believe in space travel?”

“I would.”

Slightly relieved the voice came on stronger and deeper. “I did not wish to frighten you, but I am really from Mars and have just landed ….”

Don made the rude noise again. “Mars has no atmosphere and no observable forms of life. Now come out of there and stop playing games.”

After a long silence the voice said, “Would you consider time travel?”

“I could. Are you going to tell me that you are from the future?”

With relief: “Yes I am.”

“Then come out where I can see you.”

“There are some things that the human eye should not look upon ….

“Horseapples! The human eye is okay for looking at anything you want to name. You come out of there so I can see who you are — o r I’m leaving.”

“It is not advisable.”

The voice was exasperated. “I can prove I am a temporal traveler by telling you the answers to tomorrow’s mathematics test. Wouldn’t that be nice? Number one, 1.76. Number two….”

“I don’t like to cheat, and even if I did you can’t cheat on the new math. Either you know it or you fail it. I’m going to count to ten, then I’m leaving.”

“No, you cannot! I must ask you a favor. Release that common lizard you have trapped and I will give you three wishes — I mean, answer three questions.”

“Why should I let it go?”

“Is that the first of your questions?”

“No. I want to know what’s going on before I do anything. This lizard is special. I never saw another one like it around here.”

“You are right. It is an Old World acrodont lizard of the order Rhiptoglossa, commonly called a chameleon.”

“It is!” Don was really interested now. He squatted in the path and took a red-covered book from his schoolbag and laid it on the ground. He turned the cage until the lizard was on the bottom and placed it carefully on the book. “Will it really turn color?”

“To an observable amount, yes. Now if you release her ….”

“How do you know it’s a her? Is it your time-traveler knowledge-of-the past again?”

“If you must know, yes. The creature was purchased from a pet store by one Jim Benan, and she is one of a pair. They were both released two days ago when Benan, deranged by the voluntary drinking of a liquid containing quantities of ethyl alcohol, sat on the cage. The other, unfortunately, died of his wounds, and this one alone survives. The release….”

“I think this whole thing is a joke and I’m going home now. Unless you come out of there so I can see who you are.”

“I warn you….”

“Goodbye.”

Don picked up the cage. “Hey, she turned sort of brick red!”

“Do not leave. I will come forth.”

Don looked on, with a great deal of interest, while the creature walked out from between the trees. It was blue, had large and goggling, independently moving eyes, wore a neatly cut brown jumpsuit, and had a pack slung on its back. It was also only about seven inches tall.

“You don’t much look like a man from the future,” Don said. “In fact you don’t look like a man at all. You’re too small.”

“I might say that you are too big: size is a matter of relevancy. And I am from the future, though I am not a man.”

“That’s for sure. In fact you look a lot like a lizard.”

In sudden inspiration, Don looked back and forth at the traveler and at the cage. “In fact you look a good deal like this chameleon here. What’s the connection?”

“That is not to be revealed. You will now do as I command or I will injure you gravely.”

17 turned and waved toward the woods. “35, this is an order. Appear and destroy that leafed growth over there.”

Don looked on with increasing interest as the green basketball of metal drifted into sight from under the trees. A circular disk slipped away on one side and a gleaming nozzle, not unlike the hose nozzle on a toy firetruck, appeared through the opening. It pointed toward a hedge a good thirty feet away. A shrill whining began from the depths of the sphere, rising in pitch until it was almost inaudible. Then, suddenly, a thin line of light spat out towards the shrub, which crackled and instantly burst into flame. Within a second it was a blackened skeleton.

“The device is called a roxidizer, and is deadly,” 17 said. “Release the chameleon at once or we will turn it on you.”

Don scowled. “All right. Who wants the old lizard anyway.”

He put the cage on the ground and started to open the cover. Then he stopped and sniffed. Picking up the cage again he started across the grass toward the blackened bush.

“Come back!” 17 screeched. “We will fire if you go another step.”

Don ignored the lizardoid, which was now dancing up and down in an agony of frustration, and ran to the bush. He put his hand out and apparently right through the charred stems.

“I thought something was fishy,” he said. “All that burning and everything just upwind of me and I couldn’t smell a thing.”

He turned to look at the time traveler, who was slumped in gloomy silence. “It’s just a projected image of some kind, isn’t it? Some kind of three-dimensional movie.”

He stopped in sudden thought, then walked over to the still hovering temporal transporter. When he poked at it with his finger he apparently pushed his hand right into it.

“And this thing isn’t here either. Are you?”

“There is no need to experiment. I, and our ship, are present only as what might be called temporal echoes. Matter cannot be moved through time, that is an impossibility, but the concept of matter can be temporally projected. I am sure that this is too technical for you ….”

“You’re doing great so far. Carry on.”

“Our projections are here in a real sense to us, though we can only be an image or a sound wave to any observers in the time we visit. Immense amounts of energy are required and almost the total resources of our civilization are involved in this time transfer.”

“Why? And the truth for a change. No more fairy godmother and that kind of malarkey.”

“I regret the necessity to use subterfuge, but the secret is too important to reveal casually without attempting other means of persuasion.”

“Now we get to the real story.”

Don sat down and crossed his legs comfortably. “Give.”

“We need your aid, or our very society is threatened. Very recently, on our time scale, strange disturbances were detected by our instruments. Ours is a simple saurian existence, some million or so years in the future, and our race is dominant. Your race has long since vanished — in a manner too horrible to mention to your young ears. Now something is threatening our entire race. Research quickly uncovered the fact that we are about to be overwhelmed by a probability wave that will completely destroy us. A great wave of negation is sweeping toward us from our remote past.”

“You wouldn’t mind tipping me off to what a probability wave is, would you?”

“I will take an example from your own literature. If your grandfather had died without marrying, you would not have been born and would not now exist.”

“But I do.”

“The matter is debatable in the greater xan-probability universe, but we shall not discuss that now. Our power is limited. To put the affair simply, we traced our ancestral lines back through all the various mutations and changes until we found the individual protolizard from which our line sprung.”

“Let me guess.” Don pointed at the cage. “This is the one?”

“She is.”

17 spoke in solemn tones, as befitted the moment. “Just as somewhen, somewhere there is a prototarsier from which your race sprung, so is there before us this temporal mother of ours. She will bear young soon, and they will breed and grow in this pleasant valley. The rocks near the lake have an appreciable amount of radioactivity, which will cause mutations. The centuries will roll by and, one day, our race will reach its heights of glory.”

“Sounds great.”

“It is — or it will be. But none of this will happen if you do not open that cage.”

Don rested his chin on his fist and thought. “You’re not putting me on anymore? This is the truth?”

17 drew herself up and waved both arms-or rather her front legs-over her head. “By the Saur of All, I promise,” she intoned. “By the stars eternal, the seasons vernal, the clouds, the sky, the matriarchal I ….”

“Just cross your heart and hope to die, that will be good enough for me.”

The lizardoid moved its eyes in concentric circles and performed this ritual.

“Okay then, I’m as softhearted as the next guy when it comes to wiping out whole races.”

Don unbent the piece of wire that sealed the cage and opened the top. The chameleon rolled one eye up at him and looked at the opening with the other. 17 watched in awed silence and the time vehicle bobbed closer.

“Get going,” Don said, and shook the lizard out into the grass.

This time the chameleon took the hint and scuttled away among the bushes, vanishing from sight.

“That takes care of the future,” Don said. “Or the past from your point of view.”

17 and the time machine vanished silently and Don was alone again on the path.

“Well you could of at least said thanks before taking off like that. People have more manners than lizards any day I’ll tell you that.”

He picked up the now-empty cage and his schoolbag and started for home.

He had not heard the quick rustle in the bushes, nor did he see the prowling tomcat with the limp chameleon in its jaws.