The Shield of Time

XIX

At the end of two days’ hard work, it was good to stand for a while and become one with the land. Zigger’s retreat overlooked the river, which ran like fire beneath the westerning sun. Steep forested slopes rose from the opposite shore. On this side, the view off the terrace was of lawns and rosebeds that sloped down to the water. Oak leaves rustled above Koskinen, an apple tree stood heavy with fruit, a fir sighed hi the breeze, a thrush chirped. The million scents bewitched him.

But “now” is an infinitesimal. As the pleasant weariness of labor began to leave his body, his mind took possession and he could no longer feel joy.

Why not? he asked himself. My job’s done, the shelter’s finished. Our word is already out to the world. And we still have peace.

We won’t much longer…

We’ll have it again, or be dead.

Can’t say I want to be dead.

What happened next, and how soon, depended on how fast his enemies could trace him. The airplane might well have been seen to land here. Certainly it had left a clear mark, plowing up the golf course with the rear skid that it used in lieu of wheel brakes. Nobody in the village, a few miles away, suspected that he and Vivienne had burgled their way into the house. The locals must be used to odd goings-on at Mr. Van Velt’s place; and Vivienne was known to them, under a different name. It was unlikely, too, that she would be identified with the hunted woman. She had tricks of makeup and expression that made her look utterly different from the broadcast picture, without appearing a stranger to the deliverymen from the stores.

Nevertheless, there was bound to be gossip. Why was she here alone, without Mr. Van Velt or a servant or anything? Why had she ordered a midget bulldozer sent to the place, a fork lift truck, a mess of lumber and concrete blocks, when she arrived yesterday? Some official might hear the story and begin wondering himself.

From the other end of the trail, too, there were probably clues pointing in this direction. Men must have been captured by MS at the Crater, and some of them doubtless knew about this country estate, and interrogation might bring out what they knew. The enemy was efficient.

Doubts assailed Koskinen. His hopes were tenuous, after all, based on little more than a feeling of how cause and effect ought to develop in a rational world; and surely this world was anything but rational. Might it not be best to flee on?

No. Sooner or later, you had to make a stand. Koskinen drew another breath of Earth’s air.

Vivienne emerged through the French doors. “Whew!” she said. “I’m hoarse as a frog and my fingertips are raw from button pushing. I do hope you’ll agree I’ve called enough people, while you were making that fortress.”

“I’m sure you have,” he said. “We may as well relax now.”

“Wonderful. I’ll rustle up a real supper to celebrate.”

“You mean heat two packages?” he teased.

“I do not. I mean an old-fashioned individually prepared supper, using my own hands and brain in the making. I really am a fair cook.” The forced lightness left her tone. She came to stand beside him. “We won’t have many more chances.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “Perhaps a few days, though.”

She laid an arm about his waist and her head on his shoulder. “I wish I could do something more for you, Pete, than just make you a meal.”

“Why?” His face turned hot. He stared fixedly across the river.

“I owe you so much.”

“No. Nothing. You’ve saved me…I don’t know how many times…and still it’s little compared to that business of the locket.” He touched the chain. “I don’t think I ever want this taken off.”

“Does it mean that much to you, Pete? Really?”

“Yes. Because you see…you suddenly became someone I belong with, the way I do with my shipmates. I can’t ever repay you that.”

“You know,” she whispered, “that’s pretty much the way I feel about you.”

Abruptly she pulled free of him and ran back into the house. He wondered why, and wanted to follow her, but checked himself. The situation was delicate, the two of them alone here, and he didn’t want to risk spoiling that which he saw developing by too great a haste.

However, his restlessness had been aroused. He felt a need to do something. Might as well make a few more calls while she fixes that meal, he decided. The more the better. He went into the living room and threaded his way among luxurious furniture to the phone.

The note pad showed him that Vivienne, on her last batch of messages, had covered half a dozen numbers in different cities of India. The Americas and Europe had previously been taken care of. Koskinen reflected upon his school geography. Where would be a strategic place to try next? The idea was to scatter the information as widely as possible.

China? No, he couldn’t quite bring himself to that. The average Chinese was a decent, kindly man…of course…the average anybody was. But the current government of China—Okay, let the Chinese find out from someone else. Koskinen punched for the operator. “English-language Tokyo directory,” he said.

With a helpfully inhuman lack of curiosity, the robot flashed a page onto his screen. Koskinen turned the reel knob until he came to the listing for Engineers. He copied down several home and office numbers at random, cleared the board, and punched the first number, adding the RX which internationally directed the receiving instrument to record. A flat Oriental face looked out at him, puzzled. This job was easier when no one was at home.

“I am Peter Koskinen,” he rattled. He had spelled Vivienne occasionally in the past couple of days. He offered a mechanical smile. “News service will confirm for you that I have lately returned from Mars with the Franz Boas expedition. I have brought with me a device which confers virtual invulnerability on the user. To prevent its suppression, I am publicizing the physical principles, engineering specifications, and operating instructions on a worldwide basis.”

The Japanese got a word in edgewise, doubtless to the effect that he didn’t speak English and this was some mistake. Koskinen held the first sheet of his treatise up to him, then the next and the next, as fast as he was able. (Preparing it hadn’t been a very long job, since he and Vivienne recalled quite clearly the plans they had drawn in the Crater.) A few people had switched off, impatient with an obvious lunatic, but this man watched with growing interest. Koskinen felt sure he’d take his tape to someone who could read a playback, frame by frame. And if only a fraction of the many who had been called would try the gadget out, word would get around—inevitably.

Koskinen finished, said goodbye, and started on the next number. Vivienne’s shout interrupted him.

He cursed and dashed back onto the terrace.

She poised there, bowstring taut, pointing into the sky. Four long black aircars whistled down the evening sunbeams. He saw the Military Security emblem on their flanks.

“I spotted them from the kitchen window.” Vivienne’s voice wavered. “So soon?”

“We must have left a clearer trail for them than I hoped.”

“But—” She caught his hand in cold fingers and struggled not to cry.

“Come on,” he urged. They returned to the living room, picked up the screen generator, and hurried out onto the patio in the rear. It was a wide flagstoned area surrounded by willows and roses, the clear view making it a good place for a stand. Koskinen had torn up much of the floor with the ’dozer, dug a pit and roofed it with concrete blocks. Food packages, miscellaneous containers of water, bedding, and such necessities were stowed within. There was also a rifle from Zigger’s gun cabinet, and a minicom for parley purposes. Koskinen took the shield generator down inside and flipped the switch.

He had adjusted it so the barrier shell enclosed the little blockhouse and a section of outside floor in a cylindroid about twenty feet long. The flagstones made a loud crack as the field, expanding from zero to finite thickness, cut them in two. Then stillness descended.

“Okay,” Koskinen said. “We’re safe now, Veevee.”

She crept into his arms, buried her face against his breast and trembled.

“What’s wrong?” He laid his other hand below her chin and tilted her face toward his. “Aren’t you glad we can start hitting back?”

“If…if we realty can—” She could not stop the tears any longer. “I thought we’d have some time together. The two of us.”

“Yes,” he said, “that would have been nice.”

She stiffened her shoulders. “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me.”

He forgot shyness and kissed her lightly on the lips. They did not notice the agents who came around the house, in plain clothes but armed, running in the crouched zigzag of soldiers. Not until an aircar passed overhead, momentarily blocking off the sunlight, did Koskinen see that the enemy had landed.

He had looked forward to some comic relief when they tried to break in, but by the time Vivienne was seated on the low blockhouse roof and smoking a cigarette with some return of coolness, the siege had settled down. Two dozen hard young men ringed the patio with weapons.

Koskinen walked to the invisible wall and tapped his minicom. A man nodded and called something. Koskinen was only mildly surprised when Hugh Marcus himself came from the house with a transceiver on his own wrist.

They confronted each other, a yard apart, an uncrossable few centimeters raised between. Marcus smiled. “Hello, there, Pete,” he said.

Coldness surged up: “Mr. Koskinen to you.”

“Now you’re being childish,” Marcus said. “This whole escapade has been so fantastic, in fact, that I can only guess you’ve gone psycho.”

Gently again: “Come on out and let us cure you. For your own sake. Please.”

“Cure me of my memory? Or my life?”

“Do stop being so theatrical.”

“Where’s Dave Abrams?”

“He—”

“Bring my shipmates here,” Koskinen said. “You admit you have them. Let them stand immediately outside this barrier. I’ll readjust it to include them. If they then tell me you’ve only kept them for their own protection, I’ll come out and beg your humble pardon. Otherwise I’ll stay put till the sun freezes.”

Marcus reddened. “Do you know what you’re doing? You’re setting yourself against the government of the United States.”

“Oh? How? Perhaps I am guilty of resisting arrest, but I have not committed any treason in the Constitutional sense. Let’s take the case to court. My lawyer will argue that the arrest was wrongful. Because you know I haven’t done anything to rate it.”

“What? Why, your misappropriation of government property—”

“Uh-uh.” Koskinen shook his head. “I’m prepared to turn this gadget over to the proper authority at any time. The Astronautical Authority, that is. The articles of the expedition said in plain language—”

Marcus’s forefinger lanced out. “Treason, yes! You’re withholding something vital to the security of the United States.”

“Has Congress passed a law regulating the use of potential barrier fields? Has there even been a Presidential proclamation? Sorry, chum. The articles I signed never said a word about secrecy. Contrariwise. We were expected to publish our findings.”

Marcus stood silent a space, then threw back his head and stated flatly: “I’ve got better things to do than argue with an incompetent amateur lawyer. You’re under arrest. If you continue to resist, we’ll burn you out.”

“Have fun,” said Koskinen. He walked back to Vivienne. The figures outside ran here and there, and soon three of them returned carrying laser guns.

“So they actually deduced that,” Vivienne said on a note like terror.

“Sure, I never doubted they would. They’re not stupid, much.” Koskinen slipped down into the pit with her. They settled themselves on the supply pile.

Sunlight filtered through the openings, touching her hair with a crow’s wing sheen. His heart thudded as he looked at her. The lasers opened fire and she gripped his hand tightly. But those beams, which could burn through armor plate, were unable to do more than warm the concrete and earth mass of the blockhouse very slightly.

After a while, Marcus’s voice said from his minicom: “Let’s talk again.”

“If it amuses you,” Koskinen answered. “But on condition you keep those silly heat rays elsewhere.”

“All right,” Marcus said furiously.

“My partner will stay inside here, in case you do try to snipe me,” Koskinen warned. “She’s as stubborn about this business as I am.” Not without trepidation, he emerged and went toward Marcus.

The chief looked almost bemused. He ran a hand through his gray hair. “What’s your game, Koskinen? What do you want?”

“First, my friends released.”

“But they wouldn’t be safe!”

“Stop lying. A police escort would be ample for them, if there really is any danger. Since you haven’t produced them yet, I know why they’re being held and I can make a pretty good guess how most of them have been treated. My second point would make them perfectly safe anyhow, since there’d be no more reason to snatch them. I want the facts about the shield, including how to manufacture one, made public.”

“What!” Marcus seemed genuinely aghast, so much so that the agents near him stepped closer. He waved them back and stared at Koskinen. Long gold-colored light fell across both men and glowed on the leaves behind.

“You’re crazy,” Marcus said. “You don’t know what it’d mean.”

“So tell me,” Koskinen invited.

“Why, every crook would be immune to the police—”

“Wouldn’t every honest citizen be immune to the crook? Let this thing be refined further, let it be engineered into a pocketsize gadget which lets you move about freely while the screen is up, and I’d guess there’ll be a nearly complete end to personal violence. Confidence men and such can still be arrested, you know, by restraining their movements. It’d be more difficult than now, but the gain to society would justify that.”

“Maybe so. But I’ll tell you what else it would end.” Marcus thrust out his jaw. “The Protectorate. Do you want the atomic wars back?”

“The Protectorate won’t be needed any more.”

“Can this thing withstand an atomic bomb?”

“N-no. Not a direct hit or a near miss. But a larger unit would be able to. Every city could be equipped with a generator, that would go on automatically when a missile was detected. The only danger would be from bombs smuggled in, and that isn’t too hard to guard against, as you well know.”

“There are a billion Chinese, Koskinen. A billion—can you understand that number? We sit on the lid only because we could destroy them faster than they could charge us. If our weapons were useless against them—”

“Why, then you’d simply turn on your own barrier field. You won’t see hordes marching across the Bering Strait one winter, or sailing across the Pacific, if that’s what you’re afraid of. They’d be too easy to stop…without any shooting, even. A big potential barrier, with the generator anchored to bedrock, would do it.”

Koskinen saw Marcus’s face change. Could the idea possibly be getting across? Hope flared in him. “Look,” he continued, “you’re missing the essential point. Not only is war going to become impractical, it isn’t even going to be tried. You need a stern government and a regimented populace to organize modern war. And how long do you think any government can last that isn’t popular—easygoing—when any citizen can tell his masters to go take a running dive? Don’t worry about Wang’s dictatorship. Six months from now Wang’ll be cowering inside his own barrier field with a mob waiting to starve him out!”

Marcus leaned forward. “Do you realize the same thing could happen here?” he asked most softly.

“Sure,” Koskinen said. “And long overdue.”

“Do you want anarchy, then?”

“No. Only freedom. Limited government and individual independence. The hard, practical ability of a man to say ‘no’ when he feels some demand on him—by society or by another individual—is outrageous; and to make his ‘no’ stick. Wasn’t that always the American ideal? There may be some upheaval here and there as the world readjusts, but I’d call that a small price for a return to Jefferson’s principles. ‘The tree of liberty must be watered from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants’—remember? And in this case I don’t expect any blood would be shed except the tyrants’.”

Koskinen lowered his voice, which had rung out with the old brave words. “I know you hate to see your job made obsolete,” he said. “A job you believe in. But you’ll have plenty to do, helping the transition along. You’ll have more fun, even, in a world that’s begun bubbling again, instead of this surly garrison state. Let’s be friends, shall we?”

The director stood motionless. A breeze ruffled his hair, and Koskinen wished he too could feel Earth’s air moving over him. The sun slipped low.

Marcus raised his eyes and rasped, “This has gone far enough. If you don’t surrender at once, you’ll be in real trouble.”

Koskinen tried to answer, but couldn’t. He swallowed grief and wrath, snapped off his transmission, and went back to Vivienne.

“No go?” she asked. A glow globe lit the bunker, where darkness had already entered. She knelt by some packages she was opening. He shook his head and sat down. Weariness began to drag at him.

“Do eat,” she urged. “I’m afraid it isn’t the supper I promised you, though. I’ll give you a rain check on that.”

“I’d like to see rain again,” he sighed.

She stopped what she was doing. “Don’t you expect to?”

“Oh, I have hopes. Hope is all we’ve got to go on.” He leaned back against the supply pile and stared at his hands.

Vivienne finished her work and made him take some nourishment.. “Now lie down for a while,” she said. He didn’t resist, but laid his head in her lap. Sleep came like a blow.