The tomorrow people

The Shack—Wednesday, October 5, 4 P.M. (C.S.T.)

She switched off the half-track engine, and as the spotlight faded, the world directly ahead of her blinked out.

She opened the cab door and stepped out into heaven. Above her, the gorgeous enormous full Earth, gleaming blue-greenly against the black velvet stardiamonded backdrop of everywhere—always out there.

And right ahead, now, the muted twin glows of the Shack itself and the Shack guardhouse.

She flashed on her helmet lamp, picked her way over Moon crust to the guardhouse. Looked in, exchanged smiles, and went on to the Shack.

She sat down in front of the tank, where the greyish-white ganglions had long since ceased to show discrete patterns. Now they crowded together, piled on each other, multiplied, multiplying. The daily “watering” of a month ago would have been hopelessly inadequate now; a steady trickle of nutrient fed the tank from a storage drum—and even the daily ten gallons hardly seemed to account for the burgeoning of the white cells.

Lisa looked. Watched. Stared. And listened.

A nagging thought stopped her. She switched on her radio.

“Jim?”

“That you, Miss Trovi?” From the guardhouse.

“Yes. I meant to ask—will you call me at six? I want to get back for dinner tonight.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks.”

She switched off, and let herself drift into—what? where?—

Far out. Or far in? That used to be a joke, so far out you’re in, so far in you’re out, but it’s no joke, it’s not funny, it’s fun.

Swing on a star ... climb up a moonbeam ... featherlight, fearfree, far sands of home.... Hello!... Hello, I know you, don’t I?... Don’t know your name, but ... funny-fun! ... the soul is familiar....

Foolish to want a name. Baby has no name. What name for baby? Doug, we’ll call him Doug.... Hello, Doug....

... and the well opened up again, great valentine lake of lovelygood, lace-edged, beating heart, two hearts in three-quarter phase....

Where are you? Hello? Hello?

Oh!

“Oh. Oh, hi. Six already?”

“No,” Jim, the guard, was leaning over her, helmet to helmet. “They been trying to call you from Dome, Miss Trovi. We kept gettin’ the call on our sets, but you didn’t answer, so I figure your radio’s off, and come in to tell you.”

“Oh. Thanks, Jim.”

She switched on the helmet set.

“Hello?”

“Lee! Thank God! You had us worried. Been trying to get you the last twenty minutes!”

“Who’s that? Thad?”

“Yuh. Listen, we’ve a call for you. Earthside. Better hurry. We can’t hold the frequency much longer.”

Earthside?

“Johnny!” She jumped up. “Hold it, Thad,” she said. “I’m on my way.”

Mexcity—Wednesday, October 5, 5:35 P.M. (C.S.T.)

“I’m sorry, Johnny. We’ve been doing our damnedest. She’s on her way back now, but Relay will cut out in two minutes.”

The distant voice was Chris’, but yet not Chris. He couldn’t get through, somehow.

“Okay,” he said. “Look, I don’t have to talk to her. Will you send her down?”

“I’ll tell her you called. I’ll tell her you asked her to come. I can’t send her, Johnny.”

“Okay.” Bastard! You’ll tell her—yeah! But what? What can you tell her to be so sure she won’t want to come? “Okay. If that’s it, that’s it.”

“I’ll tell her,” the voice named Chris said again.

“Hey! Chris! Listen!” He felt his throat tighten up, but the words squeezed past. “Chris! If she—never mind if—Chris, can you make room for me to come up Sunday? Maybe she ought to stay—”

“I don’t know—”

“We-are-sorry-to-interrupt-this-call-but-Relay-Station-has-passed-out-of-range-This-is-a-recorded-message-We-are-sorry-to-interrupt—”

The sound cut out. Johnny turned from the mike, and saw Jed’s hand on the switch.

“Well,” he said. “Thanks. I—appreciate everything.”

Harbridge took a single step forward. “All right, Johnny. I’m glad we could get you through. Wish you’d connected better. But I imagine she’ll be down Sunday. She is on the subpoena list, you know, so—”

“She is?” He hadn’t even read that. He’d forgotten about it. The headline was all he saw, really. “You—wouldn’t care to tell me where Phil Kutler is?” he asked, feeling the ice in his gut again, just like he felt it when he saw the paper, her name, and Phil’s picture.

DANCER PREGNANT, SAYS MOON DOC

“No. No, I don’t think I’d care to tell you that, John. In fact—Al, I think I hear your phone.” He looked meaningfully at the young man, who undraped himself from the corner of the desk, mock-saluted, and left. “Now let’s get something straight, John,” Harbridge said. “I got your call through. That’s as far as I go. You had no damn business coming in here again. If you had half a brain, you’d realize what it means if they get you into that hearing room now. If you care about Lisa at all—Well, that’s your affair. But you busting in here is my business. This is the last time you do it. Try it again, and you’ll find yourself in the jug before you’re halfway in the main door. You follow me?”

“All the way,” Johnny said. “Sir.”

“All right. I’m going to do one more thing for you, and then I’m through. I wouldn’t do it for you; but it happens to be more convenient for me this way. I’m going to get you the hell out of here without any of the process servers who are outside by now getting hold of you. After that, will you please, kindly, get lost?”

“I hear you talking,” Johnny said tightly. “I’m not sure I follow you though.”

“You follow me all right. Come on.”

Johnny followed. There was nothing else he could do. What counted now was Lisa, Lisa and nothing else. No one else. If he had to eat Jed Harbridge’s crud, he could do that too. And remember it too—but for now, he followed. He followed the General up to the private parking roof, and accepted the loan of a heli, and took off.

For where?

Home seemed less unlikely than most other places.

Dollars Dome—Thursday, October 6, 2 P.M.

The woman was positively glowing at him.

“You do understand, Lee? I can’t take a chance on letting him come up. Not now. Maybe in a month or so, if things quiet down. But one more mess now—I’m sorry to put it that way, Lisa—”

“I do understand, Chris.” She smiled impishly. “Anyhow, you wanted publicity, didn’t you?”

“God help me, I did.” He looked at her suspiciously. “You know, I keep feeling as if you’re just sitting there waiting for me to do a reverse switch and tell you I’ve changed my mind and sure he can come.”

“Well, it would be nice. Do you think it would help if I concentrated?”

“Concentrate any harder, and—I don’t know. I know I won’t change my mind. If I could, I would have, by now.”

“All right, then.” But she still sat, smiling.

“You sure you don’t want to go, after all?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be a good idea.” Her laughter poured out. “I can just see myself on that witness stand!”

He winced. She stood up.

“It’s all right, dear. I’m not going down. Tell them to come get me, if they want me that much.”

He tried visualizing that one, and liked it. “I might just do that,” he said, and then reluctantly: “About Johnny, Lee. What do you want me to do?”

“Let him come up.”

Damn you, woman! You know what I mean. “Short of that,” he said gruffly.

“Give him my love. Tell him I want him to come.”

“You don’t want to—well, send a letter or anything? I could deliver it myself. Privacy—”

She hesitated. “No. No, I don’t think that’s the way. Oh, Chris, don’t worry so! If I’m not worried, why should you be? It’s going to be all right. I know it.”

The worst part was: he believed her. You couldn’t not believe, when she was there with you. But—

“Have a good trip,” she said.

“Thanks. Take care of yourself, Lee.” She moved to the door with that fantastic grace she seemed to have developed lately. “Oh, Lee—”

She turned back, smiling.

“If you don’t mind—I’d just as lief you stayed in Dome while I’m gone. I’d hate to think of you out at the Shack—Well, like yesterday. It bothers—”

“Oh, stop worrying, dear.” She turned, and was gone.

Baja California Spaceport—Sunday, October 9, 5 P.M. (P.S.T.)

“No, she didn’t come this trip.”

“Well, what do you suggest, Dr. Christensen? Will you accept delivery, or should we return to sender?”

“Can you tell me the name of the sender?”

“I suppose—I don’t see why not. Colonel Wendt.”

“I’ll take it,” he said decisively.

The Port Manager handed it over with relief. “All right. Will you see the reporters now? They’ve been waiting....”

Rockland—Sunday, October 9, 10 P.M. (E.D.S.T.)

He couldn’t see why he’d never thought of it before.

All the times he’d sat in this room and stared at that damn impregnable glass wall, and never realized he had something so simple that could—if not damage it, then at least—make an impression on it.

He got up from the couch and picked up the five darts from the floor. Two others stuck to the curved surface of the giant window, both from previous tries. He had been leaving them there, timing himself to see how long it took to get them all up. But that didn’t work, because he didn’t stick with the game. Now he got an absurd satisfaction out of wrenching the two suction cups loose. He’d keep score the other way instead—see how many turns it took to get them all up.

At least it wouldn’t be too quick.

Not that it mattered; it was ten now; if she didn’t call soon, she wasn’t going to. Unless the landings were really late this time?

He dialed for the news, and sat back, not listening to all the headline part. Landing times would come at the end.

The first shuttle had been scheduled for five-thirty, Central time. That was two and a half hours now he’d sat waiting for the phone chime; dialing for no-news; pacing the room up and down; opening the liquor cabinet and closing it again; getting—and forgetting—five cups of hot coffee from the bleak kitchen.

Somewhere along the way, he’d thought of the darts.

Given a near-impossible combination of luck and skill, you could make a suction dart stick on curved glass one time in—how many? That’s what was wrong with the first scoring system; this way he’d find out.

He threw all seven, one after another, as fast as he could. One caught, clung, dropped. The others just bounced. The phone chimed.

The phone!

He reached for the switch, and the screen lit up, and—damn it to Hell, you fat bastard, where’s Lee?—it was Chris!

“She didn’t come,” Johnny said.

Chris shook his head. “She asked me to give you a message.”

“Yeah? Okay, give it.”

“She couldn’t come.”

“No?”

“The doctor says....”

“Which doctor? Ole buddy Phil?”

“No, the Medic. She’s not supposed to take the trip till—”

“You always were a bum liar, Chris. So she didn’t come. So?”

“All right, I’m a bum liar. If you want to know, I wouldn’t let her. And you ought to have your head examined, for wanting her to. She’s been subpoenaed.”

“Me too. If they get around to serving it.”

“Yeah, but her left isn’t as good as yours. Do you want to hear the message or not?”

“Sure. Why not? What is it? Love and kisses?”

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly it.”

“Okay.” But he had seen Chris hesitate. There was more. He waited.

Chris waited.

“All right, spill it, will you? What’s the rest?”

“You turning mindreader too?” Chris said nastily.

“Leave it lay, man,” Johnny growled. “What else did she say?”

“She said for you to come up.”

“Okay. Got room next trip?”

Chris shook his head.

“The one after?”

Same bit.

“No room, huh? She stays up, I stay down, right?”

Chris never said a word.

Johnny switched off and got out the bottle and picked up the darts, and started keeping score by how many belts it took to get a dart up.

Damn things wouldn’t stick at all.