‘‘If we stay! What else can we do?”
“You want to stay?”
“No,” Mary said quietly.
Douglas shot her a quick glance. “No, I suppose not. If you stay you’ll be separated, of course. Children to the Canadian Relocation Centers. Women are situated down in the undersurface factory- labor camps. Men are automatically a part of Military.” “Like those three who left,” Tim said.
“Unless you can qualify for the id block.”
“What’s that?”
“Industrial designing and Technology. What training have you had? Anything along scientific lines?”
“No. Accounting.”
Douglas shrugged. “Well, you’ll be given a standard test. If your IQ is high enough you could go in the Political Service. We use a lot of men.” He paused thoughtfully, his arms loaded with books. “You better go back, McLean. You’ll have trouble getting accustomed to this. I’d go back, if I could. But I can’t.”
“Back?" Mary echoed. “How?"
“The way you came.”
“We just—came.”
Douglas halted at the front door. “Last night was the worst rom attack so far. They hit this whole area.”
“Rom?”
“Robot operated missiles. The Soviets are systematically destroying continental America, mile by mile. Roms are cheap. They make them by the million and fire them off. The whole process is automatic. Robot factories turn them out and fire them at us. Last night they came over here—waves of them. This morning the patrol came in and found nothing. Except you, of course.”
Tim nodded slowly. “I’m beginning to see.”
“The concentrated energy must have tipped some unstable time-fault. Like a lock fault. We’re always starting earthquakes. But a time quake . . . Interesting. That’s what happened, I think. The release of energy, the destruction of matter, sucked your house into the future. Carried the house seven years ahead. This street, everything here, this very spot, was pulverized. Your house, seven years back, was caught in the undertow. The blast must have lashed back through time.”
“Sucked into the future," Tim said. “During the night. While we were asleep.”
Douglas watched him carefully. “Tonight,” he said, “there will be another rom attack. It should finish off what is left.” He looked at his watch. “It is now four in the afternoon. The attack will begin in a few hours. You should be undersurface. Nothing will survive up here. I can take you down with me, if you want. But if you want to take a chance, if you want to stay here—”
“You think it might tip us back?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s a. gamble. It might tip you back to your own time, or it might not. If not—”
“If not we wouldn’t have a chance of survival.”
Douglas flicked but a pocket map and spread it open on the couch. “A patrol will remain in this area another half hour. If you decide to come undersurface with us, go down this street this way.” He traced a line on the map. “To this open field here. The patrol is a Political unit. They’ll take you the rest of the way down. You think you can find the field?”
“I think so,” Tim said, looking at the map. His lips twisted. “That open field used to be the grammar school my kids went to. That’s where they were going when the troops stopped them. Just a little while ago.”
“Seven years ago,” Douglas corrected. He snapped the map shut and restored it to his pocket. He pulled his mask down and moved out the front door onto the porch. “Maybe I’ll see you again. Maybe not. It’s your decision. You’ll have to decide one way or the other. In any case— good luck.”
He turned and walked briskly away from the house.
“Dad?” Earl shouted, “are you going in the Army? Are you going to wear a mask and shoot one of those guns?” His eyes sparkled with excitement. “Are you going to drive a snake?”
Tim McLean squatted down and pulled his son to him. “You want that? You want to stay here? If I’m going to wear a mask and shoot one of those guns we can’t go back.”
Earl looked doubtful. “Couldn’t we go back later?"
Tim shook his head. “Afraid not. We’ve got to decide now, whether we’re going back or not."
“You heard Mr. Douglas,” Virginia said disgustedly. “The attack's going to start in a couple of hours.”
Tim got to his feet and paced back and forth. “If we stay in the house we’ll get blown to bits. Let’s face it. There’s only a faint chance we’ll be tipped back to our own time. A slim possibility —a long shot. Do we want to stay here with roms falling all around us, knowing any second it may be the end— hearing them come closer, hitting nearer—lying on the floor, waiting, listening—” “Do you really want to go back?” Mary demanded.
“Of course, but the risk—” “I’m not asking you about the risk. I'm asking you if you really want to go back. Maybe you want to stay here. Maybe Earl’s right. You in a uniform and a mask, with one of those needle guns. Driving a snake.”
"With you in a factory-labor camp! And the kids in a Government Relocation Center! How do you think that would be? What do you think they’d teach them? What do you think they’d grow up like? And believe . .
“They’d probably teach them to be very useful.” “Useful! To what? To themselves ? To mankind ? , Or to the war effort ...” “They’d be alive,” Mary said. “They’d be safe. This way, if we stay in the house, wait for the attack to come—”
“Sure,” Tim grated. “They would be alive. Probably quite healthy. Well, fed. Well- clothed and cared for.” He looked down at his children, his face hard. “They’d stay alive, all right. They’d live to grow up and become adults. But what kind of adults? You heard what he said! Book burnings in ’57. What’ll they be taught from? What kind of ideas are left, since ’57? What kind of beliefs can they get from a Government Relocation Center? What kind of values will they have?"
“There’s the id block,” Mary suggested.
“Industrial designing and Technocracy. For the bright ones. The clever ones with imagination. Busy slide- rules and pencils. Drawing and planning and making discoveries. The girls could go into that. They could design the guns. Earl could go into the Political Service. He could make sure the guns were used. If any of the troops deviated, didn’t want to shoot, Earl could report them and have them hauled off for reeducation. To have their political faith strengthened—in a world where those with brains design weapons and those without brains fire them.”
“But they’d be alive,” Mary repeated.
“You’ve got a strange idea of what being alive is! You call that alive? Maybe it is.” Tim shook his head wearily. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should go undersurface with Douglas. Stay in this world. Stay alive.”
“I didn’t say that,” Mary said softly. “Tim, I had to find out if you really understood why it’s worth it. Worth staying in the house, taking the chance we won’t be tipped back.”
“Then you want to take the chance?”
“Of course! We have to. We can’t turn our children over to them—to the Relocation Center. To be taught how to hate and kill and destroy.” Mary smiled up wanly. “Anyhow, they’ve always gone to the Jefferson School. And here, in this world, it’s only an open field."
“Are we going back?” Judy piped. She caught hold of Tim’s sleeve imploringly. “Are we going back now?” Tim disengaged her arm. “Very soon, honey.”