Anxiety tinged his words: «Do you know why I slew your man? He was kind to me, and like a god. But I am lame. I saw no other way to get what my sons must have; and they must have it soon, or it would be too late and they could never become men.»
«He taught me,» Evalyth said, «how much it is to be a man.»
She turned to Jonafer, who stood tense and puzzled. «I had my revenge,» she said in Donli’s tongue.
«What?» His question was a reflexive noise.
«After I learned about the dipteroid phenomenon,» she said. «All that was necessary was for me to keep silent. Moru, his children, his entire race would go on being prey for centuries, maybe forever. I sat for half an hour, I think, having my revenge.»
«And then?» Jonafer asked.
«I was satisfied and could start thinking about justice,» Evalyth said.
She drew a knife. Moru straightened his back. She stepped behind him and cut his bonds. «Go home,» she said. «Remember him.»
BARBAROUS ALLEN
WELCOME
Barlow’s first astonishment was at how little different the future seemed. He had thought that five hundred years would change every detail beyond imagination. To be sure, nothing was quite like the twentieth century United States; but contemporary Mexico had been a good deal more exotic than the North American Federation of the United World Republics looked.
Several persons awaited him when he emerged from the superenergy state. All but one were men, ranging from boyish to middle-aged: two Orientals, a Negro, the others white. They wore shirts, trousers, and fabric shoes, of synthetic material in subdued colors, cut much like Barlow’s. One had a sleek pistol-like weapon in a holster, but left it there, unafraid of the newcomer. They all gathered around, made sympathetic noises in accented but recognizable English, led him to a couch and gave him a drink. The room was windowless, with a fluorescent ceiling and ventilator grilles. A workbench supported miscellaneous scientific equipment, most of which Barlow could identify.
«Heh, now, buddo, swallow this an’ you’ll feel better.»
Barlow obeyed mechanically. He had a bad case of the shakes. A gentle, relaxing warmth spread through him. Within minutes he could regard his situation as calmly as if it were someone else’s. He felt happy, his mind clearer and quicker than usual. And yet, he thought, this was not so different from the tranquilizers of his era.
«I guess he’s ’kay now, Joe,» said a young man.
The oldest, who appeared to be the leader, nodded. «How’re you?» he smiled, offering his hand. «I’m Joe Grozen. Here’s my primary daughter Amily. She ’nsisted on seeing you arrive. I won’ ask you to ‘member any other names right off.»
«Tom Barlow.» He was much taken with Amily, who was tall and well-formed, with dark hair falling past a heart-shaped blue-eyed face and halfway down her back. She wore sandals, shorts, a kind of tee shirt, and a friendly expression. «What, uh, what year is this?»
«Twen’y-four nine’y-seven,» she replied.
«The twelfth April. Your calculations were very close. This place was readied special for your coming.»
He had to ask it, with his heart in his throat despite all soothing drugs: «Is there any way for me to return?»
Joe Grozen’s broad red visage grew sober. «No,» he muttered. «’Fraid not.»
Barlow sighed. «Never mind. I didn’t expect it. Travel into the past, an obvious absurdity. All I did was give myself a jolt of energy, a vector along the time axis rather than through space, and so increased my rate of existence several millionfold… But you know all about that.» He fumbled after a cigarette.
«Oh, yes,» said an Oriental. «The phenomenon’s well un’erstood today.» He bowed. «Though ’s an honor to meet its first discoverer. So youthful you are, too.»
«Sam’s chief o’ the technics department,» explained Amily. «Natur’lly he’d be mos’ in’erested in the science aspect. An’ Phil here.» She laid a hand briefly on the shoulder of the Negro. «He heads up the sociohist’ry section. He’ll want to ask you all sorts o’ questions ‘bout the past.»
«You’ll have status all your life in my department, if you wish,» Phil assured Barlow. «Special lecturer, consultant, whatever you want to call it. We’re missing so much information about everything prior to the Atomic Wars.»
«Shut up, you damn scientists,» said Joe good-naturedly. «Our frien’ Tom is first of all a free human being. You can quiz him later, but give the poor tovarsh time to get used to us first. How y’ feeling now, Tom?»
«Okay.» Barlow drew heavily on his cigarette. It might have been the drug, or simply the conviction, now proven, that his farewells in the twentieth century had been final. But whatever the cause, that era already seemed remote—though he had departed it less than half an hour ago, as far as his conscious mind knew. His fears had not materialized: emergence in a desert, or an Orwellian dictatorship, or something equally horrible. He’d gambled on finding a world where his own romantic advent would give him a head start in establishing himself. (Surely, even in the course of five hundred years, there had not been many time leapers. The messages he left, sealed into marked blocks of concrete, had been carefully designed to arouse the curiosity of future humankind about Thomas Barlow.) These easy-going, familiar-looking people dissolved the tension in him. His gamble had paid off.
«Sure, I’m fine,» he said. «Tired, is all.»
Joe nodded. «That I un’erstan’. We got a home all prepared for you. You can rest up there. I’d like to give you a welcoming banquet this evening, though. Lots o’ people want to meet you.»
«I don’t need—» Barlow was interrupted as Amily took him by the hand.