«Sure. You’re your own master here, Tom. Later Dad’ll find some status position for you, but tha’s nominal. An’ no hurry ‘bout it.»
He stopped, struck by a thought. In all this bewilderment of newness, it hadn’t occurred to him before. But if he really was such a wonder, he had been received with extraordinary quietness and informality. «What does your father do?» he asked.
«Why, Joe’s the Pres’dent o’ the world. Didn’ you realize?» She laughed afresh. «I s’pose not. We all get so used to each other, all good frien’s not standin’ on ceremony, we plain forgot—Oh, yes, Joe’s the Pres’dent. Sam Wong heads the World Department o’ Technics, Phil Faubus is chief sociohistorian, Ivan—No matter.»
He needed a while to shed his preconceptions. That the chief executive of fifteen billion people could be so human seemed almost a contradiction in terms. He noticed he’d stepped back from Amily.
She noticed too, seized both his hands and pulled him closer. «Don’ be scared,» she said merrily. «Jus’ ’cause I’m the Pres’dent’s daughter, I won’t eat you. Got other plans.»
Barlow decided to take things as they came. «I told you before,» he said. «Please don’t rush off.»
«Well,» she answered, low-voiced, «I’m not in that much of a hurry…»
An hour or two later, when she declared that now he did need a rest and he was inclined to agree, he asked casually if she had any brothers or sisters.
«Sure. Lots of ’em.» She kept her eyes on the mirror, before which she sat combing her hair. «Rozh’d like to’ve met you when you came, but he’s too busy studying. ’S not all fun, being President.»
«Rozh? A brother? But you said your father—»
«Well, Joe won’ live forever, you know. Rozh has to be prepared.»
«But this—hey, wait!»
She gave him a direct glance. «Don’ you un’erstan’? Rozh is Joe’s oldes’ son by his chief orthowife. So he’ll be the next Pres’dent.»
«Oh.» Barlow sat for a while. At last: «Is the succession like that in all the other offices?»
«What else? It’d be an unnatural father who didn’ han’ on his position to his heirs, wouldn’t it?» Amily finished combing her locks, sprang up, and blew him a kiss. «I mus’ run. ’Bye, darling.» She hurried from the room. A moment later he heard her aircar take off.
Alone, he fretted for a while. But after all, he told himself, in the total context of history, hereditary government was the norm, elective government the deviation. Given proper training… modern genetics also, no doubt, and medicine, so there were no defectives… the same family might provide wise rulers for hundreds of years.
He was too tired to think further. Sleep swooped on him.
Soft music awoke him at dusk. A man entered, bearing a tray with tea and cookies. He was a burly fellow, with shaven pate and gray clothes like the garage attendants. His face was expressionless. He set the tray on the bed and prostrated himself.
After he had lain there for a number of seconds, Barlow snapped nervously, «Well, what’s the matter with you?»
«My owner hasn’ commanded me t’ arise,» responded a dead voice.
«Huh?»
Another man drifted in. He was more gaily clad, in some kind of livery, but his skull was as bare as the other’s. «If my owner please,» he said, «his bath an’ garments ‘re ready. It’s soon time for the banquet.»
Barlow swung his feet to the carpet. «Good Lord!» he exploded. His tea spilled on the prostrate man, and it was hot, but there was no stir or whimper.
When he had argued his way to comprehension—which was not easy, both his chattels being invincibly stupid—Barlow stood for a long while staring at the wall. Well, he told himself at last, in a remote fashion, when fifteen billion people are jammed together on one impoverished planet, they are bound to become a cheap commodity.
With the help of some more tranquilizer, he made a creditable entrance at the feasting place and chatted with many of Earth’s rulers. Their total number was small, and he learned they were careful to restrict their own reproduction, lest the power they had be divided. However, they were no more conscious of tyrannizing the unfree than a rancher would be of unfairly dominating his cattle. Their welcome to Barlow was warm and genuine. When Amily took his arm and led the procession into the dining room, he began to feel that he had come home.
The hors d’oeuvres, soup, and salad were delicious. Then, proud and fond, Amily’s father stood up to do the honors as the main course was brought in: roast suckling coolie.
FLIGHT TO FOREVER
Chapter 1
No Return
That morning it rained, a fine summer mist blowing over the hills and hiding the gleam of the river and the village beyond. Martin Saunders stood in the doorway letting the cool, wet air blow in his face and wondered what the weather would be like a hundred years from now.
Eve Lang came up behind him and laid a hand on his arm. He smiled down at her, thinking how lovely she was with the raindrops caught in her dark hair like small pearls. She didn’t say anything; there was no need for it, and he felt grateful for silence.
He was the first to speak. «Not long now, Eve.» And then, realizing the banality of it, he smiled. «Only why do we have this airport feeling? It’s not as if I’ll be gone long.»
«A hundred years,» she said.
«Take it easy, darling. The theory is foolproof. I’ve been on time jaunts before, remember? Twenty years ahead and twenty back. The projector works, it’s been proven in practice. This is just a little longer trip, that’s all.»
«But the automatic machines, that went a hundred years ahead, never came back—»
«Exactly. Some damn fool thing or other went wrong with them. Tubes blew their silly heads off, or some such thing. That’s why Sam and I have to go, to see what went wrong. We can repair our machine. We can compensate for the well-known perversity of vacuum tubes.»
«But why the two of you? One would be enough. Sam—»
«Sam is no physicist. He might not be able to find the trouble. On the other hand, as a skilled mechanic he can do things I never could. We supplement each other.» Saunders took a deep breath. «Look, darling—»
Sam Hull’s bass shout rang out to them. «All set, folks! Any time you want to go, we can ride!»
«Coming.» Saunders took his time, bidding Eve a proper farewell, a little in advance. She followed him into the house and down to the capacious underground workshop.
The projector stood in a clutter of apparatus under the white radiance of fluorotubes. It was unimpressive from the outside, a metal cylinder some ten feet high and thirty feet long with the unfinished look of all experimental setups. The outer shell was simply protection for the battery banks and the massive dimensional projector within. A tiny space in the forward end was left for the two men.
Sam Hull gave them a gay wave. His massive form almost blotted out the gray smocked little body of MacPherson. «All set for a hundred years ahead,» he exclaimed. «Two thousand seventy-three, here we come!»
MacPherson blinked owlishly at them from behind thick lenses. «It all tests out,» he said. «Or so Sam here tells me. Personally, I wouldn’t know an oscillograph from a klystron. You have an ample supply of spare parts and tools. There should be no difficulty.»
«I’m not looking for any, Doc,» said Saunders. «Eve here won’t believe we aren’t going to be eaten by monsters with stalked eyes and long fangs. I keep telling her all we’re going to do is check your automatic machines, if we can find them, and make a few astronomical observations, and come back.»