“I didn’t come for a loan,” Jed said.
“Don’t be ass. You’ll get all back.”
Greenbush sat behind his desk, with the little pile of Jed’s possessions in front of him. He made little mumbling sounds as he prodded and poked and pried. He seemed very interested in the money. He listened to the watch tick and said, “Mmm. Spring mechanical.”
“No. It runs on atomic power,” Jed said bitterly. Greenbush didn’t answer.
From the back of Jed’s wallet, Greenbush took the picture of Helen. He touched the glossy surface, said, “Two-dimensional.”
After what seemed an interminable period, Mr. Greenbush leaned back, put the tips of his fingers together and said, “Amberson, you are fortunate that you contacted me.”
“I can visualize two schools of thought on that,” Jed said stiffly.
Greenbush smiled. “You see, Amberson, I am coin collector and also antiquarian. It is possible National Museum might have material to equip you, but their stuff would be obviously old. I am reasonable man, and I know there must be explanation for all things.” He fixed Jed with his sharp bright eyes, leaned slowly forward and said, “How did you get here?”
“Why, I walked through your front door.” Jed suddenly frowned. “There was a strange jar when I did so. A dislocation, a feeling of being violently twisted in here.” He tapped his temple with a thin finger.
“That’s why I say you are fortunate. Some other bank might have had you in deviate ward by now where they’d be needling out slices of your frontal lobes.”
“Is it too much to ask down here to get a small check cashed?”
“Not too much to ask in nineteen forty-nine, I’m sure. And I am ready to believe you are product of nineteen forty-nine. But, my dear Amberson, this is year eighty-three under Gradzinger calendar.”
“For a practical joke, Greenbush, this is pretty ponderous.”
Greenbush shrugged, touched a button on the desk. The wide draperies slithered slowly back from the huge window. “Walk over and take look, Amberson. Is that your world?”
Jed stood at the window. His stomach clamped into a small tight knot which slowly rose up into his throat. His eyes widened until the lids hurt. He steadied himself with his fingertips against the glass and took several deep, aching breaths. Then he turned somehow and walked, with knees that threatened to bend both ways, back to the chair. The draperies rustled back into position.
“No,” Jed said weakly, “this isn’t my world.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, finding there a cold and faintly oily perspiration. “I had two classes this morning. I came down to look up certain documents. Everything was fine. And then I came in... how...”
Greenbush pursed his lips. “How? Who can say? I’m banker, not temporal tech. Doubtless you’d like to return to your own environment. I will signal Department of Temporal Technics at Columbia where you were employed so many years ago...”
“That particular phraseology, Mr. Greenbush, I find rather disturbing.”
“Sorry.” Greenbush stood up. “Wait here. My communicator is deranged. I’ll have to use other office.”
“Can’t we go there? To the University?”
“I wouldn’t advise it. In popular shows I’ve seen on subject, point of entry is always important. I rather postulate they’ll assist you back through front door.”
Greenbush was at the office door. Jed said, “Have... have you people sent humans back and forth in time?”
“No. They send neutrons and gravitons or something like those. Ten minutes in future or ten minutes in past. Very intricate. Enormous energy problem. Way over my head.”
While Greenbush was gone, Jed methodically collected his belongings from the desk and stowed them away in his pockets. Greenbush bustled in and said, “They’ll be over in half hour with necessary equipment. They think they can help you.”
Half an hour. Jed said, “As long as I’m here, I wonder if I could impose? You see, I have attempted to predict certain long-range trends in monetary procedures. Your currency would be—”
“Of course, my dear fellow! Of course! Kindred interest, etcet. What would you like to know?”
“Can I see some of your currency?”
Greenbush shoved some small pellets of plastic across the desk. They were made from intricate molds. The inscription was in a sort of shorthand English. “Those are universal, of course,” Greenbush said.
Two of them were for twenty-five cents and the other for fifty cents. Jed was surprised to see so little change from the money of his own day.
“One hundred cents equals dollar, just as in your times,” Greenbush said.
“Backed by gold, of course,” Jed said.
Greenbush gasped and then laughed. “What ludicrous idea! Any fool with public-school education has learned enough about transmutation of elements to make five tons of gold in afternoon, or of platinum or zinc or any other metal or alloy of metal you desire.”
“Backed by a unit of power? An erg or something?” Jed asked with false confidence.
“With power unlimited? With all power anyone wants without charge? You’re not doing any better, Amberson.”
“By a unit share of national resources maybe?” Jed asked hollowly.
“National is obsolete word. There are no more nations. And world resources are limitless. We create enough for our use. There is no depletion.”
“But currency, to have value must be backed by something,” Jed protested.
“Obviously!”
“Precious stones?”
“Children play with diamonds as big as baseballs,” Greenbush said. “Speaking as economist, Amberson, why was gold used in your day?”
“It was rare, and, where obtainable, could not he obtained without a certain average fixed expenditure of man hours. Thus it wasn’t really the metal itself, it was the man hours involved that was the real basis. Look, now you’ve got me talking in the past tense.”
“And quite rightly. Now use your head, Mr. Amberson. In world where power is free, resources are unlimited and no metal or jewel is rare, what is one constant, one user of time, one eternal fixity on which monetary system could be based?”
Jed almost forgot his situation as he labored with the problem. Finally he had an answer, and yet it seemed so incredible that he hardly dared express it. He said in a thin voice, “The creation of a human being is something that probably cannot be shortened or made easy. Is... is human life itself your basis?”
“Bravo!” Greenbush said. “One hundred cents in dollar, and five thousand dollars in HUC. That’s brief for Human Unit of Currency.”
“But that’s slavery! That’s — why, that’s the height of inhumanity!”
“Don’t sputter, my boy, until you know facts.”
Jed laughed wildly. “If I’d made my check out for five thousand they’d have given me a — a person!”
“They’d have given you certificate entitling you to HUC. Then you could spend that certificate, you see.”
“But suppose I wanted the actual person?”
“Then I suppose we could have obtained one for you from World Reserve Bank. As matter of fact, we have one in our vault now.”
“In your vault!”
“Where else would we keep it? Come along. We have time.”
The vault was refrigerated. The two armed attendants stood by while Greenbush spun the knob of the inner chamber, slid out the small box. It was of dull silver, and roughly the size of a pound box of candy. Greenbush slid back the grooved lid and Jed, shuddering, looked down through clear ice to the tiny, naked, perfect figure of an adult male, complete even to the almost invisible wisp of hair on his chest.
“Alive?” Jed asked.
“Naturally. Pretty well suspended, of course.” Greenbush slid the lid back, replaced the box in the vault and led the way back to the office.