'What do I do with him? Take him to Cheyenne?'
'To Tijuana. To TF&D's central offices. You buy him from the camp authorities; it's slave labor. You didn't know that, did you, that large Terran industrial constellations could acquire free labor from the POW camps. Well, when you show up at Camp 29 and tell them you're from TF&D and you want a clever reeg, they'll understand.'
'You learn something new every day of the week,' Eric said.
'But your main problem lies with Molinari. It's up to you to persuade him to visit Tijuana to confer with Deg Dal Il and hence establish the first link in the chain of circumstances that's going to get Terra pried loose from Lilistar and over to the reegs without everyone being killed in the process. I'll tell you why it'll be difficult. Molinari has a scheme. He's been involved in a personal struggle, man to man, against Freneksy; it's his masculinity that he feels is at stake. For him it's not abstract, it's immediate and physical. And you saw the virile Molinari strutting on the video tape. That's his secret weapon, his V-2. He's starting to throw in the healthy duplicates of himself from the rank of parallel worlds, and as he knows he's got quite a supply of them to draw on. His whole psychology, his point of orientation, is to dabble with death and yet somehow surmount it. Now's the time for him to demonstrate his way. In confrontation with Minister Freneksy – whom he fears – he can die a thousand times and still spring back. The deteriorating process, the encroachment of his psychosomatic illness process, will cease as soon as he throws the first healthy Molinari in. And when you get back to Cheyenne you'll just be in time to witness it; the video tapes go on all the TV networks that night. At prime viewing time.'
Eric said musingly, 'So he's as sick right now as it will be necessary for him ever to be.'
'And that's exceedingly sick, doctor.'
'Yes, doctor.' Eric eyed his 2056 self. 'We agree in our diagnoses.'
'Late tonight, by your time, not mine, Minister Freneksy will demand – and get – another face-to-face conference with Molinari. And the healthy, virile substitute will be the one there in that room ... while the sick one, our one, recovers in his upstairs private quarters, guarded by his Secret Service, watching the video tapes on TV and thinking grand thoughts to himself as to how easily he has found a way of evading Minister Freneksy and his burgeoning, excessive demands.'
'I assume the virile Molinari from the other Terra has involved himself willingly.'
'Delighted to. All of them are. All of them see the penultimate in life as a successful grudge-battle waged above and below the belt against Freneksy. Molinari is a politician and he lives for this – lives for it while at the same time it kills him. The healthy one, after his conference with Freneksy, will suffer his first attack of pyloric spasms; the attrition will start to eat away at him, too. And so on down the rank, until at last Freneksy is dead, as someday he has to be, and hopefully before Molinari.'
'Beating Molinari to it will take some doing,' Eric said.
'But this isn't morbid; this is straight out of the Middle Ages, the clash of armed knights. Molinari is Arthur with the spear wound in his side; guess who Freneksy is. And the interesting thing, to me, is that since Lilistar has no period of chivalry, Freneksy has no comprehension of this. He simply sees it in terms of a struggle for economic domination; who runs whose factories and can sequester whose labor force.'
'No romance,' Eric said. 'How. about the reegs? Will they understand the Mole? Have they a period of knighthood in their past?'
'With four arms and a chitinous shell,' his 2056 counterpart said, 'it would have been something to see one of them in action. I don't know, because neither you nor I nor any other Terran that I ever met bothered to learn as much about reeg civilization as we should have. You have the name of the reeg intelligence major?'
'Deg something.'
'Deg. Dal. Il. Think to yourself: the dog dallied and it made him ill.'
'Mary Reineke.'
'Christ,' Eric said.
'I nauseate you, don't I? Well, you nauseate me, too; you strike me as flabby and blubbery and your posture is terrible. No wonder you're stuck with a wife like Kathy; you got what you deserved. During the next year why don't you show some guts? Why don't you pull yourself together and go find another woman so by the time it gets to me, in 2056, things aren't quite so goddam fouled up? You owe it to me; I saved your life, got you away from Lilistar's police.' His 2056 self glowered at him.
'What woman do you suggest?' Eric said guardedly.
'You're out of your mind.'
'Listen; Mary and Molinari have a quarrel about a month from now, your time. You could exploit it. I didn't but that can be changed; you can set up a slightly different future, everything the same except for the marital situation. Divorce Kathy and marry Mary Reineke or someone – anyone.' There was desperation, all at once, in his counterpart's voice. 'My God, I see this ahead, this having to institutionalize her, and for the rest of her life – I don't want to do that; I want out.'
'With or without us—'
'I know. She'll wind up there anyhow. But do I have to be the one? Together you and I ought to be able to reinforce ourselves. It'll be hard; Kathy'll fight a divorce action like a crazed thing. But bring the action in Tijuana; Mexican divorce law is looser than in the States. Get a good lawyer. I've picked one; he's in Ensenada. Jesus Guadarala. Can you remember that? I couldn't quite make it there to start litigation through him, but dammit, you can.' He eyed Eric hopefully.
'I'll try,' Eric said presently.
'Now I have to let you out. The medication you took will start to work on you in a few minutes and I don't care to have you drop five miles to the surface of the planet.' The ship began to descend. 'I'll let you off in Salt Lake City; it's a big place, you won't be noticed. And when you're back in 2055 you can catch a cab to Arizona.'
'I don't have any 2055 money,' Eric remembered. 'Or do I?' He was confused; too much had happened. He groped for his wallet. 'I got into a panic after that attempt on my part to buy the antidote from Hazeltine with wartime—'
'Don't ruminate over the details. I know them already.'
They completed the flight to Earth's surface in silence, each inhibited by his gloomy contempt for the other. It was, Eric decided, a graphic demonstration of the necessity for having respect for one's own self. And this gave him for the first time an insight into his fatalistic quasi-suicidal inclinations ... they were undoubtedly based on this same flaw. To survive he would have to learn to view himself and his accomplishments differently.
'You're wasting your time,' his counterpart said after the ship had landed in an irrigated pasture outside Salt Lake City. 'You're not going to change.'
As he stepped from the ship onto the spongy, moist alfalfa Eric said, 'According to you, anyhow. But we'll see.'
Without a further word his 2056 self slammed the hatch and took off; the ship shot up into the sky and disappeared.
Eric trudged toward the nearby paved road.
In Salt Lake City proper he snared a cab. It did not ask for his travel permit and he realized that imperceptibly, probably as he was walking toward town along the road, he had slipped a year back and was now in his own time. Nevertheless he decided to make sure.