THROUGH THE PORTAL
OF TIME
At a quarter to nine, Dr. Walker asked Tom
and Cal to step onto the platform. His palms
itching, his stomach faintly aching—he was
actually going through time, back nineteen
hundred and eight years—Tom tried to smile
at Cal.
"Four minutes," Dr. Walker called at what
seemed only an instant later.
Tom watched the multicolored lights blink-
ing faster and faster. Would he ever see them
again? See Washington? The familiar world?
"Thirty seconds. Stand by."
With the minute hand at ten before the hour,
the sweep second hand hit twelve. A cool, tin-
gling darkness enveloped Tom suddenly.
Far away, as through windy darkness, a dis-
embodied voice seemed to call, "Good luck—"
When Tom opened his eyes, he was
in Pompeii . . . .

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Time
Gate
by
JOHN JAKES
A SIGNET BOOK
MEW AlViemCAM UBR«RY
TliVIBS MIRROR

NAL BOOKS ARE ALSO AVAILABLE AT DISCOUNTS IN BULK
QUANTITY FOR INDUSTRIAL OR SALES-PROMOTIONAL USE.
FOR DETAILS, WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION,
NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY, INC., 1301 AVENUE OF THE
AMERICAS, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10019.
Copyright © 1972 by John Jakes
All rights reserved—no part of this book may be reproduced in
any form without permission in writing from the publisher,
except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in con-
Bection with a review in magazine or newspaper. For informa-
tion address The Westminster Press, Wiiherspoon Building,
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library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 72-175546
This is an authorized reprint of a hardcover edition
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©
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printed in the united states of america

For my nephews and nieces—
Jim, Chris, Steve,
Dick, Joe, Sara,
Alice Anne, Louise, Hans Luther,
and Faris
That's ten more science fiction
readers right there

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
—T. S. Eliot,
Four Quartets.
Burnt Norton, I

CONTENTS
1.		The Red Door	1
2.		Who Is Sidney Six?	10
3.		Track Duel	19
4.		Suspicion	29
5.		The Unthinkable	38
6.		Music for Escaping from a Roman Prison 48
7.		What the Box Revealed	58
8.		Dark Memory	68
9.		Decision	77
10.		a.d. 3987	85
11.		Dying Earth	96
12.		The Broken Glasses	106
13.		Donald Times Two	116
14.		"Mongolyah"	125
15.		The Doomsday Clock	133
16.		3987—Again	141

1
THE RED DOOR
"Hawaii," Tom said. "Marine biology."
Dr. Calvin Linstrum put down his fork and stared
across the cafeteria table. That infuriating, superior smile
turned up the corners of his mouth.
"You feel you're qualified to make that decision?" he
asked.
"Don't be sarcastic, Cal. I'm eighteen. It's my future."
'To waste as you wish," Cal nodded. He glanced at the
clock set in the concrete wall. Ten to one. Ten minutes
until Dr. Gordon White would begin his preparations for
departure into the past.
Tom shoved his plate aside, no longer hungry. Every
discussion with Cal ended the same way.
But he tried once more. "The university feel I'm quali-
fied. I got a telemail from them yesterday—"
"You told me."
"But did you get the point? The university will accept
me when the new term starts."
"So in two months you'll just hop off to Honolulu, fool
around for four years, and then decide whether you're go-
ing on to grad school?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Plenty! Education is far too important to be left to
chance. We need to sit down now, map out a complete
tentative program—"
"If it's not a lifetime master "plan, and it doesn' bear
the personal stamp of approval of Dr. Calvin Linstrum—"
1

2	Time Gate
i
"Now who's being sarcastic? I do have thirteen years on
you, remember."
A short, explosive sigh from Tom. Then, "Cal, it's not
that I don't appreciate all you've done since Dad died. But
why does everything have to be so methodical? Planned
down to the last little nit?"
"Method is the key to science, Tom."
"Well, I'm no scientific experiment!"
"True. You're my brother. I'm concerned about your
future."
"Let me worry about my future."
"When you have the proper experience, the maturity—"
Angrily, Tom flung down his napkin. "It always comes
down to that, doesn't it? You're older, you're smarter, you
have all the education. Well, I get sick and tired of having
you sit in judgment. As if the fact that you're carrying on
Dad's work gives you the right—"
"But that's the point," Cal interrupted. "I think it does."
Heavy silence.
Cal didn't take his position out of malice, Tom knew. It
was brother looking after brother, because each represent-
ed the only family the other had. Yet it was stultifying,
especially when Cal's slender, bony face pulled upward
into that smiling suggestion of superior wisdom.
"What makes you so certain I'm qualified for doctoral
work?" Tom challenged. "You've seen my achievement
scores. They're not the highest."
"Any son of Dr. Victor Linstrum can do whatever he
wants in science. The name alone will open doors. That's
why it's important to be careful." Cal leaned forward, his
unruly reddish hair bobbing across his forehead. "You
asked me how I can be certain. How can you be sure ma-
rine biology is it?"
"I enjoyed those field trips to the Gulf with the class—"
"High school summer excursions? Proves nothing." Cal
stood up. "We'll discuss this another time."
"Let's discuss it now!"
"No, Tom. Later. When you're less resentful of the fact
that I'm only trying to help."
"IH take advice," Tom exploded. "But not orders!"
Cal picked up his tray and carried it to the load chute,
where it was sucked away into the wall. "I'm glad you
don't bridle so much at carrying out orders around the de-
partment," he said. "We couldn't afford an inexperienced

The Red Door
3
summer assistant who demanded that we operate the Gate
his way or not at all. Try to apply that fact to your per-
sonal affairs."
And he walked out.
Tom all but flung his tray into the chute. The stainless
steel covers clanged as air pulled the disposable dishes and
tableware down into the underground.
Why wouldn't Cal listen?
Sure, he was brilliant. And yes, it was rare for a scien-
tist not long past thirty to be in charge of an installation
as advanced as Department 239-T. But that was be-
cause—the old bogey again!—Cal was Victor Linstrum's
elder son.
Not that Cal wasn't at home with most of the intricacies
of the time-phase effect. He was. But scientific expertise
didn't guarantee skill in dealing with other people.
And Tom was number two son. Ipso facto, not quite
bright. He hated the role.
The clock hand reached a minute before one. Tom hur-
ried to the door, displayed his photo-ident to the security
cell. The door whooshed back. Tom walked down a con-
crete corridor, approached a soldier on duty at a massive
gray metal door. The guard wore a white helmet and a
holstered gun loaded with nerve darts. A sign on the door
read: Admittance to Authorized Personnel Only.
The door opened to Tom's ident. Halfway down another
short corridor, there was an alcove on the left. Under a
pin spotlight, an oil portrait of Dr. Victor Linstrum, blue-
eyed, spade-bearded, glowed softly. A small metal plaque
carried words in a fine script: Nobel Laureate, 1978.
The hall ended at a large concrete antechamber with
several doors opening off each side. One led to the cos-
tume storage rooms. It was open. Tom saw Donald mov-
ing around inside.
Another door,extremely thick, was the entrance to the
department's timelock vault, which housed master records
of each archaeological mission. The vault controls were lo-
cated beside the door.
A third, red-painted door led to the Gate. Tom went to
yet another door and pushed through.
Inside the brightly lighted ready room, Calvin Linstrum
was talking with a stout, florid man of middle age. Gordon
White wore his hair long, contrary to current styles. Over

4
Time Gate
the past month he had grown a gray-peppered beard. He
was just hanging his shirt on a peg.
Seeing Tom, the older man held up his right hand, palm
outward. "Vale!"
"What's that mean?" Tom wanted to know,
"You wouldn't ask that of a resident of Pompeii,"
White grinned. "He'd know you were wishing him good
day and good luck."
"Quite the scholar, isn't he?" Cal said.
"I should be," Gordon White harrumphed. "I've practi-
cally been sleeping with those instruction machines."
"What do you need?" Tom asked.
"My toga, for one thing."
"I saw Donald in the storeroom. I think he's getting it."
"The Camera and recorder, then."
"Coming up."
Tom crossed the antechamber, entered a room in which
various small electronic devices were stored. From the bins
he selected a matchbox-size camera that took a special
hundred-exposure roll of fast film, and a tiny, egg-shaped
device.
Next, by yellow light, he loaded the camera. Then he
inserted a spool tape inside the tiny egg. He signed his
name and ident number to his requistion and fed the
punchcard into the inventory machine. The machine
flashed lights and rang a bell to indicate everything
cleared.
Tom started across the antechamber again. A tall, well-
built young man with hair lighter than his brother's and
features less sharp, less angular, he was actually taller than
Cal by about three inches. Perhaps Cal resented that.
But the quarrel was forgotten as Tom's glance slid
across to the closed red door.
No matter how many times he saw a temporal archaeol-
ogist depart, he never quite grew accustomed to the idea.
In the stillness of the underground, with only the air con-
ditioners whispering, the old feeling of wonder returned.
It seemed remarkable—awful, in the original sense of
that word—that in less than two hours, Dr. Gordon White
would walk through the red door to the Gate, then emerge
on a plain outside Roman Pompeii, four days before the
city was destroyed by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius—
Seventy-nine years after the birth of Christ.

The Red Door
5
Of all the secret departments of the United States Gov-
ernment, none was more secret than the one known by the
innocuous designation Department 239-T.
Its modest operating appropriation, passed routinely by
Congress every year, was concealed in the budget of the
Department of Defense. Department 239-T came under
the jurisdiction of Defense almost by default. Government
planners believed there might be potential military applica-
tion for the secret contained in 239-T's underground
bunker. But no planner had yet found a way to apply the
secret on a risk-free basis.
The White House exercised close personal control over
239-T's operations, to make sure no one tried to employ
the Gate for short-sighted gains, because no one really
knew what the consequences might be.
Even Victor Linstrum, the man who had put together
the mathematical-physical base for the Gate in 1974, had
not been able to calculate all possible consequences,
though he guessed at many. Concerned about his discov-
ery's ultimate use, he approached the Government with
caution. Fortunately, he found an understanding adminis-
tration. The Government funded construction of the
bunker as one of many basic research expenditures. Even-
tual payoff, if any, was unknown. The then-President was
sensitive to potential dangers when Dr. Linstrum explained
them. Each of the two succeeding chief executives had
been equally perceptive.
Dr. Calvin Linstrum had been in charge of the facility
since the death of the elder Linstrum five years earlier, in
1982. Department 239-T functioned solely as a lab for an
entirely new kind of research—temporal archaeology. For,
by means of the Gate, travel forward and backward in
time was now possible.
So far, there had been only limited, and cautious, use of
the Gate. No one knew, for example, what would happen
if a twentieth-century man appeared in Washington at the
end of the War Between the States and prevented the mur-
der of President Lincoln. All sorts of tampering with his-
torical events was theoretically possible. But the hazards
were far too great to be tolerated.
Indeed, at the insistence of the President, time-tamper-
ing experiments were not even contemplated.
Department scholars traveled back in time to selected
historical sites. They were costumed in the style of the

6
Time Gate
period and equipped with a basic knowledge of the lan-
guage and customs, plus appropriate coinage. Thus they
were able to blend into the culture reasonably well.
Temporal researchers were permitted to do only three
things: observe; take photographs; and make sound
recordings, using unobtrusive, miniaturized gear. Victor
Linstrum had insisted on no disturbance of the milieu into
which the time traveler ventured.
For this reason, travel forward in time had been tried
only in a limited way. A few short trips, no more than
twenty-four hours into the future, had been undertaken to
prove the idea's feasibility. Even then, travelers weren't
permitted to leave the department—no scrutiny of the next
day's newspaper was allowed, for example. If Cal had his
way, trips to the distant future would never be routine. It
was logically impossible for anyone to prepare to blend in,
physically or linguistically, with unknown societies of the
future.
The temptation was great to employ the Gate for a look
at the years immediately ahead. But so far, the President
had successfully restrained those members of the military
who argued most vocally in favor of it.
Because of the explosive potential of the Gate, the Gov-
ernment had long ago decided that its existence should not
be revealed to the public. There would be too many
pressures. Until you found the true potential of a weapon
that might do inestimable damage, you did not play with
the weapon, whether expediency prompted experimenta-
tion or not.
As Tom continued across the antechamber, the red door
slid aside. A dark-haired man stuck his head out.
"Hello, Dr. Stein."
"Save me a trip, will you, Tom? Dr. Walker and I have
finished the checkout. We'll be ready by three."
"I'll tell Cal," Tom nodded, moving on.
The door from the outer corridor opened. Tom saw a
lift truck piled with large sealed cartons. The cartons bore
the name and address of a New York theatrical costume
house. The owners, Tom thought, must wonder why the
Federal Government ordered eighteenth-century perukes
and American Indian breeches.
The guard pointed to the storage rooms. The lift truck
driver—another uniformed soldier—shifted gears and
rolled his vehicle ahead.

The Red Door
7
What was keeping Donald? Tom saw no sign of anyone
moving back in the bays where the costumes were racked.
In the ready room, Cal and Gordon White were still dis-
cussing the mission. Tom reported the successful checkout
of the Gate equipment. A tall, gangly young man entered,
carrying a plain gray toga, sandals, and several arm rings.
"You're late," Cal said.
"Sorry," Donald Koop said, though he didn't sound it.
"I took five minutes to read the news. Archy's pushing
disarmament again. When will he learn that the only way
to deal with the Comchins is to punch them, not pat them?
He'll have us surrendering yet."
Cal held out his hand. "The costume, Donald. We can
do without your political commentary."
Gordon White said, "Lord knows I'm no superpatriot,
but it does run against my grain to hear you call President
Archibald 'Archy.'"
"His friends call him that," Donald answered. "I've met
him, you know."
"Yes," Cal said, "We know."
Behind Cal's back, Donald grinned at Tom, as if to say
that the attitudes of older people were beyond comprehen-
sion.
Donald Koop was even taller than Tom, and slender to
the point of emaciation. He had a high forehead, accentu-
ated by a hairless skull. The college fashion these days was
a shaved pate. Donald wore round spectacles tinted
blue—the most popular current shade. His white smock
looked as though it hadn't been laundered in weeks.
Two years older than Tom, and an Ivy League poli sci
major during the winter, Donald Koop had won his posi-
tion as a summer assistant in the department through the
efforts of his uncle, Senator Koop. Cal didn't care for Don-
ald, perhaps because he had been politely forced to add
the young man to his staff.
Dr. White donned a pair of coarse woolen under-
drawers, then pulled the toga over his head. He slipped on
the arm rings and the sandals. A wide elastic belt went
around his waist beneath the toga. Special pockets held the
matchbox camera and the little egg-shaped recorder.
"You forgot the cloak," White said.
Expressionless, Donald left. He returned with a long
piece of wine-red wool, which White draped over his
shoulders and looped across his left arm.

8
Time Gate
"Am I the perfect picture of a Roman citizen or am I
not?"
"You will be when you take off your class ring," Cal
said.
"Oops." White removed the gold signet.
Donald, meantime, had wandered over to speak to Tom
in a low voice. "Did you read about Archy's latest pro-
posals?"
"Haven't had time."
"I tell you, somebody has to do something about that
man. Three years in office, and he's forcing the country
into a totally defenseless posture. He just made public the
disarmament plan he started drawing up last March. He
wants to scrap all missiles—"
"That isn't exactly a new idea. It goes back to Eisen-
hower."
"But this time the Comchins are listening!"
"I happen to like the President's policies," Tom coun-
tered. "I guess there are some things friends don't have to
agree on."
"I'll bring you around one of these days," Donald said.
Often Tom wondered whether his friend actually be-
lieved some of the outrageous ideas he espoused. He al-
ways sounded as though he did.
Dr. Walker appeared at the door. "Phone, Cal. The
White House."
Cal frowned. "Transfer it in here."
"Can't. They want you to take it on the scrambler in
your office."
Cal left. When he returned, he looked puzzled and un-
happy. "Ira Hand will be paying us a special visit at three
o'clock."
White's brow hooked up. "The Vice-President?"
Cal nodded. "His secretary sounded upset."
Donald and Tom exchanged glances. Ira Hand, liaison
between President Benjamin Archibald and all the various
scientific programs and departments of the Government,
personally oversaw operation of the Gate facility, visiting
it regularly. But the visits were always announced at least
one day in advance.
White stepped to a mirror and jutted out his chin, ap-
plying a comb to his beard. "I'm flattered to have the emi-
nently distinguished Vice-President come down expressly
to witness my—"

The Red Door
9
"Cut the clowning, Gordon," Cal scowled. "Hand isn't
coming here for your benefit. The Vice-President's dis-
turbed by rumors that his office has picked up."
"Rumors?" Tom said. "What kind?"
"That there may be a security leak in this department."

WHO IS SIDNEY SIX?
"Security leak?" Gordon White repeated, stunned. "With
things run as tightly as they are down here? Sometimes I
get the feeling I can't even tell myself what I'm doing."
The forced lightness was lost on Cal. He paced back
and forth. "I don't see how it could happen either. We
take every conceivable precaution—"
"Including a week of tests and interrogation just to get a
part-time job," Donald said.
"But if even the possibility of a leak exists," Cal added,
"we need to know."
Strain was apparent on his face. Tom lost all feeling of
animosity. At a time like this, the bond between brothers
was strong. Whatever Cal's faults, he took his job of carry-
ing on Victor Linstrum's work with utter seriousness and
dedication.
"Hand's secretary said the Vice-President would try to
arrive a little before three," Cal told them. "Let's review
the Pompeii plan once more, Gordon. Then I want to
double-check the Gate, Tom—Donald—that's all for
now."
"We can watch Dr. White leave, I hope," Tom said.
Cal nodded in a vague way as he left, with White right
behind.
Donald rubbed his shaved head. "Personally, I'll take
Hand over Archy any day. Hand believes in a strong de-
fense posture."
10

Who Is Sidney Six?
11
Tom's mind was elsewhere. "Are we still going to the
gem races tonight?"
"Right. Six thirty. My place. How about helping me put
those new costumes away?"
"Sure."
In the storage rooms, overhead lights cast pools of yel-
low in the aisles between the racks and shelves. The pile of
costumer's cartons had now grown to three times its origi-
nal size. Delivery had been completed while they were in
the ready room, Tom guessed.
Despite the lights, the vast storage area had a ghostly
quality, perhaps because the hanging costumes made Tom
feel that he was in the presence of disembodied people
from the past: men of colonial times, dandies of Restora-
tion England, lords of ancient Manchu China—
"Well never get all these put away this afternoon," Don-
ald complained. Using a knife, he slit the tape on the first
box and checked the contents against an inventory list. He
marked the list with a blue marking pen. Then he
scribbled blue letters and a number on the carton's side.
"Mongol. Late twelfth century." Donald tapped the pen
against the code scrawled on the box. "There's the shelf
position."
Tom picked up the carton. He walked by a cluttered
table with a newspaper lying on top. The headline caught
his eye:
President Vacations at Camp Lookout.
Prepares Draft of Latest Disarm Plan.
A paragraph of the story had been encircled. Something
about the paper struck Tom as odd, some detail that regis-
tered in his mind unconsciously. As he walked down a
gloomy aisle, he tried to figure out what it was. He
couldn't. He'd have to look at the paper again.
While Donald put the next carton away, Tom returned
to the table. The paragraph that had been encircled—with
a blue marking pen—related to the probable time of
President Archibald's departure from Camp Lookout, his
personal retreat in the Adirondack Mountains. The story
had a strange familiarity, though Tom couldn't say why.
Perhaps it was because the President was always working
on some version of a disarmament proposal.

12
Time Gate
Frowning, Tom scanned the page a second time. He still
couldn't understand.
Suddenly, annoying because it was so obvious, he saw
it.
The date of the newspaper was March 12. A weekend
five months ago. No wonder the story sounded familiar.
Tom remembered the widely publicized mountain so-
journ from which Archibald had returned with a first draft
of a new set of recommendations for the United Nations.
The President had been refining them these past months
and was due to present the proposals to the world forum
in person in two weeks.
Hearing Donald return, Tom picked up the paper. "For
somebody who dislikes the President, Donalc}, you're keep-
ing a pretty accurate history on him."
Behind the blue lenses, Donald Koop's eyes were un-
readable. "Let me have that."
"Sure, but I'm curious about why—"
"I'm writing a report." Donald grabbed the paper,
folded it, stuffed it into his back pocket.
"On Archibald? In the summer? On both counts, old
buddy, I know you better than—"
"Look, we've got work to do."
"Hey, don't get sore."
"I'm not. I just want to get this stuff put away, so your
brainy brother doesn't give me another of his lectures
about efficiency."
With slashing motions, Donald used the knife to attack
the tape on the next carton. Tom had seldom seen his
friend so angry.
They worked in near-silence until a gong sounded. Most
of the first batch of costumes had been stored, but the
newest cartons hadn't been touched.
Dr. Walker, a tall man, stuck his shaved head in the
door, announcing, "The Vice-President and his party have
arrived."
"But it's only two thirty," Tom said.
Dr. Walker shrugged. "They want to see everyone in
Cal's office, pronto."
Calvin Linstrum's personal office was a cement-block
room off the central chamber. Harshly lighted and
crowded with files, piles of reports, and government forms,
the office barely held all those assembled: Cal, Gordon
White, Doctors Stein and Walker, two other department

Who Is Sidney Six?
13
technicians, two secretaries, Tom, Donald, and Vice-
President Ira Hand and his party.
The Vice-President was a short, stocky man. He had a
heavy jaw and a style of choppy gesturing that made him
an effective platform speaker. He had brought a thin
young man with a briefcase, who was one of his aides,
plus a nondescript man in a gray suit, a stranger.
Vice-President Hand introduced the stranger promptly.
"This is Mr. Sloat, my personal contact in the Justice De-
partment. I want him to give you the same story he gave
me yesterday."
Cal said, "Fire away."
Said Sloat: "Our sources have come up with a dis-
tressing rumor that may have a basis in fact. Are you all
familiar with the name Sidney Six?"
Cal balanced a pencil between his fingertips. "The syn-
dicated journalist?"
"The syndicated muckraker would be more like it," Dr.
Walker said. "Mister Sensationalism. Specialist in the ex-
pose. Long on headlines, short on facts."
Sloat smiled tightly. "You have the picture. It's possible
that Sidney Six has gotten wind of the existence of this de-
partment."
"Good Lord!" White exclaimed. "Our affairs could be
hanging on the public clothesline in no time."
Ira Hand nodded. "That's why we want each of you
full-time employees to double your guard. Sorry, Sloat, go
on."
"How Sidney Six could have gotten on the trail of this
story, no one knows. How far he's developed his leads—if
at all—is another unknown. The real problem lies with Six
himself. You see, no one knows what the man looks like."
The stocky Dr. Stein rubbed an index finger across his
old-fashioned beard. "You know, you're right. I've read his
material. Dreadful stuff. But I've never seen his picture.
That's unusual for a reporter with such a following."
"It's deliberate," Sloat confirmed. "Six uses assumed
identities—falsified papers—we can't imagine what all—to
gain entrance to wherever he wants to go. The fact that
nobody knows what he looks like helps him get away with
it. Do you remember those holograms of the Darien sub
pens that were published a year ago?"
Nods.
"Sidney Sue got them. He got into that highly guarded

14
Time Gate
installation and out again before anybody realized he was
there. To this day, my department has no clear idea of
whom he impersonated, or how he carried it off. That's an
embarrassing admission. I make it simply to emphasize the
seriousness of the problem if Sidney Six indeed decides
that his next target is this department."
Cal looked slowly from face to face, trying to smile.
"Okay, Sidney, where are you?"
There was uneasy laughter. On stumpy legs, Vice-
President Hand walked to the center of the group. "What-
ever new security measures are necessary, Dr. Linstrum,
take them. I say again, ladies and gentlemen—until the
Government ultimately hammers out an official time-travel
policy, we cannot afford a clamor in the press. In the Gate
we have a very, very tricky capability. I certainly do not
understand all its ramifications—"
"No one does," Cal said. "We're like cavemen with one
plug, one lamp,—and no knowledge of how far we can, or
should, go in taking advantage of electricity."
"If Sidney Six penetrates this department," Ira Hand
went on, "he would have absolutely no scruples about
publishing the story worldwide. And we'd have investigat-
ing committees, blue-ribbon panels, editorial opinions—
indeed, the President might well be forced to shut the
department down. Our best course remains what it has
been since 239-T was organized by your late father. Care-
ful, considered historical research, taking care to disturb
no milieu into which your people venture. We will make
this facility public knowledge when we have gathered
enough data to prove beyond doubt that the Gate can
safely be used for unlimited travel to the past. That and
only that will forestall public panic,"
Cal stood up. "Thank you for spelling out the situation,
sir. We'll be on watch. Though against what—or whom—I
wish we knew. We can start by having a new crew of mili-
tary guards assigned to the outer corridors. Guards who've
been freshly screened."
"You don't suspect any of the boys on duty now?"
White asked.
"No, Gordon. But evidently we can't be too careful."
Sloat said, "I'll arrange for the computers to select the
men. We'll have them tested, investigated, and on duty the
day after tomorrow. I guarantee Sidney Six won't be one

Who Is Sidney Six?
15
of them." He paused. "If that's all—I gather there's a de-
parture coming up?"
"Mr. Sloat would like to watch," Ira Hand said, "I've
okayed it."
"Fine," Cal said, walking toward the door. "This way."
"To where?" Sloat wanted to know.
"To the eve of the destruction of the city of Pompeii."
Moments later, the red door slid closed behind them.
A dark tunnel showed golden light at the end. The foot-
steps of the party rang and echoed. Tom's pulses picked
up, as they always did when he saw the Gate.
To step into another epoch, walk the strange streets, lis-
ten to an ancient language—one day, he'd have that thrill.
The Gate proper was a stainless steel platform one foot
above the floor of the circular room at the end of the tun-
nel. The room was thirty feet in diameter, its wall com-
pletely filled with dials and switches. Around a cluster of
gold floodlights in the ceiling, computer display boards
flashed tiny lights in sequence.
Dr. Stein picked up a clipboard with a sheaf of closely
written notes. He began checking readings on the various
dials and displays.
"Forgive me," Sloat said, "but is this all there is to it?"
"This is only the operating center," Cal replied, as Dr.
White stepped onto the stainless steel platform. His face,
hands, and legs were several shades darker than they had
been earlier. "Thirty times this amount of gear is buried
beneath us."
"A computer does most of the work of relating the two
coordinates," Walker said.
"Temporal and spatial," Cal explained. "Time and
space. We must locate the researcher in both. And care-
fully. The computer handles the billions and billions of
calculations necessary to make sure Gordon doesn't arrive
on the wrong day—or land in the Tyrrhenian Sea. I doubt
that you have any idea of the complexities involved, Mr.
Sloat. Consider all the various calendars that have been in
existence since a.d. 79, each slightly different from the
next. They must all be taken into account."
"I'm sure the technicalities are beyond me," Sloat
nodded. "My chief question is, How safe is it?"
"I've been to ancient Babylon," White said.
"I watched the battle of Waterloo last week," added
Stein.

16
Time Gate
"And they haven't lost one of us yet," Walker con-
cluded.
"You might describe some of your precautions, Dr. Lin-
strum," Ira Hand suggested. Tom noticed Donald Koop
watching the Vice-President closely, an expression of al-
most mystic adoration on his face.
"Right," Cal said. "A week prior to a field trip, we be-
gin programming the spatial and temporal coordinates. It
can be done much faster, of course. But we like to be
careful. We recheck the coordinates upward of two dozen
times. Right now, Gordon's coordinates are locked in. The
hard work's done. It's a simple matter to send him off."
"Equally simple to bring him back?" Sloat asked.
"We try to make it so. You know about our rules?"
"Only observation via camera and sound recorder? Yes,
the Vice-President mentioned those."
"Gordon carries the camera and the recorder in a
special belt under his toga. Plus the Gate control unit."
Dr. White fished out a small, shiny box about twice as
large as the matchbox-size camera.
"That's our most important failsafe," Cal explained.
"Should the researcher encounter an emergency, pressure
on the side of that box returns him here instantly. It's
preferable that he return from the spot where he landed in
the other time. Any other location presents risks, but it's
not impossible. Also, only one researcher is allowed to use
the Gate at any given time. And he, in effect, controls the
entire operation from the moment he vanishes from this
room."
Sloat walked around the platform. "How so?"
"Because of certain relays built into the equipment, no
one else at this end can go anywhere in the past except
where the original researcher has gone. When our controls
are properly set, the time-phase waves remain focused—
locked—on the first site."
Sloat digested this slowly. "You mean that once Dr.
White departs, if I decide I want to see the battle of Iwo
Jima—programming all these gadgets accordingly—I'll
still wind up in Pompeii?"
"Exactly. We must keep the passage between then and
now open because we have no way of foreseeing what sort
of trouble the research man might run into. Despite all his
linguistic study, for example, Gordon could still be spotted
as a stranger in Pompeii. He's applied that deep-deep-stain

Who Is Sidney Six?
17
makeup, but he still doesn't look precisely Latin. Well—
anything else?"
Sloat shook his head. "Amazing."
"Staggering might be a better word," said Ira Hand.
"Do you wonder that mere human beings have trouble de-
ciding how the Government should utilize this phenome-
non?"
In the ensuing silence, Tom thought of the wonders
Gordon White would soon encounter. Strange new sights,
smells, sounds that ordinary archaeologists could only
speculate about from the evidence of Pompeii's wall
paintings and bits of shattered clay.
Dr. Stein started snapping down switches. 'Two
minutes," Dr. Walker announced.
"When will he be back, Dr. Linstrum?" Sloat inquired.
"In about three days, our real time. Just before Mount
Vesuvius erupts. Are you familiar with the Pompeii
story?"
"Vaguely."
"She was one of the finest cities of the Empire. Perched
on the west coast of Latium—Italy—at the foot of the vol-
cano. Vesuvio, as they called it. Legends say the god
Heracles founded the city. A great many notable people
had lavish seacoast villas in and around the city. Cicero,
for one. Some scholars have called Pompeii the Monte
Carlo of old Rome. In a.d. 63, an earthquake destroyed
many of the public buildings. The residents were just fin-
ishing major restorations in 79 when the real destruction
hit."
"The eruption of the volcano," Sloat nodded.
"Thousands died. The city was buried under tons of
ashes and cinders. Archaeologists didn't start digging up
the remains until the eighteenth century, when—"
"One minute," Dr. Walker called.
A sheen of sweat had built up on White's face, glisten-
ing in his salt-and-pepper beard. The top of his head was
bathed gold by beams from the ceiling. The sequencing of
the lights grew more rapid.
Suddenly Sloat said, "But going back there with a
knowledge of the language and knowing what was—is
about to happen—couldn't he warn them?"
"And save countless lives," Cal nodded. "Theoretically.
The danger is, we have no way of knowing how that
would affect the course of history afterward."

18
Time Gate
Ira Hand said, "And there is no person in this roomT—in
this nation—or anywhere, so far as I know—who is
prepared to accept the responsibility for a decision of that
magnitude. That is why we cannot allow someone like Sid-
ney Six—"
Cal gestured in warning.
The sequencing lights flashed faster across the blue
lenses hiding Donald Koop's eyes. Dr. White started to
raise his hand in a farewell gesture—
The stainless steel platform was empty.
Reflections rippled across its polished surface. Cal
turned to his visitors. "Now comes the hard part, gentle-
men. All we can do is wait."

3
TRACK DUAL
"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed an amplified voice,
"five minutes until the main event of the evening. Twenty
laps for a two-thousand-dollar purse—"
"I bet a friend that Geyser Hankins will take it," Don-
ald said, following Tom down the steep aisle to their seats.
"He's a rough driver," Tom said, balancing the cup of
iced vitabeverage with one hand while he wiped mustard
off his lip with the other. "He shaves the rules pretty
closely."
Donald grinned.; "That's typical of you, Thomas. You
let a lot of nice little scruples stand in the way of a goal.
Geyser Hankins wants to win. He does what it takes to be
first around that track."
Donald bit into a chocolate-covered cereal bar. "Some-
times I think there's nothing you want badly enough," he
added. "When a normal person wants something, he goes
after it. Or has Calvin browbeaten that out of you?"
Tom found himself irritated. "I think I'm as normal as
the next guy. But I won't go after what I want regardless
of the price. Doing that nullifies the worth of whatever
you're after."
"A pretty little philosophy. Lucky for us, the movers of
this world think otherwise. Hey! Here they come!"
A gate opened beside the banked oval track below. The
track, erected around the rim of the Sportsdrome for
tonight's races, consisted of interlocking slabs of a very
light but firm blown foam. The gems needed only that
19

20
Time Gate
kind of resistant surface for their air currents to push
against.
The Sportsdrome was Washington's newest public build-
ing, a gleaming, air-conditioned enclosed hemisphere. The
tiers of seats were jammed with fan£, who roared as the
first of the small ground-effect machines glided onto the
track.
The lime-green racer carried a large yellow numeral 7,
plus a decal that identified the helmeted driver, Typhoon
McGee. McGee, a black, held up his glove in a fist. His
partisans yelled and applauded.
The second gem nosed onto the track. Its supporters let
the driver hear their enthusiasm. All the gem jockeys
seemed to affect nicknames associated with windstorms or
air currents, which was natural, considering that the light,
swift racers skimmed along on jets of air blowing from
their underbellies. They never touched the special roadbed.
Donald said, "I'm having some friends in afterward,
Thomas. Want to come over?"
This was a surprise to Tom. Donald explained that he
had arranged the party at the last minute. "So the guy I
made the bet with will be there. To pay off."
Tom replied, "Sure. I haven't seen the new place yet
You like it?"
"Living by yourself takes getting used to. I depended on
Mom pretty heavily. But I eat over at the Senator's a lot,
so that helps." Donald took off his glasses and pinched the
bridge of his nose. For an instant his veneer of tough
pragmatism dropped away. "I couldn't stand our old place
after Mom died. Too many ghosts."
Another gem racer joined the four already at the start-
ing line. The applause and shouting grew louder with each
new arrival—the favorities usually made their appearance
toward the last. The program said Hankins would be the
final driver. He had won the pole position in the draw.
Tom wondered whether the friends Donald referred to
shared his political views. If so, Tom was prepared to dis-
like them. In the last decade, student activisim had swung
from the ultraleft to the extreme right. And Donald par-
roted all the militant slogans.
Donald had first come to work in the department the
preceding summer. But it seemed to Tom that his friend's
views had hardened since then, or at least he had become
more vocal.

Track Duel
21
Perhaps it was partly due to the emotional shock of his
mother's tragic death on an operating table. At any rate,
Donald had an intense, even haggard look lately. But he
was bright and, in most ways, a pleasant companion.
"Here comes the tiger!" Donald shouted, on his feet
A sleek black racer painted with jets of red-tinged steam
nosed through the gate. Just under the cowl, Geyser
Hankins' name appeared in flame-colored letters. Some
older fans nearby glared at Donald, then booed. Through-
out the Sportsdrome, a chorus of disapproval mingled with
scattered applause.
The racers began final maneuvering for starting posi-
tions. Giant floodlamps in the 'drome's ceiling poured light
onto the lacquered cowls. Geyser Hankins' black helmet
flashed with hard highlights.;
"You don't seem very interested tonight, Thomas."
"I was thinking about Dr. White."
"Come on, Geyser!" Donald yelled suddenly. "Knock
that bum if he won't move!"
Hankins was doing just that, nudging the driver on his
right to make more room at the line. The bumped driver
looked angry. Hankins ignored him.
The starter began his climb to the metal tower overlook-
ing the track's inner edge.
As the stands quieted, awaiting the start, Donald said,
"I'm beginning to think trips like White's are a farce any-
way. I could find less trivial ways to use the Gate."
"Such as?"
"Here you have one of the most powerful—or poten-
tially powerful—tools for change in the history of the
world. What does Archy do with it? Nothing!"
"Keep your voice down! You know we're not supposed
to mention—"
"Ah, these people wouldn't believe it if we diagrammed
it They're lumps, Thomas, just like most men. Squeezed
out of the mold that society, and the Government, creates
for them. The Government's gotten too big. Too powerful.
An individual can't make a mark. He's too far removed
from the decision points. That's why I get so infuriated
about the Gate. Think of how it could be used, selectively,
to change things."
"You mean tinker with the past?"
"Sure! Look. What if, right now, someone traveled back

22
Time Gate
to Germany circa 1933 and removed Adolf Hitler? No
World War III Millions of human lives saved!"
"My father wrote about that sort of theory," Tom said.
"It supposes that time—the past—is like a road that can
be made to fork. Here we are, down at the end of a line
of history that began—okay, let's say in 1933. But if there
hadn't been a Hitler, A Second World War, would we be
here? Would the Sportsdrome be here? Who knows? And
back in the '40s, would this country have worked so hard
to develop the atom bomb, and all the atomic generating
plants that have come in its wake? Would we have cap-
tured the German scientists who helped us to land
Armstrong on the moon? Would we have learned how to
mass-produce penicillin? How much or how little would
everything change because of your one suggested alter-
ation? No one knows. And my father wasn't willing to ex-
periment to find out. Cal isn't either. Besides, there isn't
just one place where the road can fork. There are millions,
when you count minor historical events. It would be fool-
ish to try to manipulate the present via the past/'
Donald snorted.
"You don't buy that?"
"No. It's a crime for that Gate to sit there, a real means
of getting things accomplished—"
"But who would decide on what to change, Donald?
You?"
"I have a few ideas."
"Name one."
"I'd go back and make sure Archy didn't get elected in
'84. With the Comchins building up strength in Asia, we
don't need his brand of mealymouthed pacifism."
Disturbed by his friend's vehemence, Tom countered,
"So you'd use the Gate to ensure his defeat three years
ago?"
"I'd use the Gate to get him out of office. Period. I-—"
A pistol crack whipped their attention to the track. The
gem racers shot forward in a glittering row, riding less
than a foot off the hard-surfaced track, their airblowers
blasting and whistling. In a matter of one lap, Typhoon
McGee had taken the lead, skimming over into the pole
position an eighth of a lap ahead of Geyser Hankins.
"Catch him, Geyser!" Donald shouted, on his feet, wav-
ing his fists. "Knock him off!"
The race quickly became a duel between McGee and

Track Duel
23
Hankins, obviously driving the two fastest machines. Don-
ald screamed Hankins' name until his voice began to grow
hoarse.
During the sixteenth lap, while the other ground-effect
machines fought for secondary positions, Hankins at last
found the power to edge up on the leading drivers He
swung his racer out to the right of McGee as they sped
into one of the high-banked curves.
"Knock him out, Geyser!" Donald yelled. "Kill him!"
Hankins slotted over to the left, trying for position
ahead of McGee. The tail of his racer slammed McGee's
right front. McGee wobbled to the left. His left-hand air
jets ran off the track rim and suddenly had nothing to
push against McGee fought for control as Hankins zipped
into first place in the pole lane.
Hanging half on, half off the edge of the track,
McGee's machine slowly tilted. Finally he lost control al-
together. The nose of his racer veered sharply to the left.
McGee's machine dropped eight feet to the brilliant
green artificial turf and landed belly down with a heavy
thud. Smoke began to pour from the power compartment.
All over the Sportsdrome, fans were on their feet most
of them booing Hankins' tactics. Cheeks glistening with
sweat Donald applauded. His ugly expression made Tom
wonder again about him.
Hankins now had a full lap's head over the nearest con-
tender.
Donald's blue lenses loomed as he turned to laugh. "See
what I mean? When Hankins wants something, he gets it."
"At any price—right?"
"That's the way the movers get things done."
"Then the movers and I don't see eye to—"
"Good for you, killer, you did it!" Donald cried, as
Hankins took the checkered flag.
A rescue crew was foaming down McGee's machine to
prevent fire. Other men used crowbars to pry open the
driver's bubble. Moments later, McGee climbed out.
Limping, he waved to the crowd. He received a sympa-
thetic round of cheers—and a raspberry from Donald.
Tom decided that he was not in a mood for a party with
Donald and his radical friends.
But, watching Donald's ferocious face as he applauded
Geyser Hankins pulling in to accept the purse and trophy,
Tom changed his mind.

24
Time Gate
It might be smart to meet Donald's crowd. It might give
him a valuable insight into the extent of Donald's rather
wild convictions.
"Good for you, killer!" Donald kept shouting above the
din, "Good for you!"
After the races, the two young men used Tom's small
exhaust-free electric for the drive to Donald's flat. Tom
had bought the car secondhand, with money from his
earnings in the department. In about half an hour, the car
brought them to an area where large apartments had been
put up as part of urban redevelopment.
The night air was heavy with the threat of rain. They
took the lift up to Donald's rented efficiency on the next-
to-top floor, where about a dozen students Donald's own
age had already gathered.
Uniformly, the young men displayed shaved heads and
glasses with lenses of various colors. Tom noticed only
three girls, one quite fat They all had the drab, faindy
pop-eyed look that Tom characterized—with a suitable
lack of interest—as "intense."
A military march blared from the four-corner sound
system. The air smelled sweet. About half the guests were
smoking a legal variant of marijuana. Tom never used the
stuff, for the same reason that many people, years ago,
had avoided cigarettes, now long banned from public
sale—he liked to feel in perfect shape, all his faculties
sharp, all the time.
"Throw your jac in the bedroom and grab a high in the
kitchen," Donald said. Then he shouted into the blue haze
pierced by a couple of pin spotlights, "You owe me,
Karlberg. Geyser took the race."
In the hall leading past the tiny bedroom, a circular dart
board hung on the wall. A news photo of President Archi-
bald had been pasted to the board. Three darts stuck from
the hole-pocked photo, one in the chief executive's mouth,
one in each of his eyes. Tom shivered.
Carrying a pop-open can of high, one of the girls
blocked Tom's path. "Are you here about the demo?"
"Demo? No, I'm a friend of Donald's—"
The girl's face froze. "Forget I asked." She hurried on.
Tom turned into the bedroom. It was sparsely fur-
nished—a bed, a bureau, two chairs. The focus of atten-
tion was a huge American flag tacked to the wall above

Track Duel
25
the bed. A rotating multicolored plastic disc, mounted in
front of a ceiling spot, cast changing patterns of red,
white, and blue over the national emblem.
Tom threw his jac on the bed and headed for the
kitchen. There, two bald students were discussing the
"demo" the girl had mentioned. The conversation stopped
a moment after Tom walked in.
He took a can of a popular brand of high from the
fridge, popped the ring, let the sweet, mildly carbonated
beverage relieve his thirst He heard a faraway rumble of
thunder.
In about sixty seconds, he began to experience a
pleasurable sense of relaxation. High was the nickname for
a generic chemical that had been developed in a major
research lab a few years earlier. Invented as a substitute
for hard liquor, it induced a mile euphoria without impair-
ing judgment or motor performance, no matter how much
was consumed. It left no traceable aftereffects. A sort of
pop containing chemical mood lifters, it was consumed in
vast quantities by young and old—much to the relief of
police forces, which no longer had to contend with a high
percentage of drunk drivers.
One of the students said to the other, "We plan to leave
on a Tuesday. The bus is already chartered. We should be
in Manhattan by—"
A nudge from the other student, obviously meant as a
reminder of Tom's presence, silenced the first speaker.
Both stared.
"Haven't seen you around here before," one said to
Tom.
"Right. Friend of Donald's. But I'm interested in the
demo. When is it?"
More scrutiny. Thunder rumbled. The military march
blared.
At last one of the students shrugged and said, "Archy's
presenting his latest disarmament offers to the United Na-
tions in a couple of weeks. He's in for a big surprise when
he stands up to speak in the Assembly."
"What kind of surprise?"
"First, there'll be a massive sidewalk demo, marching,
singing, in front of the building when he arrives."
"But that's not all," said the other student. "Archy is go-
ing to learn that power belongs to the people in this coun-

26
Time Gate
try, or Archy isn't going to be around very long. We have
plans that will shake—"
A wagging motion of the other student's head prompted
caution again. The second student said, "You'd better talk
to Donald."
"Sounds interesting," Tom said. "I Will."
In truth, it sounded appalling. The more he saw of Don-
ald's friends, the less he liked them.
Sipping from his can of high, he returned to the living
room. His friend was surrounded by five others, all of
them shouting above the music. Tom dropped into a cor-
ner, propped himself against the wall, drank again. The
room had a dim, dreamy quality. Clouds of sweetish blue
smoke turned slowly through the slanting light beams.
There's something dangerous here, he thought.
After half an hour of being ignored, Tom got up. Don-
ald was still arguing. Tom slipped to the edge of the
crowd.
"Have to move out, Donald. It's late."
Weaving slightly, Donald broke from the group. "Not
exactly your kind of rally, eh, Thomas? These people are
pretty involved—"
"That is not the best corner for forming up the demo,"
a girl shrilled. "I'll prove it! Donald, where's that map we
marked?"
"Top drawer, in the bedroom." To Tom, "So we can't
interest you in a little political activisim tonight?"
"Nor any night, thanks anyway." With a forced smile,
he told Donald he would see him tomorrow. Donald
waved and went back to his wrangling friends.
Tom passed the map fetcher just leaving the bedroom.
He found his jac, started to put it on. As he did so, his
eyes drifted toward the bureau. The top drawer was half
open. Sticking out from under a Harvard sweatshirt was
an object whose shape Tom recognized instantly.
He glanced at the door. No one was coming.
He moved to the bureau in two quick steps, and lifted
the sweatshirt. Among tangled T-shirts lay a black needle-
muzzle laser pistol.
The i.d. plate below the light-amp chamber had been
filed bare. Bought illegally, then. Only contraband
weapons had the federal registration serial removed.
What earthly use did Donald Koop have for a laser pis-
tol?

Track Duel
27
Suddenly Tom had the feeling that he was being
watched. He whipped his head around.
The hall outside the door was empty.
Quickly, he replaced the sweatshirt, closed the drawer,
and left the room.
Driving back to Georgetown, Tom could not push the
twin images from his mind:
The lighted flag.
And the deadly weapon.
The August night was still muggy. Distant lightning
flickered. Tom finally rolled up the windows and switched
on the air conditioning to eliminate the heat and the stink
from the befouled Potomac.
Tonight had been illuminating, in a grim sort of way.
Just how emotionally stable was his friend?
"Thafs the way the movers get things done—"
Surely Senator Koop wouldn't have used his influence to
get Donald a job in a delicate security operation such as
Department 239-T if he had been aware of his nephew's
radical leanings. On the other hand—
Tom pulled into a parking place in front of the elegant
old house. A light still burned up in Cal's bedroom. He
locked the car, let himself into the house, started up the
stairs.
On the other hand, as Tom had recalled earlier tonight,
Donald's swing to outright militancy had seemed to accel-
erate only after the death of his mother. Completely on his
own, with no family besides the Senator, Donald was ac-
countable to no one—except his intense and secretive
friends.
Cal's door stood partially open. "Tom? It's a little late."
Tom stifled a retort and said instead, "I stopped off at
Donald's. Any report from Dr. White?"
"All quiet. The mission must be proceeding according to
plan."
"Cal I	."
"What is it?"
About to enter his brother's bedroom, Tom stopped.
"Nothing."
Cal appeared at the door, wearing his bathrobe. "You
want to continue the college discussion?"
"Tomorrow," Tom said, heading down the hall. "I'm
beat."
In his room, Tom switched on the window air condi-

28
Time Gate
tioner and pulled off his clothes. As he headed for the
shower, he realized what had stopped him at Cal's doors
A feeling of foolishness.
Surely his suspicions about Donald were just that—un-
warranted suspicions. Talk of the kind in which Donald
indulged had never hurt anyone, and it was most often
nothing but talk.
And yet, the laser pistol—
A lot of people in urban areas carried weapons for per-
sonal protection, didn't they?
Yes, of course. But—registered weapons.
That night Tom had trouble sleeping.

4
SUSPICION
The next morning, the problem of Donald popped back
into Tom's head. He considered it in the light of Vice-
President Hand's concern about security and decided that
no matter how foolish his suspicions seemed, he couldn't
in good conscience keep them from Cal.
He raised the subject on the drive to Alexandria. Traffic
was heavy. Heat haze obscured the horizon, promising an-
other stifling day. Maneuvering around a slow driver, Cal
laid on the horn.
"I told you I stopped at Donald's apartment last night,
Cal."
"So?"
"He has some pretty strange friends. All of them are
dead set against President Archibald's disarmament poli-
cies—to the point of planning a demonstration when Ar-
chibald speaks at the United Nation."
"That won't set well with Senator Koop. But it won't
cost Donald his job, unless he breaks the law. The dissent
trials back at the end of the Nixon administration settled
that."
"But that's not the only thing."
Looking tired, Cal reached for his sunglasses. "Well,
unless it's vitally important, let's skip it. There's enough to
worry about with this security problem. I thought about it
most of the night. Every last person in our section passed
the very strictest screening before coming to work. And
that includes Donald."
29

30
Time Gate
"Still, Donald took his tests over a year ago. Since his
mother died, he's acted—well—different."
That superior tone edged Cal's voice all at once. "Can
you come to the point?"
Instantly Tom felt defensive. Angry. He had an impulse
to keep silent. Let Cal suffer the consequences, if any.
He couldn't do it. As Cal swung the sedan onto the
beltway leading to Alexandria, Tom said, "Last night, Don-
ald made some pretty outrageous statements. He thinks
the Gate should be used for what he calls selective histori-
cal change. He'd like to see President Archibald defeated
in the last election, for instance."
"I gave Donald credit for more brains."
"He doesn't understand the theory of alternative histo-
ries, I guess. Or if he does, he doesn't believe it. I tried to
explain it again, but I'm no expert."
"Who is?" Cal snapped. "We're dealing with something
incapable of verification except at enormous risk. Who can
say how the world would have changed if Rome hadn't
fallen? if Christ hadn't been crucified? if Edison had died
before he found the right filament for his incandescent
bulb? Would another Edison have come along? Would we
be lighting our cities with gas to this day? Donald's naive
to think as he does."
"Disturbed people sometimes oversimplify things."
"I see no evidence that Donald's disturbed,"
"But you hardly ever talk to him."
"Are you saying you're a better judge of character than
I am?"
"I'm saying I know Donald."
"Tom, we have enough problems wrapped up in this se-
curity business without manufacturing—"
"I'm not manufacturing anything! I'm only reporting—"
"Unfounded suspicion," Cal finished. "Personally, I
don't like Donald. Never have. He was rammed down my
throat because of his connection with the Senator. But that
doesn't alter the fact that he passed the very toughest scru-
tiny of his background, plus all the psychological tests."
"A lot of things can happen to a person in twelve
months. Ideas—personalities can change."
"I won't argue, Tom. Do you or don't you have any
concrete evidence to show that Donald represents a threat
to the department?"
Suddenly Tom's forehead began to hurt. The pain was

Suspicion
31
intensified by the glare from the metal of the cars on the
beltway. Why did Cal automatically sit in judgment? Why
wouldn't he give others the benefit of at least feigned
equality?
Tom recalled the laser pistol, started to mention it. But,
noting his brother's expression, he resigned himself to
silence on the subject, saying instead, "No, Cal, there's no
evidence. Only Donald's talk,"
"I appoint you chief monitor of everything Donald says
from now on. If he tells you he's going to hop through the
Gate, return to '84 and stump for President Archibald's
defeat, you let me know."
Tom subsided into gloomy introspection for the rest of
the trip.
Shortly they turned off the beltway. Ten minutes later,
they reached the parking lot of a plain concrete building
on the outskirts of Alexandria. Beside the building's tinted
glass doors hung a metal plaque:
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF THE ENVIRONMENT
Air Quality Division
A lobby receptionist nodded good morning. They
walked down a long corridor flanked by closed office
doors, each with a plastic nameplate. Stopping by a door
at the end, Cal took out a key. The plastic plate identified
the office as belonging to Dr. Charles Q. Lind, There was
no such person employed in the building.
Inside, a few pieces of furniture simulated a working of-
fice. From time to time, the papers on the desk were
changed, ones with more recent dates being substituted. A
folder on top showed the subject of the material to be ur-
ban pollutant emission levels.
Cal unlocked a door in the rear wall. He and Tom
stepped into a private washroom of unusually large size.
Alongside the medicine cabinet was a horizontal slot,
wider than the usual one for used blades. Cal inserted his
ident, held it there a moment, then pulled it out. Tom did
the same with his card.
They stepped to the center of the floor. Suddenly a hair-
line crack appeared around a rectangular area. Activated
by their weight, the rectangle began to sink.
In the bunker, Cal went immediately through the red
door. One of the senior technicians was always on duty

32
Time Gate
when a research trip was in progress, and Cal wanted to
check on any overnight developments. Tom had filing to
do in his brother's office. Because of security, the two girls
who worked as departmental secretaries were not allowed
to handle certain key documents.
Tom paused at the door of the storage rooms. Having
used his own ident, Donald had already come through the
bogus office upstairs, been lowered by the sinking floor,
and was at work slitting open another of the costume
boxes.
This morning he seemed more relaxed. He grinned,
pushing his blue glasses up on his forehead.
"You should have stuck around last night, Thomas. We
really hung Archy. Figuratively, of course."
"You know, Donald, if you take part in anything
besides a peaceful demonstration up at the UN, you could
lose your job."
"Forget it. The Senator's made that very clear. And I
can't afford not to work here. College tuition doesn't come
cheap. My friends and I are going to get Archy, all right.
But in the court of public opinion. And at the polls."
For a moment Tom accepted the explanation at face
value—and with relief. Then he realized how glib Donald
had been.
Too glib?
Had his friend become suspicious in turn? Paradox-
ically, what alarmed Tom most was Donald's broad grin,
so unfamiliar of late. Such abrupt changes in mood didn't
seem genuine. All at once—dismally—Tom felt he was in
the presence of someone he couldn't completely trust.
"When does White come back?" Donald asked.
"Nine tomorrow night."
"Cal planning to supervise?"
"Far as I know."
'I'm not signed on for duty then. Too bad. It's still kind
of exciting when one of them returns."
"I'm sure Cal would clear you to come in for the ar-
rival."
"No, I've got plans. I'll read White's monograph later."
"Okay. See you for lunch?"
Donald slid his glasses down on his nose. "Don't think
so, Thomas. Unless I keep at this, I'll never finish." He
turned his back.
On the way to Cal's office, Tom recalled his brother's

Suspicion
33
earlier words. Maybe Cal was right. Maybe he was a poor
judge of character. It was a disheartening admission, be-
cause it automatically helped to validate all Cal's other at-
titudes and supported his contention that his decisions
must be accepted without question.
Tom recalled the feeling of being watched when he dis-'
covered the laser pistol. Had one of Donald's friends pass-
ing along the hallway seen him and reported it? That
would account for Donald's attempt to dismiss his own
rantings as just talk.
Or was he still reading far too much into the entire situ-
ation?
Confused and feeling that he had lost another round in
his long fight to establish his own competence in his
brother's eyes, Tom entered Cal's office. For a moment he
wanted to grab the papers to be filed and toss them helter-
skelter, jumbling them hopelessly.
But he didn't.
When Department 239-T officially closed at five the fol-
lowing evening, Tom and Cal stayed behind. Dr. Walker
went home. Dr. Stein, scheduled for duty along with Cal,
said he would be back after doing a short errand.
The filing had proved a monumental task, because Tom
had let it go for three weeks. He was still busy duplicating
the originals on the microfiche encoder, setting up retrieval
numbers for the timelock vault, and disposing of the origi-
nal documents down the chute, when Cal looked in at six,
suggesting that they eat supper.
Sloat's new guards were already on duty. The burly,
phlegmatic-looking soldier on the far side of the thick gray
door was unfamiliar.
When Tom commented on it, Cal nodded, and said,
"But if Sidney Six lives up to his reputation, I'm not sure
a battalion will keep him out."
They showed their idents at the cafeteria door, were ad-
mitted, and chose their food—enriched steak plus side
dishes—from the cathode-ray-tube display. A smaller CRT
lighted up to show the sums that would be automatically
deducted from their computerized payroll accounts. In less
than five minutes, wall doors popped open and extensor
arms shot out the warmed trays. The department's tiny
cafeteria was serviced by the larger automated installation
in the Air Quality building, above ground.

34
Time Gate
As they sat down, Cal checked his watch for the second
time in minutes. He was always excited when one of the
researchers returned.
Tom's mind flooded with potential subjects for conver-
sation. He really wanted to bring up the matter of Donald
again, particularly the question of whether his friend
shouldn't retake the psychological tests he had passed eas-
ily a year before. Then there was the question of college
plans. But somehow he didn't feel up to raising either top-
ic, only to have his views knocked down as immature and
unworthy.
Toward the end of the meal, Cal said, "I thought Don-
ald would be joining us."
"He's off duty tonight."
Cal frowned. "Last night he asked for clearance to
come in. I didn't know poli sci majors were big on Roman
history, but he expressed interest in getting a firsthand re-
port on Pompeii. I okayed the request."
Puzzled, Tom said nothing.
They finished their hot vitamin drinks and left the cafe-
teria at five of seven.
Tom said to the guard on duty at the gray metal door,
"Have you seen Koop?"
The name didn't register with the new man. Tom
described him. The guard nodded,
"He came in about twenty minutes ago."
"How about Dr. Stein? Stocky man, with a beard?"
"He was back about six fifteen."
Cal slotted his ident, crossed the antechamber to the
red-painted door. Tom turned off to the storage rooms.
The outer door was ajar.
Inside, he flicked on the lights and looked around. No
Donald. Four large costume cartons remained to be un-
packed. One of them had a half-dollar-size hole punched
in its side.
Returning to the antechamber, he saw the yellow warn-
ing light glowing above the door of the photo lab. The de-
partment's part-time technician was evidently readying his
soup for White's film.
Five after seven. No point in heading for the Gate yet
He might as well go on with the filing—
Suddenly the red door slid back, Cal rushed across the
antechamber, looking neither left nor right. Tom had
never seen his brother look so worried.

Suspicion
35
Cal pressed the button that opened the gray door.
"We're on alert. No one gets in or out."
The closing door hid the guard's surprised face.
"Cal, what's wrong?"
"Stein's unconscious. I think he was attacked."
Heart pounding, Tom followed his brother down the
tunnel.
Dr. Stein lay sprawled in the Gate chamber, groaning.
He had a nasty gash on hi3 left temple. A thin line of
blood, dry now, had run down his cheek into his beard.
Rust-colored spots stained his white coat.
But those were not the only signs of trouble.
The face plate of one entire section of control equip-
ment had been torn off. It lay twisted on the floor. In
several places, the wiring in the guts of the wall had been
ripped out. A smell of burned insulation clogged the air.
Tom's eyes jumped to certain dials. All red. Circuits had
burned out before regulators forced auxiliary circuits into
operation.
Like a hurt bear, Stein rose to hands and knees.
"Leo?" Cal said, kneeling beside him. "Can you hear
me now?"
"Dizzy—" Stein shook his head with a ferocious mo-
tion. "Give me a hand up."
As he did, Cal blurted, "Who hit you?"
Dr. Stein seemed both startled and enraged as he
gasped, "Koop. That kid Koop. He came in here a little
while ago—I thought he was acting pretty jumpy—" He
paused for breath. "Sorry. Give me a minute. I'm not ex-
actly used to being slammed over the head."
He closed his eyes, swaying while Cal held fast to his el-
bow. Finally Stein signed that he could make it. Cal let go.
Stein lurched to the platform and sat down. "As I said,
Koop seemed to be acting strangely. But I consider that
normal. Never liked him. He started asking inane ques-
tions about White's trip. I was too busy to pay much at-
tention. I was working over there—" He pointed to an
undamaged section of the wall. "I heard a sound. Didn't
turn around in time. He was running at me, and he had a
gun. Laser pistol, I think. He hit me with it—" Stein
touched his injured temple, where an ugly bruise now
showed. "I tried to grab the pistol. He kicked me in the
stomach. I fell. He hit me on the head again, then gave
me another kick for good measure. He went right to

36
Time Gate
work—be had some kind of tool—" Quietly, Stein fin-
ished, "Somewhere in there, I passed out."
Cal had already rushed to the wall. When he turned
back, his voice was full of disbelief. "The Gate's been
reset."
Stein cried, "What?"
Cal's hand touched dials. "New spatial and temporal
coordinates."
"For when?" Tom exclaimed. "And where?"
Stein waved to the exposed wiring. "Was he trying to
bollix the failsafes, Cal?"
"Obviously, the crazy fool! How could he possibly be-
lieve that he could override the mechanisms locking the
Gate onto Gordon's site? He's worked here long enough to
know that the failsafe systems are three deep. If one's
knocked out, another takes over."
"In the state Donald's been in lately," Tom said, "he
probably believed he could do anything."
Almost as if he were hoping aloud, Dr. Calvin Linstrum
said, "Of course we're not absolutely sure he did anything
besides reset the coordinates."
"Maybe he's somewhere in the bunker," Stein said.
"Let's find out."
Cal ran down the tunnel. He returned in several
minutes with grim news. "No. And the guard said Donald
didn't leave by the main door."
"There's no other way out," Tom said. "Where did he
go?"
"You mean where did he want to go?" Cal replied. "Re-
gardless of programming new coordinates, there's only one
place he could go—Pompeii. Tom, I—I'm sorry about this
much. You did try to warn me. I refused to believe you—"
Suddenly he raged again. "To work down here and still
think he could single-handedly override—he must be
deranged!"
"Get a reading, Cal," Stein urged. "Find out where he
tried to go."
Swiftly Cal punched buttons, flipped toggle switches. Be-
hind the curved wall, a mechanical chattering began.
Shortly a paper tape fed from a slot. Cal studied the pricks
in the tape.
"It makes no sense! It's programmed for a day last
March."
Utter dread touched Tom. "March? What date?"

Suspicion
37
"The twelfth. What's the significance of—"
"Regardless of the significance," Stein said, "we've got
big trouble. That loopy kid's running around Pompeii this
minute, wearing twentieth-century clothes, flourishing a
laser pistol—who knows what has already happened."
The empty, polished platform reflected the sequencing
lights. Cal and Stein stared at it, as if for an answer.
All Tom could think of was the newspaper Donald had
marked. A newspaper dated March 12. The weekend that
President Archibald had gone into retreat in the Adiron-
dacks—
To draft the disarmament proposals Donald Koop
hated.

5
THE UNTHINKABLE
Dr. Calvin Linstrum lifted a red phone and began to
dial. In a moment he said, "Arthur? This is Cal.: How fast
can you get down to the department? There's an
emergency. I'll explain when you arrive, but I need you to
monitor the Gate, perhaps all night. Right, thanks. And
hurry."
"Why all night?" Stein asked when Cal hung up. He
waved at one of several synchronized clocks set into the
wall. "Gordon's due back in about an hour."
"I expect to meet Gordon before he returns."
"In Pompeii?" Tom exclaimed.
"Yes. I'm going back at exactly ten minutes until nine,
our time. I hope to meet Gordon at his departure point.
Since he can handle the language, between the two of us
maybe we can catch Koop."
Dr. Stein was upset3 "Cal, you're too important to the
department We can't risk losing—"
"If things get out of hand back there, Leo, there won't
be any department You can count on Archibald to see to
that. Don't you realize that this is exactly what we hoped
and prayed would never happen? You said it yourself a
minute ago—imagine Donald running around the streets
of Pompeii, wearing bizarre clothing, waving that laser—
it's a disaster!" Again he reached for the phone. "I'll find a
doctor to check on that forehead."
"Skip the doctor," Stein said. "If you're set on going
38

The Unthinkable
39
through the Gate, we have work to do. Costume,
makeup—"
"Cal?"
His hand still on the phone, Cal turned. "Is it impor-
tant, Tom?"
"I think I know the significance of the date Donald
tried to program. March twelfth—" Even now, in this
crisis, he found it hard to articulate the truth, because it
was so frightening, so very nearly unthinkable.
Cal reacted with nervous irritation. "Tom, I have no
time for speculation about—"
"It's more than speculation. I saw a newspaper Donald
marked. A paper from that very same weekend." Rapidly,
he reminded them of Archibald's sojourn at Camp Look-
out, "Donald especially hates the President's disarmament
programs. And up in the Adirondacks that weekend, Ar-
chibald began work on the proposals he's planning to
present to the UN week after next"
"With a very good chance for approval," nodded Stein.
"The laser pistol he kept in his apartment"—Tom
described finding it—"and the newspaper, and Donald's
rantings—it all fits together. I never thought he could be
that far gone, but—■" The magnitude of the idea chilled
him to silence.
Dr. Stein put words to it. "Attempted assassination."
Miserably, Tom nodded.
Cal's reaction was typical. "That's ridiculous."
"Don't be too sure," Stein countered. "I've noticed
Koop's behavior lately. Erratic, to say the least. If he
thought he could use the Gate to remove the President, a
place like Camp Lookout would be an ideal spot to strike.
Archibald would still be surrounded by security men, but
a remote mountain camp would be infinitely easier to pen-
etrate than the White House, There would be times when
Archibald would be in the open. Coming out of the lodge
to climb into his 'copter, for instance. Donald could posi-
tion himself in exactly the right location. Hindsight is op-
erating here, remember. He's probably read every
published account of that weekend. And you know how a
President's major movements are recorded in detail, after
the fact. He—" Stein swallowed. "He'd have a very good
chance."
For one incredible moment, Tom actually believed that
his brother's stare signified furious resentment, as if Cal

40
Time Gate
couldn't tolerate one of Tom's ideas being proved valid.
Then, ashamed, Tom negated the thought. Cal was
showing strain.
"Even if that's all true," Cal said, "it has very little to
do with Donald in Pompeii."
"It has everything to do with it," Stein said. "It means
Koop is most certainly deranged. We suspected it from the
way he tried to override the failsafes. But this ices the
cake. Donald Koop is extremely dangerous."
Silence.
Cal's shoulders sagged. Tom glanced at the clocks.
Twenty-two minutes before eight. Another idea probed at
the edge of his mind, refused to be stifled—
Cal started for the tunnel. "I need to tell the guard to
admit Walker—"
"Cal, let me go with you," Tom said.
"Of all the nonsensical suggestions!"
The force of Cal's contempt was almost like a physical
blow. But Tom kept on. "Please listen. The idea makes
sense because—"
"A crisis like this—and you're thinking about joyrid-
ing?"
"I can help! I know Donald much better than you. If
he's out of his head, maybe I can talk to him—keep him
from getting angry—when you couldn't. Maybe I can dis-
tract him so you can get hold of the laser. You know how
he'll react to you and Dr. White. You represent authority."
With a sinking feeling, he saw from Cal's expression
that he dismissed the idea even before he said, "Impos-
sible. I wouldn't permit—"
"I'd think very seriously about it if I were you," Stein
broke in. "Sure, it's a gamble. Tom may not be any more
effective than you. On the other hand, as he says, there is
a reasonable chance that Donald might listen to him and
no one else."
Bleak-faced, Cal thought it over. Tom could almost see
the interior struggle, as Cal rebelled at someone else's idea.
At last he said, "That would put four of us back in time at
the same moment. We've never—■"
"We've never faced this kind of situation!" Stein ex-
claimed. "You said so yourself!"
Tom asked, "If Donald really causes havoc in Pompeii,
would you report it?"
"I'd be bound by conscience to do so."

The Unthinkable
41
"And there goes Dad's work—your work. You admitted
Archibald will close the department if he finds out."
"He's right," Stein agreed. "Take him along, Cal. You'll
need every bit of help you can get."
Once more Cal measured his younger brother and, Tom
was sure, found him wanting. Just as Cal seemed ready to
reject the plan a second and final time, he glanced at
Stein. Anger simmered on the stocky scientist's face. Per-
haps Stein appreicated the situation between the brothers
better than Tom had ever suspected.
Finally, Cal said, "All right. But we have to hurry.
We're still going through the Gate at ten minutes to nine."
And he raced for the tunnel.
The next hour passed in a furious blur. Tom dashed
through the bunker, gathering togas, arm rings, sandals,
and makeup kit By eight thirty he and Cal were dressed,
their faces darkened with stain.
Call wanted to take person-to-person communication
gear in case they became separated, so Tom hurried to the
electronics stores and located two tiny talk-receive units
that fitted into the special belts they wore beneath their
clothing.
Both communicators had built-in recording functions.
Tom recalled that he had used one of the devices at home
a couple of weeks back to record one of his favorite elec-
tronic rock-pop sonatas from FM, intending to transfer it
to permanent tape later. Through the unit's tiny window
he saw the miniature reel still in place. He was about to
remove it when Cal shouted from the antechamber,
"Walker's here, Tom. Let's get moving!"
Tom left the reel in the unit and hurried down the tun-
nel. Both Dr. Stein and Dr, Walker were busy checking
the Gate settings. Stein had slapped a bandage on his
gashed temple. He seemed to have recovered. Or perhaps
he was forcing himself, knowing the extreme emergency.
Tom felt odd in the thigh-length tunic of coarse, drab
wool. His sandaled feet were chilly. The clock hand
inched toward the hour.
At a quarter to nme, Dr. Walker asked them to step
onto the platform.
Busy snapping relays, Dr. Stein nevertheless managed to
say, "A pair of noble Romans if ever I saw—"
"Four minutes," Dr. Walker interrupted.
His palms itching, his stomach aching faintly—he was

42
Time Gate
actually going through time, back nineteen hundred and
eight years—Tom tried to smile at Cal.
No response. The gold floodlights threw harsh shadows
under Cal's eyes.
Tom watched the multicolored lights blinking faster and
faster. Would he ever see them again? See Washington?
The familiar world?
Dr. Walker barked, "Thirty seconds. Stand by."
With the minute hand at ten before the hour, the sweep
second hand hit twelve. A cool, tingling darkness, en-
veloped Tom suddenly.
Far away, as through windy darkness, a disem-
bodied voice seemed to call, "Good luck—■"
There was the smell of salt wind. Feeling light-headed,
Tom opened his eyes.
Something had gone wrong! Nothing but darkness—
"Cal?"
"Behind you! And don't shout. There's a cart coming."
Cal dragged Tom behind some boulders. His eyes ad-
justed to the deep blue night. They watched a fat grandfa-
ther pass, driving a little wagon along a road paved with
large stone blocks. Two flea-bitten ponies pulled the cart,
which was loaded with casks.
The road ran along the edge of the sea, at the bottom of
the rocky slope where they had arrived. Beyond the road,
the land dropped away to a beach. The sea murmured.
Overhead—reality was finally falling into place—stars
glimmered in unfamiliar constellations. The night breeze
blew balmy out of the south. At least Tom presumed the
direction was south, since Pompeii was situated on ancient
Latium's west coast.
The wind mingled smells of the salty ocean with an-
other, more sulfurous tang. There was a low rumble, a
tremor in the earth. The cart driver called to his nags in a
strange language, urging them on.
Tom searched for the source of the rumbling, couldn't
stifle an exclamation—
Vesuvio!
Its open volcanic top tinged red, the mountain rose
directly behind a walled city where many lamps burned.
The cart rattled away around a bend.
Cal signed for them to stand up. Tom couldn't keep his
wonder-struck gaze from the city. Its buildings stretched

The Unthinkable
43
between the foothills of Vesuvio and a wall fronting the
sea. Suddenly his wonder was replaced by a grimmer
thought. Tomorrow, the citizens of the Roman city would
be fleeing in panic from destruction pouring out of the
volcano.-
"Gordon should be coming up that road any minute
now," Cal said.
"Somehow I thought the Gate would transport him—
and us—closer to the city."
Cal shook his head. "The Gate's accurate only within an
eighth of a mile, so we have to set it for what we guess to
be an open area near the destination. Besides, you can
imagine what would happen if a man appeared out of the
air in the center of Pompeii."
Tom followed Cal down the rock-strewn slope to the
road. "Then Donald would have arrived right here?"
"Yes."
"Where do you suppose he went?"
"He'd probably head into Pompeii. There's nothing else
around."
"But he'd realize he wasn't in the Adirondacks."
"Who really knows how he'd react in his state?" Cal re-
plied.
"He has no control for the Gate."
"Right. Gordon's carrying the only one. I checked in
the bunker. None of the other control units is missing. If
Donald was thinking correctly, he'd have taken one for his
own protection. He—Someone's coming!"
They hid behind another large stone. In a moment they
saw a man approaching from the direction of the city. He
seemed to be about the right height. Tom recognized
White's beard, the wine-colored cloak looped across his
forearm. He walked slowly, as if footsore.
Cal waited till he was ten yards away, then stood up.
"Gordon?"
White's mouth rounded. He crouched as if expecting an
&tt&ck
"It's Cal and Tom."
After White recovered from the shock, he came toward
them at a shuffling run. "When I heard my name in Eng-
lish, I thought I'd lost my mind. What's wrong, Cal? Why
are you here?"
"Donald Koop used the Gate tonight. We think he's in
Pompeii."

44
Time Gate
White seemed able to cope with this second shock. "I've
seen no one I know—including Donald."
"You're a little late getting here. Is everything all
right?"
"I'm late because checking my infernal watch requires
caution. You can't just whip out a modern timepiece in
public. And I did encounter one minor difficulty."
He held up his left arm. He no longer wore arm rings.
Tom noticed that White's face was bruised. "What hap-
pened?" he asked.
"Quite simply"—an attempt at a smile—"I was robbed.
I dropped into a little tavern near the temple of the For-
tune of Augustus—Fortuna Augusta, in the vernacular—
just north of the forum, to have supper. I've picked my
eating spots well until this one. No trouble. Tonight—well,
every town has its criminal element. I ran into Pompeii's.
They waited outside, jumped me, and stole the arm rings,
plus what little money I had left. Luckily, I wasn't
searched. If they'd found the control unit—" He touched
his waist again. "But what about Koop? When did he ar-
rive?"
"One or two hours ago," Tom said. "He probably disap-
peared into the city before you left."
White scratched his beard. "Come to think of it, there
did seem to be a lot of excitement in town earlier. People
congregating on street corners—I wanted to make in-
quiries, but I didn't. I've tried to stay unobtrusive."
"Excitement about the volcano, maybe?" Tom suggest-
ed.
Sadly, White shook his head. "Vesuvio often rumbles.
The citizens haven't any idea that destruction's coming to-
morrow. Oh, a few temple priests have been predicting
dire things in an effort to improve public morals, but no
one takes them seriously. Koop, now. Is this his idea of a
lark?"
"Far from it," said Cal and explained.
"An absolute calamity!" White said at the end. "We've
got to find him."
"Preferably before Vesuvio buries us all," Cal said in a
somber tone.
White studied himself with one hand on Cal's shoulder
while he massaged his foot. "And I thought I was done
with walking. These sandals have given me blisters that
you wouldn't believe."

The Unthinkable
45
He rabbed a moment longer, then straightened up. "The
best place for information is obviously the forum. We'll
have to risk speaking to someone. I've tried to keep that to
a minimum, because I don't have the local dialect down
pat. When my speech produces curious stares"—still limp-
ing, he started up the road, Cal and Tom alongside—"I
pretend I'm a foreigner, come for a holiday. I tell them
I'm from Africa. Even though it's just across the sea, it's
the other side of the world."
Tom watched with awe as the lamplit city grew larger
ahead of them. Outside the wall, they encountered a party
of nobles, the gentlemen riding horses, the women carried
in sedan chairs.
White urged his companions off the road. "Those men
are equites. Knights. Very upper-upper. Being just ordi-
nary citizens, we have to defer. Watch me for cues about
when to get out of the way."
At the city gate, a burly soldier in armor stood under a
flickering lantern. He recognized White, who whispered to
the others, "This could be tricky. I came out this gate only
a few minutes ago. Try to grin and act like a couple of ru-
ral clods."
Doing his best to look rustic—the effort consisted of a
smile that Tom felt must appear patently false—the
brothers waited while the doctor greeted the guard in Latin.
The soldier scrutinized Cal and Tom. White made another
remark. The guard laughed, then waved them into the city.
As they moved down a dark, twisting street, White ex-
plained, "I said you were friends of mine whom I'd
planned to meet on the road. Farmers, come up from the
country outside Rome. For dicing, wine—maybe a girl
friend or two. That, the guard understood."
Conversation fell off. Both brothers were enthralled by
glimpses of the city through which they hurried—straight,
stone-paved streets; small shrines or fountains on nearly
every corner; imposing houses, walls unbroken at street
level except by locked gates, but opening up to spacious
porches and colonnades at the second story. Nearly every-
where, the street-level walls were painted with colorful
scenes of daily life. Tom remembered textbook illustra-
tions of excavated chunks of those walls. From the
paintings, archaeologists had deduced much about the an-
cient city.

46
Time Gate
But the walls also reminded Tom of Pompeii's doom, a
doom already sealed and certain.
At this hour, most residents were indoors. From one
house, laughter rang out. A dinner party? On an upper
porch, a lute sang gently. The few pedestrians they met
hardly gave them a glance. Presently White pointed. "The
forum."
They approached a torchlit plaza some five hundred feet
long and a quarter of that distance across. The forum was
paved with great blocks of travertine marble, well-worn.
Imposing bronze statues of gods and goddesses thrust up
here and there. White enumerated some of the structures
surrounding the spacious plaza. "The macellum—that's the
local meat market Those are shops. That small building is
a temple for worship of the emperor's family."
Next he indicated a building at one end of the forum.
The building was fronted by a portico and six great
columns. "That's the Capitolium. A temple where you can
pay your respects to Jupiter, Juno, or Minerva. Hold
on—" Gripping Tom's arm, he indicated a half dozen
loungers conversing near the temple steps. "You stay here4
I'll see what I can find out."
White limped toward the group of citizens as Tom and
Cal dropped back into the shadows of a shop portico.
White approached the citizens with his right palm
upraised. The Pompeians, all rather shabbily dressed, gave
him cool looks. But White maintained a friendly smile.
Vesuvio rumbled. Red light washed over the statues and
buildings. Then it faded.
"It seems inhuman not to tell them what's coming,"
Tom whispered.
Cal looked at his brother with a strange expression.
"For exactly that reason, Dad very nearly destroyed all the
papers in which he'd written the theoretical base of the
time-phase effect. Before anyone so much as thought about
constructing a Gate, he understood the agony of a situa-
tion like this."
"I didn't know. What changed his mind?"
"He was a scientist. He felt the truth couldn't be hid-
den, or suppressed, no matter what the consequen—Here
comes Gordon."
As White limped rapidly in their direction, one of the
men in the crowd stared after him, suspiciously. White
darted into the portico, unsmiling. "Donald Koop is the

The Unthinkable
47
subject of all the commotion, right enough. At least I'm
reasonably sure it's Donald. It's unlikely that two—to use
their words—strangely dressed barbarians speaking a wild
foreign tongue—would appear in Pompeii on the same
night."
"Have those men seen him?" Cal asked.
"No, but many others have. Apparently he made quite a
stir before he was seized."
"Seized?" Tom exclaimed. "By whom?"
"The watch. According to those fellows, the watch
worked up the nerve to corner Donald about an hour ago.
They surrounded him and carted him off at spearpoint.
For some reason, he didn't use the laser. Perhaps he was
too frightened. At any rate"—White sounded despair-
ing—"He's been imprisoned."

6
MUSIC FOR ESCAPING
FROM A ROAAAN PRISON
Instantly, Cal asked, "Do you know where?"
White nodded, "Just a few blocks beyond the ther-
mae—the public baths. Donald's in a building where the
watch collects drunks and other undesirables and holds
them overnight till they can appear before a magistrate.
The place is next to a baJter's."
He stepped from under the portico, but Cal hauled him
back. The loungers by the Capitolium steps were staring in
White's direction, their expressions decidedly suspicious.
Abruptly, three of the group started walking toward the
portico.
"My dialect must be showing," White whispered. "This
way!"
They raced along the shadowed portico. Tom glanced
back. "They're coming!"
White dashed into a sour alley between shuttered shops.
Following at top speed, Tom stumbled over refuse. White
signed them to the left. Distinctly, they heard the pound-
ing sandals of their pursuers.
The three kept a fierce pace along dark streets, then fi-
nally stopped to listen.
"I think we've lost them," Cal said, breathing hard.
"There's still the problem of reaching the jail," White
said. "Now it'll take longer. We'll have to circle wide
around the forum."
48

Music for Escaping from a Roman Prison 49
It actually took about an hour to locate the building.
They got lost twice, White failing to remember a detail of
Pompeii's street geography. At last they approached a cor-
ner where a bronze fountain bubbled. White raised his
hand to check their advance.
Looking both ways, he crept to the fountain. In a mo-
ment he signed them forward and pointed.
Halfway up a narrow, sloping street, a canopy support-
ed on two poles hung over the paving stones. From the
lamplit doorway drifted the aroma of hot bread. Beyond
the stop a small, one-story structure showed light behind
barred windows. Tom thought he heard an angry yell,
though from which building, he couldn't be sure.
White said, "Let's walk past the open door of the jail
and check the situation as we go by."
Doing so, they attracted no notice from the noisy bak-
ery. Somewhere at the back, men shouted at each other in
some sort of dispute.
The situation at the jail wasn't encouraging. Inside, a
heavyset Roman soldier, armed with sword and spear,
dozed on a stool under a lamp. He presented a direct
threat to anyone attempting to sneak in by the front way.
Cal discovered a narrow passage along the far side of
the jail. He darted into the passage, signaled them to wait,
and disappeared.
Directly above Tom's head, a barred window shed dim
light. Beyond the bars, a man sang in a low, drunken
voice.
Soft footsteps alerted them to Cal's return. "Bad news. I
went nearly all the way around. There's no other door."
White scowled. "Then we'll have to bring him out the
main door."
"First we'd better be sure he's in there," Tom said.
Carefully, Cal reached up, grasped the lower edge of
the barred window, and raised himself for a quick glance.
"He's in there, all right. With two drunks. One's asleep,
the other's singing. Donald still has the laser pistol in his
belt. The watch must not have recognized it as a weapon."
"All we have to do is to lure that one guard outside—"
Tom began.
"It's tougher than that," Cal said. "There's a small office
on the far side of the building. Through the window I saw
an officer. At least he's wearing a fancier helmet than the

50
Time Gate
guard is. He was writing on a tablet. We'll have to get
both of them out."
"A commotion in the street?" White suggested.
"That would bring the guard. I'm not sure about the of-
ficer." Cal glanced around. "We need some kind of un-
usual diversion—
Right then, Tom remembered an object concealed in the
special belt. "I may have—yes. Here."
"That's only a communicator." Cal sounded annoyed.
"I was using it at home a few days ago. I returned it to
the stores, but I forgot to take the reel off the playback. I
recorded a rock-pop sonata. Wild stuff. Electronic. Some-
thing the Romans have never heard. We could play it full
blast—"
"Just what we need," White said.
Cal chewed his lip. "Those men in the bakery would
certainly come out too."
"If you can handle the first guard," White said, "I'll
take care of the bakery. Then I'll come back to help with
the officer. Tom, you open the cells"
"Do you suppose there's a key?"
"Probably just a bar."
"I need a weapon—" Cal prowled off down the passage,
returned with a large stone. Tom's stomach tightened. He
wasn't accustomed to violence. Neither were his brother
and Gordon White. Their tension showed on their faces.
Tom pushed a control on the communicator, advancing
the music reel to about the center. One flick of another
small switch and Pompeii would be blasted with a clangor-
ous, bleeping music that would make Roman hair stand on
end. He hoped.
The three crept into the street and crossed to the far
side, moving around the oblong of lamplight falling
through the door. White stole down to the baker's shop as
Tom and Cal recrossed to the jail, keeping to the shadows
on either side of the lighted oblong. Cal flattened against
the outer wall. Tom peeked at the guard.
Still dozing.
Tom bent, placed the miniaturized communicator against
the worn step. He swallowed, saw Gordon White signal his
readiness.
Except for the argument in the bakery, the street re-
mained eerily still. Cal surveyed it one more time.
Abruptly, he nodded.

Music for Escaping from a Roman Prison 51
Tom pushed the switch.
With a screech and a wheep, electronic music blared. It
sounded even more cacophonous than usual through the
communicator's small speaker. White kicked the poles sup-
porting the canopy. It tumbled down over the bakery's
front door.
Inside the jail, the guard let out a yell. Boots slammed
on stone. A burly shadow, a man with a spear, fell across
the street.
Cal edged forward. The soldier rushed through the
door. Cal whipped his arm over and smacked the rock
against the side of the guard's head.
Cursing, the guard dropped his spear. He staggered. Cal
grabbed the spear and flung it away. From the bakery,
there was louder yelling, as the bakers tried to fight their
way through the canopy. White came on the run.
Enraged, the guard lurched to his feet. The earpiece of
his helmet had protected him from the full force of the
blow. He grabbed the hilt of his short sword. From be-
hind, White pulled the guard's chin back, but the man was
large and strong. He shook White off, leaped at Cal.
Fortunately Cal was ready. He drove his fist into the
man's belly.
The punch took the wind out of the guard. White
chopped the blade of his hand against the back of the
man's neck. By then, Tom was through the door and rac-
ing for the jail room on his left.
Sure enough, only a bar secured the door. Tom had for-
gotten about the officer, though. The man came charging
down a short corridor, drawing his sword.,
Tom seized the nearest weapon, the guard's stool, and
flung it.
The stool sent the officer reeling. By that time, White
burst in the front door, followed by Cal with the rock.
Tom heard sounds of scuffling and furious oaths as he
yanked up the bar and hauled the screeching door open.
"Donald? Donald, come on!"
Seated against the wall, his glasses pushed up on his
forehead, Donald Koop regarded Tom with a dreamy ex-
pression. A curious smile played over his lips.
All at once Donald's eyes cleared. He lurched to his
feet, his expression instantly suspicious,
"Who's with you?" he demanded.
"Cal, Dr. White—What's the difference? Come on!"

52
Time Gate	(
"They'll just lock me up again—"
"Donald, do you know what's going to happen in Pom-
peii tomorrow? The volcano will erupt. The whole city will
be buried! If you prefer that to getting out of here, you—"
Tom held back the final words. You must be out of your
mind!
He started dragging Donald by the arm. A couple of
hard tugs seemed to restore Donald's reason. "All right
Let's go,"
White and Cal had gotten the officer down on the floor.
White sat on his armored chest while Cal punched his
head. Three blows, and the officer was too groggy to
move.
As the four plunged toward the door, Cal snatched the
laser pistol from Donald's belt. About to protest, Donald
suddenly wilted under Cal's furious stare.
First outside, White shouted, "Trouble!"
To the left, at the low end of the street four soldiers
appeared around the corner, a staggering man in tow. Two
of the soldiers carried lanterns. Reacting instantly to the
wild music, the two without lanterns pulled out their
swords.
"It's the watch!" White exclaimed.
All four soldiers forgot about their inebriated prisoner
and sped toward the jail.
As they began running, White shouted, "We have to
reach the city gate before they do—"
Tom wondered how. The Pompeians all seemed to be
powerful men. They ran at incredible speed, considering
the street's upward slant. But luck worked for Tom and
the rest.
It took the form of the bakers, who finally freed them-
selves from the canopy and rushed into the street, howling
and waving their arms.
The first two watchmen collided with the bakers and
tumbled. That gave Tom and the rest the needed edge.
They used it to maximum advantage, racing up the hill.
Even Donald seemed aware of the danger. He kept pace.
At a corner, Tom gasped, "Cal, can't we use the Gate
control from here?"
'Too risky. Keep going!"
Of the long, wild race to the gate of Pompeii, Tom
remembered little, except for impressions of wall paintings
streaking past the corner of his eye. White frequently led

Music for Escaping from a Roman Prison 53
them in a new direction. Finally, a block from the gate by
which they had entered, they slowed down.
Tom's chest hurt. He was sweating, dizzy. Puffing,
White and Cal seemed to be in even worse shape.
"Keep walking," White wheezed, limping. "They can't
be far behind."
Watching for signs of pursuit, the group reached the
gate. White threw his torn cloak over Donald's shoulders,
concealing the gaudy shirt and trousers as best he could.
The guard didn't notice Donald until the party was
directly under the lantern that hung outside the gate. Even
then, his reaction was slow, for Donald was partially hid-
den by the others.
The guard's eyebrow hooked up, the start of a question.
Behind, the watch cried warning. White and the others
broke into a run.
By the time the guard yelled, they were well away from
the city wall.
Tom felt he could not drive himself much farther. Even
though he was in good condition, the long run had been
grueling. Yet somehow he kept on. Vesuvio gave off a
deep ominous sound, showing reddish light brighter than
before.
As they raced around the first bend in the coast road,
Cal fell. White and Tom helped him up. Cal's cheeks were
pale with exhaustion. Back at the city gate, the watch ap-
peared, swinging lanterns, and brandishing spears and
swords. The party had grown to some ten men. They
charged up the road at top speed.
"Get—" Cal fought for breath as they staggered on.
"Get your control ready, Gordon, We have to go through
the Gate the instant we reach the area—"
Of them all, only Donald Koop seemed to run without
losing strength. Perhaps it was desperation, an awareness
of what had almost happened to him. Ahead, Tom recog-
nized the hillside where the Gate had deposited them ear-
lier.
He looked back. The watch was gaining. Their lanterns
bobbed wildly.
Suddenly he remembered that he had left the communi-
cator behind, to be buried under tons of ash when Vesuvio
erupted tomorrow. Would the tiny device be destroyed? Or
would some archaeologist in the far future discover a

54
Time Gate	(
melted lump of metal that, among all the other relic9
found in the ruins, completely defied classification?
"Can't—make it," White choked, suddenly dropping to
his knees.
Panicky, Cal struggled to pull the doctor to his feet. The
watch was steadily closing the distance. They would be
caught, taken back—they would die in tomorrow's devas-
tation!
Vesuvio thundered so loudly that the watch broke
stride, turning their faces toward the mountain. Tom sud-
denly felt intense pity for the men. Doing their job
tonight, they had no idea of what tomorrow held
"Not far, Gordon," Cal gasped, supporting White. "We
turn off just ahead."
The roadway shook. The red light brightened, faded.
The watch resumed pursuit, but again the distraction had
provided the narrow margin between capture and escape.
They reached the hillside, huddling together as Cal
fumbled with the small, shiny box.
He dropped it He searched for it in the dark as Tom
fought to keep from keeling over with dizziness.
Finally Cal located the box, thumbed the side. Cool,
tingling darkness began to drop across Tom's mind.
He had a last vivid impression of a belch of red from
the volcano. The light reflected from Donald's glasses. On
the road below, a member of the watch bawled a com-
mand to halt, flung his spear—
Tom watched the spear arc through the starlight sure it
would strike one of them—
Pompeii vanished.
Exhausted, Gordon White sat on the stainless steel plat-
form. Not looking much better, Cal stood nearby, the laser
pistol in his right hand.
Tom leaned against the wall. The shock of their experi-
ence had finally hit him. Only Donald remained unmoved,
seemingly nerveless.
Five minutes earlier, the four had found themselves
back in the Gate chamber. A clock showed the local time
as ten past one in the morning.
Cal said to Donald, "Take off those glasses. Stop hid-
ing."
Donald obeyed, trying to smile. "Look, Dr. Linstrum,
would an apology—"

Music for Escaping from a Roman Prison 55
"Apology! You incredible fool! Do you think words can
begin to compensate for what you did? For what you
might have done?" He indicated the gutted wall. "Repair-
ing that damage will cost thousands of dollars. Beyond
that—" For a moment, Cal couldn't go on. "You need
help, Koop. Your, reactions—they're simply incredible!"
Stein and Walker appeared from the tunnel. Walker
carried a tray with a pot and coffee cups. The break was
welcome.
Tom gulped coffee and began to feel a little better. But
Cal still looked furious.
"Shall I ring up security now?" Stein asked him5
"Not till we hear his explanation. If any! You didn't ex-
pect to wind up in Pompeii, did you, Koop?"
Donald simulated embarrassment. "I admit I tried to
cancel the failsafes—"
"Endangering Gordon's life!"
Donald said nothing. Tom wished he could read his
friend's thoughts. He had an eerie feeling that Donald was
keeping a mask carefully in place.
Finally Donald replied, "I thought I could override the
failsafes without harming anyone. I've studied some elec-
tronics on my own—"
"You not only think you can play with this equipment
as though it were a toy," Cal exploded, "you apparently
believe you're competent to change history. Anyone who
^thinks that is extremely sick."
•\ Donald let that pass, saying instead, "I'll admit I got a
'sad fright on that hillside when I realized where I was."
White asked, "Why did you go into Pompeii?"
"I hoped I'd find you. I was pretty scared. Not thinking
clearly—"
"You make it all sound so casual! You tried to tamper
with the very fabric of the past! The risks—" Again Cal
bit off the words. He added, disgusted, "I honestly ques-
tion whether you're sane enough to understand all I'm say-
ing."
"Well," Donald offered, "when those watchmen caught
me, I did wave the pistol at them. Thought it might scare
them off—"
No one spoke. Donald finished lamely, "It didn't work."
"Did you seriously expect Roman soldiers to recognize
that kind of weapon?" White demanded. "The very fact
\jhat they let you keep it should have told you—"

56
Time Gate	(
"I know, I know. That hit me pretty fast. Once I was in
jail, I decided to use the laser to destroy the door. Late at
night, when everything was quiet."
Again heavy silence. Again a weak afterthought. "I
couldn't think of anything else."
Cal said, "We have a readout on the destination you
tried to set on the Gate."
That, at last, produced a reaction—a visible start.
Recovering quickly, Donald said, "Oh?"
"We know you were heading for March twelfth, this
year. Tom told us about the newspaper you marked."
Donald glanced at Tom and Tom saw something new
and terrifying in his eyes.
Hatred.
Cal was relentless. "You wanted to return to March
twelfth. To Archibald's retreat in the Adirondacks. To kill
him? To wipe out not only the President but his disarma-
ment proposals?"
"Where's your proof?" Donald snarled.
"Do you deny it?" White shouted.
Blinking, Donald shriveled a little. Then he straightened
up, almost proudly. "All right. I don't deny it. Archy
deserves to die. He and his milksop ideals are destroying
this country."
"You do need a doctor," Walker said. "The sooner, the
better."
"Let's go to my office," Cal said. "I'll ring Sloat."
Walker and Stein volunteered to remain behind for a
few minutes, shutting down the system. Cal gestured with
the laser gun. Donald preceded him along the tunnel. Tom
and Gordon White followed.
They had just cleared the red door when they heard a
crash from the storerooms. White ran to the door, flung it
open, froze. And Tom wondered whether his sanity had
collapsed under the night's strain.
One of the costume boxes had been ripped to pieces, the
contents scattered. Hovering unsupported in the air, three
feet above the litter, was an incredible apparition.
It consisted of a silver metallic cube about a foot and a
half square. Across its face were small dials with jiggling
needles, and two rows of winking lights. From the sides of
the floating box, a pair of metal stalks projected, waving
gently. At the end of each glowed a hemisphere of pale
green glass mounted in a metal cup.

Music for Escaping from a Roman Prison 57
While all their heads were turned toward the incredible
sight, Donald Koop leaped.
He smashed his fist into Cal's head, knocking him side-
ways. Donald's fingers clawed Cal's wrist. He kneed Cal
viciously. Crying out, Cal doubled over.
Donald tore the laser pistol from Cal's hand and pushed
him. Cal crashed into the wall. The metal box waved its
stalks in an agitated way. The green glass hemispheres
pulsed with light.
Gordon White rushed forward. Donald's growl drove
him back. Donald backed to the far wall, covering them
with the needle-tipped gun. His glasses had fallen back
into place, blue mirrors. The set of his mouth said he was
desperate.
"Stand still," Donald ordered. "Otherwise I'll have to
kill you all."

7
WHAT THE BOX REVEALED
Despite the warning, Tom said, "Donald, whatever
you're thinking—"
"Thinking, Thomas?" A strange smile. "I'm thinking
that, of all these people, you'd be the hardest to kill. But I
can do it. After all, you're an Archy sympathizer. So don't
force me."
White couldn't take his eyes from the floating box.
"What is that thing?"
Donald shrugged. "I don't know. But it's obviously
metal. And metal burns." He moved the laser pistol ever
so slightly. "Just like the rest of you."
At this, the dials on the box jiggled more wildly. The
stalks whipped back and forth. Tom had the feeling that
they were suffering from a collective nightmare.
"Now listen carefully," Donald ordered. "I want you to
move. But very slowly. You first, White."
"Where?"
"In there."
Their eyes swung to the thick door. Cal gasped. "The
vault?"
"Don't worry," Donald told him, "I'll turn on the air
supply. But I want you where you can't interfere."
"Koop, if you tamper with the Gate again—"
"Dr. Linstrum, your theories about the so-called conse-
quences don't interest me."
"Irreparable damage to the flow of history is more than
theory! It's an extremely likely possibility."
58

What the Box Revealed
59
"How do you know? Who has used the Gate for any-
thing except your stupid research? No one!"
"You can't be serious about trying to kill Archibald,"
White exclaimed.
His voice barely a whisper, Donald answered, "I'm an
activist, not a chair-bound philosopher. I have never been
more serious. Now, Dr. White—open the vault."
White shivered, walked to the massive door. He touched
a button on the control panel beside the door. It swung
open. White went inside.
Striding across the antechamber, Donald slid his back
against the block wall directly alongside the red door. "All
right, Dr. Linstrum. Open this door. Call Walker and
Stein, then step back. If your face shows anything suspi-
cious, I'll burn you first."
Fighting fear, Tom called his brother's name. A flicker
of Cal's eyelids was the only sign that he had heard. Tom
said, "He couldn't stop all of us if we rushed him."
Donald smiled. "I wondered when someone would think
of that. Undoubtedly it's true. On the other hand, Thomas,
one or more of you would certainly get killed. Would you
care to sign the warrant for your brother's execution?"
Heart sinking, Tom knew Donald was right. The laser
pistol could mortally injure a man in a millisecond. The
risks were too great.
"Call them!" Donald commanded.
Unsteadily, Cal pressed the proper button, waited till
the red metal recessed into the wall.
"Stein? Walker? Can you come here a moment?"
Donald gestured savagely. "Back!"
Cal obeyed. Footsteps clacked along the tunnel. Donald
tensed.
The footsteps came closer. Suddenly Dr. Stein's body
filled the doorway. He spotted the floating metal box,
started to turn—
Dr. Walker appeared. Donald booted him in the small
of the back.	<
Walker fell against Stein, knocking him to his knees. By
the time Walker had righted himself, Donald had reached
a far corner of the antechamber. His position afforded him
a wider sweep with the laser.
"Don't do a thing," Cal warned Dr. Stein, as the latter
struggled to his feet. "He'll kill us if you move."

60
Time Gate	(
"But—" Walker pointed to the metal box hovering in
the storage-room door. "What's that?"
Suddenly Donald's eyes narrowed. "Not one of your
little security devices, is it?"
Numbly, Cal shook his head. Tom was dismayed. In a
thoughtless second, Cal had thrown away a prime oppor-
tunity. If they had been able to convince Donald that the
box, whatever its origin, was monitoring this incredible
scene—
But Cal was unskilled in deceit, unprepared, as they all
were, to face this kind of situation.
Donald told Stein, "Join Dr. White in the vault. You
follow, Walker."
Reluctantly, Stein obeyed. In a moment, Walker too was
out of sight.
"Now you, Dr. Linstrum. Before you go in, switch on
the air systems."
Cal's hand darted across the master panel. Inside the
vault, ventilators whirred. Cal plodded through the door.
Once more Donald waved the laser. "Your turn,
Thomas."
"Donald, listen. If you use the Gate again, you'll only
land in worse trouble. Stop now and I think I can per-
suade Cal to give you a break—"
Wild bluff. He might as well not have bothered.
"Don't waste my time, Thomas. Inside!"
"No cause is worth—"
"Killing for?" Donald's eyes shone. "On that point, we
part company. Sometimes I'm astonished that we've been
friends this long. In many ways you're such a child."
Heartsick, Tom started toward the vault.
"One moment, please! What do you propose to do with
me?"
Thunderstruck, Tom turned toward the metallic voice.
Even Donald looked startled.
The metal box floated forward into the antechamber,
waving its stalks and pulsing its green glass hemispheres. It
spoke through a small grille in its lighted face. "It takes no
great intelligence to deduce that whatever is happening
here is against the law. I must warn you, young man—be
prepared for serious repercussions. You are being observed
by a member of the press."
"A member of the—" Tom began, astonished.
"I," announced the box, "am Sidney Six."

What the Box Revealed
61
"The reporter?"
"That is correct."
Donald jumped at the box, seized one of its stalks and
began pulling. "Then you go in the vault with the rest of
them!"
The box couldn't offer physical resistance. But it shot its
pointers to the tops of its dials, flashed its lights rapidly,
and protested. "Do not think that because I am a mechan-
ical device, I have no civil rights. It has been established in
court, McElfresh versus Six, that an artificial news gather-
ing intelligence is entitled to—ow!"
Flung by Donald's hand, the box sailed through the
vault door and banged against the wall. It hovered un-
steadily, now bobbing upward, now sinking down, while
the speed of its changing lights became dizzying. Cal and
the others reacted with loud exclamations,
"In!" Donald shouted, shoving Tom hard.
As Tom recovered his balance, the massive door began
to close. White flung himself against the steel, tried to
push it. But Donald had activated the automatic close
mechanism—the shutting of the door was inexorable.
Deep in its steel, relays clicked.
"I've programmed it to open in five hours," Donald
called. "About daylight. By then, my work will be done."
The door shut.
White leaned against it, eyes closed. His posture
summed up their defeat.
"Five hours!" Walker said. "In that time, he could
destroy—"
White straightened up. "Perhaps if we made noise—"
"No use," said Cal. "There's a guard about three feet
from us. But because of the bunker's design, he can't hear
a thing through these walls."
"I believe I've been dented."
They all stared.
The metal box had regained its equilibrium and hovered
now in front of the files that held many of Department
239-T's records. Busily, Sidney Six explored its own sur-
faces with its stalks. Then it rotated to show them an in-
dentation in its case.
"See for yourselves! My editors will not take this indig-
nity lightly. Now—" The green glass hemispheres flashed
twice. "Would someone kindly explain what is going on?"
"Don't tell him—it—anything!" White warned.

62
Time Gate	(
"My dear sir, why not? We are in this perilous predica-
ment together. A predicament which apparently jeopard-
izes the operation of your facility. Of which I have known
for some time, by the way."
Cal snapped, "How?"
"Tut-tut, my dear fellow. Reveal sources? Unethical!
But it's evident that matters have become quite serious.
That young man with the pistol has all the mannerisms of
a mental case. Since he has locked us up for the next few
hours, let's have a chat."
Cal fisted his hands. "At a time like this, you want to
chat?"
"Dr. Linstrum—naturally I know who you are—please
realize that I, Sidney Six, have penetrated this installation
despite your best efforts to prevent it. Your security has
been breached. Therefore, I suggest you cooperate."
Perhaps it was only Tom's imagination. But the senten-
tious metal voice suddenly sounded threatening. "Wake
up, Doctor! Face reality! You no longer have any secrets
from me!"
Gordon White stared at the animated box. "I thought
Sidney Six was a human being."
"A frequent error, sir. However, I am no less intelligent
than you. I was constructed by my news syndicate at a
cost of over one million dollars. I embody the latest re-
finements in miniaturization, and actually represent an im-
provement over Homo sapiens, in that I am not subject to
foolish emotional states. In that area, sir, you are the in-
ferior."
White colored. "But I have hands. What would you say
if I came over there and ripped you apart?"
"I would protest vigorously! Until you silenced my vo-
cal mechanism, that is. Let me assure you, sir, such over-
reactive behavior would be futile. Another, similar device
would soon be along to replace me. And I have an ace in
the hole besides that. My editors have placed top priority
on obtaining the story of this department. A story
concealed from the public far too long."
"For very good reasons," Cal said.
"That is a matter of opinion. Oh, I am aware of your
father's concern about employing your time-travel mecha-
nism to—shall we say—tinker with the past. However, my
obligation to report the facts overrides those abstruse phil-
osophical quibbles. The public has a right to know!"

What the Box Revealed
63
Scowling, Dr. Walker sat down on the floor. The vault's
fluorescent lighting was harsh, the temperature low. But at
least the ventilators supplied fresh air£
"Ahem!" said Six. "Am I to infer that the obviously un-
balanced young man who forced us in here—an employee
of the department, isn't he?—is Senator Koop's nephew?"
"How do you know everyone?" Stein asked.
"I have been pursuing this story for months. Ferreting
out elusive leads—cryptic phrases buried in Congressional
committee reports, titillating paragraphs submeged in
memoranda dictated by Vice-President Hand—"
"In plain English," Tom said, "you're a spy."
"This continuing attitude of hostility is most dis-
tressing!" cried the box. "We are all in this together!"
"But you're uninvited," Cal said.
"That, of course, is true. My presence, however, is no
whim of capricious fate. I laid my plans to penetrate this
installation most carefully, arranging to be delivered in the
latest shipment of costume cartons. From that vantage
point, I intended to observe Department 239-T covertly,
until I was ready to announce my presence."
Tom recalled a hole punched in one of the unpacked
boxes. He mentioned it.
"Was I watching through that hole? Clever lad! Tonight
I intended to emerge and explore the department. When I
woke up, I assumed everyone had gone home—"
"Woke up?" Walker repeated. "Do you sleep?"
"Not exactly. From time to time I shut down to cool
my circuits. When I reactivated myself, I found I hadn't
reckoned on the strength of the tape with which the box
was sealed. It required some effort to free myself. I had
just done so when that remarkable scene took place out-
side. And that leads us back to Koop. I gather he plans to
tamper with events in the past. What events?"
Cal seemed in more complete control now. "Don't any-
one answer that ridiculous hunk of junk."
Sidney Six shot its stalks in Cal's direction. "Ahem! I
was warned that you were an authoritarian personality,
Dr. Linstrum—not to say overbearing. The warnings were
not exaggerated. With only modest encouragement, I could
dislike you thoroughly."
Cal shrugged. "Too bad."
"I thought you couldn't experience emotion," said Stein.
"My dislike," announced the box, "is wholly rational."

64
Time Gate	(
"How did you come by the name Sidney?" Walker
asked.
"My editors chose it. I find it repellent, but the decision
was not mine. And, taking the editorial viewpoint, I sup-
pose one can't very well print a startling expos6 under a
by-line consisting of a serial number. The designation Six
derives from the fact that I am of the sixth generation of
constructs designed to be independent news-gathering
agents. Those of us in Series Six were the first completely
successful models."
"There's more than one of you?" Tom said.
"Alas, my lad, not at the moment. In a month or two,
yes. Several additional Series Six models are now under
construction. My earlier colleagues have been destroyed,
damaged, or otherwise rendered inoperative in pursuit of
journalistic excellence."
To the others, Cal said, "No wonder security had such a
tough job. They were looking for a human reporter."
"Quite so! My size is extremely convenient for penetrat-
ing hidden installations and ripping off the lid of false
secrecy which—"
"One more word," Cal growled, "and I'll send you to
join your illustrious colleagues. In the scrapyard."
Sidney Six jiggled its dials to express annoyance. But it
didn't reply.
Presently, all the humans in the vault sat down. Stein
wanted to know how the "box planned to escape from
239-T once its presence had been revealed.
"I mean," he said, "what's to prevent us from dismant-
ling you?"
Sounding worried, the box replied, "When I penetrated
and exposed the secret Air Force missile platforms in the
Gulf of Mexico, I was similarly threatened. In such cases I
strike a bargain. In return for my withholding some of the
more delicate aspects of a story—I am not without a con-
science, gentlemen—the operators of the facility customar-
ily grant me the right to reveal details that will not imperil
national security. As if they had any other choice! Ahem!
Further, they obfuscate the intelligence authorities higher
up and do not reveal my identity or nature. Every-
one"—the machine flashed its hemispheres significantly—
"everyone, respects the power of the press—and of Sidney
olX!
The conversation lapsed. The chilly vault induced

What the Box Revealed
65
lethargy, and the loquacious machine evidently ran out of
things to say about itself. It did ask one or two more ques-
tions about Donald Koop's plans. Receiving no reply, it
settled down to silence with its stalks folded across its
lighted face.
Tom checked his watch. Fifteen past three. Donald had
imprisoned them shortly before two. The lock wouldn't
open until just before seven. He yawned.
Dr. Walker's chin stubble was beginning to show. Dr.
Stein dozed. Cal simply sat against the wall, staring into
space.
Tom let his eyes close—
He awoke at fifteen before five. He was stiff. He started
to stand up.
Suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown, he knew.
He didn't know how he knew. The knowledge was sim-
ply there, tangled in his head along with the other cer-
tainty that he had seen President Archibald on television
only four days ago.
How was it possible for him to have seen Archibald
and, simultaneously, hold this other, bone-chilling fact
within his mind?
"Cal?"
In Cal's horrified eyes, Tom saw that his brother shared
the same terrifying knowledge. Tom forced out words.
"It's the eeriest feeling—I think I know—" He swallowed.
"President Archibald was killed five months ago. On the
thirteenth of March. He was shot at Camp Lookout by an
assassin, while he was heading for his helicopter to return
to Washington. The assassin vanished in the forest and has
never been caught—" Wildly, Tom stood up. "It's all
there! But it wasn't in my mind an hour ago—Cal, what's
happening?"
Cal said, "It isn't what's happening, Tom, but what has
happened."
Dr. Stein said, "It's as if I have an entirely new set of
memories put there the moment Koop changed history.
Gordon—"
"Yes," White whispered. "I know it too. God help us
all." -
Suddenly Sidney Six began to wave its stalks. "Archi-
bald dead? How do you know?"

66
Time Gate	(
They ignored him. Walker raised a question that was
deviling Tom too. "I can't figure it out, Cal. My mind tells
me Archibald's gone. At the same time, I remember—viv-
idly—that he was alive last week. Yesterday! Do we all
have two sets of memories?"
A series of nods confirmed it. The sense of horror
deepened.
"But how?" Stein exclaimed.
Cal answered, "I don't know."
White said, "More important—which set of memories is
correct?"
Slowly, Cal raised his right hand. The index and middle
fingers spread to form a V.
"Operating on the theory of alternate tracks of time,
both are potentially real. Along one branch, Archibald was
murdered. Along the other, he wasn't. The branch point
was March thirteenth. On that day, one reality stopped—
another started. Why we know about both, I'm not
prepared to say. One thing's certain. There's only one real-
ity here—" He rapped the floor. "There's one of each of
us, one vault, one Department 239-T. You asked the right
question, Gordon. Which reality is outside that door?"
They stared at the vault's massive portal. White said,
"In two hours, we'll know."
Time crawled. Finally, the interior of the great door be-
gan to buzz and click. The thick steel swung outward.
The bunker lay empty, full of shadows. It was too early
for any regular employees to have arrived for work. Stein
ran down the tunnel, returned to report no sign of Donald
Koop. Cal led them to his office. Sidney Six floated along
behind, as if it were doing its best to remain unobtrusive.
The box drifted into Cal's workroom along with the oth-
ers.
Dr. Stein shut the door. Cal stepped to the telephone,
seized the sculptured receiver and punched buttons.
Time seemed to stretch again. The conflicting memories
buffeted Tom's mind—Archibald alive, Archibald dead-
alternate time tracks—Which was real?
"Hello? This is Dr. Linstrum, 239-T. I'd like to speak
with the President, please. Yes, thank you. Yes, I—What?"
A pause. "No, don't wake him. No, let me call back in a
little while. It's not that urgent."
He broke the connection, staring at them.

What the Box Revealed
67
"The White House operator said she would connect me
with President Hand."
Stein whispered, "He was sworn in after Archibald was
assassinated—"
Tom knew it too. So did they all.
In a dead voice, Cal said, "So—Donald succeeded,
didn't he?"

8
DARK MEMORY
Dr. Calvin Linstrum ordered the red door secured and
the Gate chamber declared off limits until further notice.
He, Tom, and Gordon White changed clothes. Cal sent
Tom to the cafeteria for coffee and rolls.
Tom's step was slow. His mind felt mushy, and not
merely from a sleepless night. As he passed the guard on
duty in the corridor, he wondered what the soldier knew
of Archibald's assassination. Certainly no one in the
bunker save those who had been confined in the vault
seemed overly upset this morning. Which present was real
for them?
Returning to the department, Tom felt that his own
thinking had never been so jumbled. Two sets of memories
continued to conflict within him: Archibald alive and Ar-
chibald murdered, Ira Hand in office, Donald Koop at
large.
At large where? In the Adirondacks, last March? To
think of it started another headache.
As soon as Tom passed the coffee and rolls, Cal request-
ed that his office door be locked. The department's senior
technicians—White, Walker, Stein—sat or stood in pos-
tures of weariness, dejection.
Only Sidney Six, resting on a corner of Cal's worktable,
seemed alert. "Is it really necessary to lock the door, Dr.
Linstrum? That strikes me as a trifle melodramatic."
"I don't need advice from a tin can."
White hefted a massive paperweight. "Want me to shut
the thing up, Cal?"
68

Dark Memory
69
"Don't you dare!" cried the box. "I have warned you
gentlemen—destroy me and another Sidney Six will very
soon be manufactured to take my place. And in the event
you become completely unreasonable, there is that addi-
tional ace card I mentioned. Now, I would appreciate
someone giving me a summary of what has transpired. I
deduce that it involves the President."
Cal's eyes narrowed. "What's his name?"
"Why, Benjamin Archibald. My memory banks—one
moment." The lights on the cube flickered rapidly. "Yes,
my memory banks confirm that President Archibald is
alive, in office. Your remarks about contacting President
Ira Hand make no sense."
"Apparently it doesn't have two sets of memories," Cal
said to the others, ignoring Sidney Six's feverishly gyrating
stalks.
"Because it's a machine?" White shrugged. "Who knows
how the human mind functions under conditions like
this?"
"I think it's time we called security," Walker suggested.
"In a minute," Cal nodded. "First let's make sure this
new reality actually exists." He seized Sidney Six.
"Wait, wait, what do you think you're doing?"
"Putting you in that closet, Six, I'm going to bring one
of my employees in here. I don't want him frightened out
of his wits."
Opening the door of the combination wardrobe and lav-
atory, Stein stepped back. Cal shoved the box inside. It
quivered its stalks in rage. "Your behavior smacks of po-
lice state brutality! I will not tolerate—"
"Stay in there and keep quiet. One squawk and I'll turn
you into junk. Clear?"
The electronic journalist said, "Ahem!" But it offered no
resistance.
"Leo," Cal said, "find someone out there who's just
come to work. Anyone."
Dr. Stein returned shortly with a graying, slope-shoul-
dered man who wore thick glasses.
Cal indicated a chair. "Sit down, Bigelow."
"Yes, sir, Dr. Linstrum, thank you."
"Bigelow, I want to ask you a couple of questions. You
may find them peculiar. Please understand that I have
good reason for asking them and don't worry too much

70
Time Gate	(
about why." Cal did his best to sound conversational. But
the shadows under his eyes belied his tension.
"Anything you say, Dr. Linstrum." Bigelow turned to
White. "I came in early to make sure my soup was ready,
Doctor. I thought your Pompeii film would be waiting—
"We had an unexpected delay." White sounded vague.
Cal leaned forward, "Bigelow, do you recall what you
were doing back on March 13?"
The photo technician thought a moment. "That was the
day President Archibald was murdered in the Adiron-
dacks. Sure! I remember."
"Where did you hear the news?"
"In my daughter's living room. In Richmond. My wife
and I drove down for the day to visit with our grandchil-
dren. We'd just finished dinner and little Fred was
watching the television. All at once the network interrupt-
ed the movie with a bulletin. The newscaster announced
that the President was dead, and that Ira Hand had al-
ready been sworn in."
Tom and the others exchanged grim glances.
"What about the assassin?" Cal asked carefully.
Bigelow hit the arm of his chair. "I'd have mobilized the
whole country! I know the Government made a big effort,
but they should have done more. Whoever he is, that mon-
ster should be caught! He's probably still congratulating
himself. But he can't hide forever. I'll be glad when he's fi-
nally hunted down and exposed."
Shielding his eyes, Cal said, "What's your opinion of Ira
Hand since he took office?"
Bigelow considered. "On the whole, good. I liked Archi-
bald's stronger stand on disarmament. But Hand seems to
have a pretty keen grasp of domestic affairs. The economy
has sure boomed."
"Just one more question. What do you think of Donald
Koop?"
Bigelow blinked. "The Senator's nephew? The boy who
used to work here?"
"Used to?" Walker blurted.
"Why, you remember," Bigelow said. "He worked here
all last summer. This year, the week after his college let
out, he didn't show up. I heard that someone from here
phoned Senator Koop and wanted to know what had hap-
pened. The Senator didn't know either. He said the boy
had left his campus without explanation sometime in

Dark Memory
71
March, and the Senator's been trying to trace him ever
since. Some of our less responsible young people do disap-
pear that way."
In a hollow voice, Cal said, "That's right, I was the one
who called the Senator. I'd forgotten, but—now I remem-
ber."
Silence.
Bigelow shifted nervously. He had caught the peculiarity
of Cal's last remark, even though its exact meaning eluded
him.
Tom probed his own memory. He discovered a clear
image of the morning when Donald should have returned
from Harvard, but didn't. The picture was as real as the
one of Donald locking them up last night. His headache
grew worse.
Cal thanked Bigelow, who shuffled out. Next Cal sum-
moned the soldier stationed outside the gray door. Cal's
questions were substantially the same and the soldier's an-
swers similar to those given by Bigelow. The soldier had
been visiting a girl friend in Maryland that day in Marchs
He had heard the news of Archibald's death on his car ra-
dio.
When the soldier had left, Cal said, "I read it this way.
The memories of the other past—the one we lived through
until yesterday—the one in which Archibald didn't die—
those memories have somehow been wiped from the minds
of everyone except us. I'll question a few more people, but
I have a feeling we won't find the pattern any different.
They remember only one past—the one in which Archi-
bald was shot. For some reason, we remember both."
"Perhaps—" Stein sounded hesitant. "Perhaps it's be-
cause we lived through the other one. I mean, in close
contact with the person who changed everything."
"Seems the only possible explanation," Cal agreed.
"Those closely associated with the Gate are the only ones
who can see both realities after the time track forks. My
father certainly never bargained on that kind of phenome-
non. Nor did I."
White said, "We do need to bring security into this."
Cal started for the closet. "Yes, but let's make sure that
the news contraption will cooperate."
"I heard that!" cried a tinny voice behind the door. "Dr.
Linstrum, if you continue to subject me to unjustified vili-
fication merely because I am a mechano-electronic—"

72
Time Gate	(
Cal threw the door open, made a furious hooking ges-
ture. "Come out here, Six. Shut up and listen."
The box floated into the office. Humming softly, it sank
into a chair. Cal paced, spelling out in short, choppy sen-
tences all that had taken place so far. The others were
clearly worried about Cal's decision to do this. But no one
interrupted. At the end, Cal gave them a hint of his rea-
soning when he said to the box, "Steps will have to be
taken to try to undo the damage. But we can't be bur-
dened with that job and also with trying to outwit you. So
I'm offering you a choice. Give me your pledge to say
nothing about what's happened, at least until we decide on
the right course—" Cal's fingers closed around the same
paperweight with which White had menaced the box ear-
lier. "Or I'll smash you apart and worry about the conse-
quences later."
"But you can't trust a—a floating tape recorder in the
same way you'd trust a human being!" White protested.
"Why, he most certainly can!" Sidney Six countered. "I
am not without principles. Based, of course, on a rational
evaluation of the circumstances." The glass hemispheres
flashed. "Obviously you face a grave predicament, Dr.
Linstrum. Indeed, so does the whole country. Therefore, I
will cooperate. Make no attempt to file my story—"
"Or leave this bunker."
"As you wish. Whatever the terms, I will not compound
your difficulties in any way. You have my pledge, on my
honor as a journalist in the great tradition of the free
pr-"
"You can stow the rest," Cal sighed, returning to his
desk.
But Six couldn't contain its curiosity. "President Archi-
bald shot? President Hand in office? I have no memory of
that. No memory whatsoever—until now." The stalk-tips
pulsed. "Tell me frankly, Linstrum—What on earth is to
be done?"
Fingers pressed to his temples, Cal said in a low voice,
"That, I 'm afraid, remains the question."
To confirm the theory that only those in the office were
burdened with the knowledge of both time tracks, Cal
questioned three more employees of Department 239-T:
the two secretaries who handled correspondence and
routine governmental paper work, and a man who came in

Dark Memory
73
regularly to service the automated cafeteria equipment. All
told similar stories. Since March 13, the President of the
United States had been Ira Hand,
Dr. White fell into an exhausted doze during the inter-
rogation. Pale, Dr. Stein excused himself briefly. He
looked no steadier when he returned. Toms' headache
dwindled to a dull hurt? His clothing was rumpled, his
hands felt gritty, his mouth tasted stale. When the ques-
tioning was over, Cal said, "As I see it—"
"If you intend to have a conference, please let me out!"
complained the box in the closet. "My receptors are ex-
tremely sensitive. Continually straining them in order to
hear could result in damage which—"
At Cal's wave, Tom released Six. Somewhat huffily, it
announced, "I might say, Dr. Linstrum, that countless oth-
ers have encountered Sidney Six with no apparent mal-
function of their nervous systems. Hiding me from your
employees is another gross insult."
Cal glared. The box dimmed its stalk-tips suddenly,
murmured, "Ahem!" and sank to an unobtrusive spot by
the baseboard.
"For the second time in twenty-four hours," Cal told
them, "we need to go after Donald. This time, the stakes
are much higher. Presumably he set the Gate for the
twelfth of March, waited overnight until Archibald was
ready to leave Camp Lookout, then pulled the trigger and
fled. If we travel back to the twelfth, perhaps we can stop
him."
Walker said, "You mean try to prevent the assassination
before it happens? Wouldn't that be compounding the
trouble? If tampering with history is dangerous, tampering
twice should be doubly so."
"Unless we can simply reverse what's happened. Put
things back exactly as they were by seeing to it that Koop
gets nowhere near Archibald. That is absolutely all we
would do—stop Koop. If the double memory effect holds
true, and we succeed, we should be the only ones who'll
ever know that Ira Hand was chief executive on an alter-
nate time track. Bigelow, the guard, the rest of them—
their memories should be exactly as they were—as ours
Were, yesterday, before all this began."
They agreed that it made sense. Dr. Stein asked whether
Cal would clear the plan with President Hand. Cal replied

74
Time Gate	(
that he was still mulling over that complex question.
Clearly, he alone would decide.
"Actually," White said, "we have no choice as to how
we use the Gate. After his experience the first time, Koop
undoubtedly took a control unit. If we go anywhere, it'll
be to the place and date he chose."
"You might check the control unit inventory," Cal said
to Tom.
Tom returned to report, "Two gone."
"Mine," said White, "and Donald's."
"Let's make certain the Gate's locked onto the twelfth,"
Cal suggested. Ordering Sidney Six to remain behind, he
led the others out of the office and down the tunnel. Tom
was so tired, he stumbled repeatedly.
In the circular room, Dr. Stein punched up the appro-
priate controls. They waited for the paper tape to chatter
from the slot. By the time Stein had finished running his
fingers over the raised marks, he looked ill again.
"Something's wrong. The Gate's no longer set for
March twelfth. I—I must be reading it incorrectly. Here,
you try—" He passed the tape to Cal.
In a moment Cal's head snapped up. "It's today's date.
But—he can't have done that!"
Dr. White examined the punched paper. In a voice
choked with horror, he said, "The year is a.d. three thou-
sand, nine hundred and eighty-seven!"
Tom goggled. "Two thousand years ahead? In the fu-
ture?"
Back in Cal's office, they waited.
Dr. Stein had gone down two levels, to a section of the
bunker seldom visited, in order to speed a printout of in-
formation from the Gate's internal clocks. Sidney Six,
meanwhile, digested details of the latest revelation. "You
mean that young lunatic has traveled into the future, as no
one has done before?"
"As no one has dared to do before," Tom corrected. "A
traveler in the future would face the same problem we did
in Pompeii—high visibility because of the wrong clothing,
unfamiliarity with the language, whatever the language
will be—whatever it is, up ahead—"
Even attempting to speak coherently on the subject
presented difficulties.

Dark Memory
75
Sidney Six grasped them at once. "You used the verb is.
Do you imply that the future coexists with the present?"
"That's a generally accepted theory of time," Cal ex-
plained. "The illustrations are numerous—a road, a river
are the most common. At this point along the river of
time, we exist. Five miles back, beyond a bend, let's say,
five hundred years ago exists. Five miles ahead, hidden by
another bend, five hundred years hence is equally real. And
so, in the same way, is every other point along the river—
every other moment in time in the past or future. The fact
that it's beyond our power to see those past and future
realities doesn't necessarily negate their existence. The
complications set in when you think of dynamiting that
river at a particular place, in order to rechannel the
stream."
"Then you have two streams? Those alternate realities
we've been talking about? Frankly, Linstrum, it's perplex-
ing and—"
Stein burst in with a sheaf of computer printout. "It's
bad, Cal."
"He's definitely gone?"
"Looks that way. The clocks show that at two thirty-
four in the morning, Donald set the Gate for March
twelfth, this year. He evidently returned to the chamber
later. At three forty-five, the Gate was reset to the current
coordinates. The temporal is exactly two thousand years in
the future. The spatial is this area—Washington and vicin-
ity. If it exists up there."
"Why would he go to the future?" Cal said. "Why?"
"If I know Donald," Tom said, "I think he might want
to see the long-range results of the assassination. He'd
want to know what influence on history he exerted by
pulling the trigger. Beyond that, he knows forward travel
is forbidden, so if he did it, he'd do it on a big scale."
"He's a madman," said White.
"It has certainly happened before," Sidney Six re-
marked. "Remember the Oswald affair? And the unfortu-
nate who murdered the younger Kennedy? Such people
are mad indeed. Mad with a belief in the importance of
self in the scheme of human affairs. Men justify their exis-
tence in many ways, large and small. With someone like
young Koop, however, the urge assumes diabolical antiso-
cial proportions."
No one, not even Cal, reacted angrily to that, perhaps

76
Time Gate	(
because the hovering cube sounded almost frightened. And
they knew it was right. Like Presidential assassins of the
past, Donald Koop, in the name of his convictions, could
both justify and carry out almost any deed.
Cal said quietly, "What a hell of a mess."
Their options had been drastically narrowed. If they
went after Donald, it could only be to pursue him in a.d.
3987—a future for which they had no conceivable way of
preparing. Cal's plan to prevent Archibald's murder had
been destroyed at a stroke.
Stein said, "I feel as if I've been awake for years. I—"
All at once, he was weeping loudly, and at the same time,
apologizing, "I'm sorry—a man shouldn't—it's all been too
much—I can't seem—"
On a quiet signal from White, Walker stepped forward.
The two escorted Stein from the office. Tom felt only sym-
pathy. The mind-staggering events of the night had left
him in almost the same state. Cal too looked near the
point of collapse. And baffled.
Cal reached for the phone. "I'm calling the President. I
thought I could make a decision about Donald without
consulting him. But with this new factor—"
His words trailed off. He stared at the wall in a forlorn
way. Into the phone he said, "Dr. Linstrum again. This
time it is an emergency."

9
DECISION
"And that, Mr. President, is everything so far."
Ira Hand looked pale. He sat opposite Cal at the desk,
his expression almost childlike, as if he had been handed
an incomprehensible puzzle to work and could not work
it.
During Cal's narration, Tom had not missed the glances
between White and Walker. His brother had omitted any
mention of Sidney Six. The box was once again confined
to the closet, no doubt with stalks pressed against the door.
Dr. Stein was still absent, resting in the bunker's tem-
porary sleeping quarters. Walker had given him a relaxant.
Tom yawned. It was only midmorning. But he felt as
though he had not slept for years.
At last, Hand spoke. "Dr. Linstrum, you confront me
with facts which my mind has difficulty grasping. You say
Ben Archibald was alive yasterday?"
"On one time track, yes."
"I have no memory of that. The last time I saw him
was the morning last March when he departed by plane
for Camp Lookout. He briefed me on a number of mat-
ters before he left. On Sunday, as he was about to enter
his helicopter to fly back to the Syracuse airport, he was
shot and killed. I was sworn in by the Chief Justice a few
minutes after six. The next time I saw Ben, he—he was ly-
ing in state. The television coverage—the funeral—digni-
taries from all over the world—surely you remember!"
77

78
Time Gate	(
"I remember very clearly. I also remember an alternate
reality. There, it never happened."
Hand began walking back and forth with that character-
istic rolling gait. But his step lacked energy. "You'll for-
give me if I have trouble accepting your story. The death
of my friend Ben Archibald was a grave loss for this na-
tion, for the world community, and for me personally. To
hear that he was not assassinated—"
Hand shook his head.
"Mr. President, I asked for your presence down here be-
cause there's a decision only you can make."
Hand pulled out a large handkerchief and mopped his
cheeks. "Go on."
"As I said earlier, I had planned to return to Camp
Lookout and try to stop the assassination. That same plan
involves two steps now. First, travel to the future. There,
we'd have to locate Donald, retake the control, come back
here, and reset the Gate. Only then could we return to the
Adirondacks."
"Travel two thousand years ahead? Doesn't the prospect
alarm you?"
"Frankly, it terrifies me. But I'm willing to go. So is Dr.
White. It can be argued that it might be best to leave well
enough alone. On the other hand, Koop is in possession of
the means of controlling the Gate. We can keep a constant
watch on the Gate chamber, of course. But if he returns
by surprise—" Cal shrugged. "Encouraged by the success
of his first experiment, he might try another journey back
to some other turning point in history. Very likely, if he
came back to the chamber, we could stop him. But I hate
to wait. Someone so unstable shouldn't be allowed to re-
main free any longer than absolutely necessary,"
"If you should succeed in capturing Koop in the future,
and if you were then equally successful in forestalling
Ben's murder—I would no longer be President?"
"Nor have any memory of having been, very likely,"
Cal agreed. "That's why the decision must be yours. To
ask a man to remove himself from the highest post in the
world—"
"Ben was my great and good friend. I do not want the
Presidency if the price must be refusal to try to prevent
his death."
"There's no guarantee we'll succeed. All sorts of possi-
bilities exist, including an uninhabitable earth two thou-

Decision
79
sand years hence. Even if the future does prove hospitable,
there's also no certainty that we can locate Koop."
Another silence. At the end, Hand said, "You must
try."
Cal lost some of his tension. "Very well, sir. And thank
you."
"When do you propose to leave?"
"As soon as we can. I hope this afternoon. We all need
a little sleep."
"Agreed." Hand began pacing again, regaining some of
his old vigor. "I also want you to take a number of steps
on my behalf. One, a phone line is to be kept open between
this department and my office—my bedroom if it's during
the night. Regardless of the hour, I want to know the out-
come."
Cal made a note. Tom thought about the results if his
brother and Gordon White did succeed. Would Ira Hand
suddenly cease to exist in the President's bedroom at the
White House? Find himself instead in the home he occu-
pied as second in command?
Then came another disturbing thought.
According to the river theory of time, both the March
weekend and the far future coexisted right along with the
present. Theoretically, Donald was in two places at once.
Which Donald was real? Both?
Tom sighed. He couldn't cope with all the intricacies5
Perhaps his father had been able to do so; perhaps that
was why he had won the Nobel Prize.
Hand was still talking. ". . . send home all but those
personnel you need to assist you in operating the Gate. I
Will notify Sloat that this installation is to be placed under
maximum guard. I'm sure you realize that if a single word
of what's happened leaked to the press and the public, we
would very likely have a national crisis. No one on the
outside must know!"
Cal's eyes jumped to the closet door, "Yes, sir. "Uh—
naturally."
Hand started out. He turned back, no longer a supreme
symbol of national authority, but simply a rather stooped,
overweight man with an uncertain expression, "I still find
it hard to believe. But you must do everything in your
power to restore things as they were. I am not the man
Ben Archibald was. We need him."
As soon as the door closed, Cal punched up the phone.

80
Time Gate	(
He announced over the bunker's public-address system
that the department would close down in fifteen minutes,
and all employees were not to return until further notice.
Dr. Walker stifled a yawn. "How about Stein?"
"If he's well enough, I'd prefer that he stay on duty. I'd
like both of you to monitor the Gate."
Tom said, "What about me?"
"You heard the order."
Maybe it was Tom's tiredness. But he refused to be
shunted aside. "That's not fair."
'The answer is still no." Cal rose. "Get some sleep,
Gordon. I'll meet you in the ready room at three."
"Cal—" Tom began again.
"Tom, I'm in no mood for an argument!"
Temper out of hand, Tom shot back, "I'll be hanged if
I'll clear out. In fact, I'm not even going to stay in the
bunker. I'm going along. No, don't yell at me, Cal. Listen!
You weren't in the cell in Pompeii. You didn't see Don-
ald's reaction. At first he refused to come out. If you'd
walked into that cell, he probably would have shot you.
For the same reason you took me to Pompeii, you've got
to take me on this trip too. You may not be able to get
close enough to Donald to retake the Gate control. I can."
"You seem to forget who's in charge of this—"
A noisy thumping from the closet.
"Will someone kindly let me out? I've heard every word.
And your reaction, Linstrum, strikes me as typical of your
intellectual arrogance. If the lad's statements are true, his
suggestion that he go on the mission is eminently sensible.
Indeed—ahem! I believe I will join you myself."
"You're out of your mind!" Cal stormed when the box
was out of the closet. "If you have one!"
At that, Sidney Six's green glass hemispheres lighted up.
"Sir, you are continually insulting. Is that because you are
afraid of losing your authority? Is that why you give free
rein to your vexatious personality, constantly assuming the
shrill posture of a dictator?"
"I'll tear you apart!" Cal shouted, lunging.
Sidney Six emitted a klaxonlike sound of alarm and
sailed across the office at startling speed, eluding him.
Reaching a corner, the box rose rapidly to the ceiling, then
pointed its stalks at Cal. If a machine could look wrathful,
this one did.

Decision
81
White laid a hand on Cal's arm. "We're all exhausted.
Don't let your temper—"
"That—scrap heap is not going with us! Neither is my
brother."
Dr. Walker looked puzzled. "Why on earth would you
want to go along, Six?"
"Are you mad, sir? To view the future two thousand
years hence—what a reportorial coup! Dr. Linstrum, I in-
sist on accompanying you. Additionally, I insist that you
permit your brother—"
"Let him speak for himself."
"Nonsense! No one can effectively speak for himself in
your presence. You automatically reject any ideas that are
not expressly your own. I was astonished when you de-
ferred to Hand on the question of traveling to the future. I
even imagined your character might have some redeeming
qualities—"
Despite his weariness, Tom couldn't help enjoying this.
"—and further—no, sir, be quiet!" the box cried. "Do
not speak until I am finished. I see I was in error. You
have reverted to type. Well, sir, I not only have the desire
to accompany you, I have the means to compel you to say
yes."
All at once Cal stopped his attempts to reach up and
seize the machine's stalks, saying, "I'm not frightened by
cheap bluffs."
"No blufl, sir, rest assured. I am quite prepared to force
you."
"I suppose you're going to threaten to blow the story?"
Cal sneered.
"Precisely."
"You gave me your pledge—"
"Which I herewith, in the light of your overbearing
manner, rescind."
Cal spun back to his desk. "I should have known better
than to trust—"
"Dr. Linstrum!"
Glowering, Cal looked up.
"I have no desire, to endanger Rational security. I fully
appreciate the consequences of a security leak. Any such
leak will come about as a direct result of your- un-
willingness to cooperate—your insistence upon playing
God in each and every situation. Further, I will publicize
the fact that you alone were responsible."

82
Time Gate	(
Cal sank into his chair, bridged his fingers in front of
his nose, defensively.
"Just how do you propose to publish your story from
here?" he demanded.
"You forget the principles of telemetry, sir!"
White said, "You mean you've been storing up every-
thing?"
"Every single word I have overheard," Six confirmed.
"It has all been coded—compressed—into approximately
four minutes of highly sophisticated electronic signals. I
have but to trigger a simple relay operation inside my-
self—an operation of which you will see no visible sign—
and a data collection station in my editors' offices will
begin to record the signals I will transmit."
"Not if I climb up there and tear you apart," Cal coun-
tered.
"By remaining close to the ceiling, I can certainly elude
you for two or three minutes. By that time, the majority
of data will be in the possession of my editors." For em-
phasis, Sidney Six flashed all its lights and quivered all its
dials.
Dr. Walker couldn't hide a wary chuckle, "Score one
for the machine."
White asked, "Is this the ace card you referred to a cou-
ple of times?"
"It is."
White turned to Cal. "Personally, I don't believe it's
worth the risk to find out whether Six is bluffing. Besides,
I'd vote to take Tom along"—Tom's spirits soared— "for
the very reason he stated. I'm less enthusiastic about Six
coming. The machine could be a burden."
"In a highly advanced future civilization," Six huffed,
"my intellectual capacity could prove useful."
"I'm sure you believe so," White replied, with sarcasm.
"Under the circumstances—being totally in the dark about
what's up there—it's impossible to predict." He drew a
breath, "Still, I vote-to preserve security."
Cal complained, offered some additional quibbles. But
the heart had gone out of the fight. And they all knew it.
Strange, Tom thought, how some nasty part of him took
pleasure in Cal's defeat. Yet he didn't really enjoy seeing
his brother backed to the wall.
Dr. Walker tapped his watch. "ItH be noon before we
know it. If you're going to get some sleep—"

Decision
83
"The rest of you go ahead," Cal said, not looking up. "I
have some things to organize." His hands wandered aim-
lessly among the papers and microfiles jumbled on his
desk. The defeat by Six had cost him his pride.
With a slow step, Tom started out with the others. Six
floated after them. All at once Tom grew conscious of Cal
watching. He turned, and just as quickly looked away.
Tom rolled into one of the bunks in the temporaiy
sleeping quarters. The memory of Cal's eyes haunted his
mind.
Angry eyes.
Accusing.
Sidney Six might have won a small victory for itself and
Tom. But in the long run, the actions of the box had only
deepened the conflict between brother and brother.
Dr. Stein snored softly in the bunk across the way. The
air circulators whispered. Thinking of the future, Tom
imagined fantastic cities, incredibly complex machines
buzzing in the skies, and on the ground—
How would the people look two thousand years hence?
Physically changed, as many scientists predicted? Bodies
spindly, muscles atrophied because of increased depend-
ence on machines? And would there be that staple of sto-
ries about the future, the oversized, superintelligent head?
Surely, among such people, Tom and the others would be
worse anachronisms than Donald had been in Pompeii—
Donald.
Tom drifted into a doze troubled by dreams.
Sunlight flashing from his glasses, Donald toppled great
gleaming towers with bursts of a laser. Superimposed like
a second image in a film, another Donald crouched in
powdery snow, exhaling clouds of breath, his eyes and his
laser trained on a plowed area where a government heli-
copter whirled its rotors—
Mercifully, sleep hid the rest.
"Thirty seconds," Stein warned.
Cal, Tom, and White stood shoulder to shoulder on the
platform. Clicking busily, Sidney Six floated just above
them.
The humans wore neutral gray coveralls of the kind
found on workmen in the bunker. All government insignia
had been ripped off. Cal and White carried recorders,

84
Time Gate	(
cameras, and weapons, concealed in the special belts under
their clothes.
The neutral uniforms were the only costumes that might
even come close to blending in with costuming of the far
future. It was really impossible to predict what lay ahead.
What if styles had changed so radically that everyone wore
kiltlike skirts? Or lived in weather-controlled cities and
wore nothing at all? What would they find? What?
"Fifteen seconds."
The lights sequenced faster. The platform vibrated.
"Ten seconds,"
Though he had slept briefly, Cal still looked tired. He
had wrestled unsuccessfully with the problem of spatial
coordinates. There was no way to tell whether Donald
Koop had set the Gate so that he, and they, would arrive
in an area unoccupied by solid matter two thousand years
from now. Donald had had the sense to adjust the coordi-
nates upward, to approximately ground level. Beyond that,
they could only hope.
"Five—"
The cool, tingling darkness closed around Tom.
When it vanished, he saw a world beyond all imagining.

10
A.D. 3987
They stood on a slope above a wide, eroded watercourse.
In the bottom of the channel, a trickle of water gleamed
with scarlet highlights. The stream looked more like oil
than water. The channel twisted through a level landscape
to disappear in the dull red haze of the horizon.
The fortieth century.
The wind whined. Tom coughed. The air seemed full of
dust.
Their shadows stretched across what looked like burned
grass. Over everything lay that dull red light.
Judging from the direction of the shadows, they were
facing east. Westward, dun plains of scorched grass ran on
toward the low, dark red sun. The edge of the sun was vis-
ible, though indistinct, as if screened by great clouds of
dust.
Everywhere, Tom saw the same dun earth tufted with
yellow grass. Could this once have been the lush Virginia
countryside? What had become of the signs of civilization?
Here was nothing but emptiness, a desolate uniformity, a
sense of life burned out.
Waving its stalks gently, Sidney Six said, "Most remark-
able!"
Cal and Gordon White headed down toward the water-
course. White pulled out his matchbox camera, put it to
his eye, and clicked oif exposures.
Cal said, "Either there was gross error in Donald's set-
85

86
Time Gate	(
tings, or what's left of the Potomac has changed course
considerably in two thousand years."
"How warm is it?" Tom asked, "Sixty degrees?"
"More like fifty," White replied.
Cal frowned. "Fifty? In August?"
Tom glanced at the sun. Did the masking effect of the
hazy atmosphere produce the abnormally lower tempera-
ture?
"Surely there must be some human habitation—" White
began.
But not another living creature, human or otherwise,
could be seen anywhere in the stark landscape. At least
not until Tom spotted a couple of crawling insects among
the tufts of grass. He pointed them out. The others seemed
reassured by the discovery. Earth, then, was not totally
dead.
Sidney Six discovered the city.
It would have been easy to miss. No more than the tips
of fluted towers were visible along the northern horizon.
Seven or eight of them thrust up into the wan red light,
glowing with dull highlights, as if they were made of glass.
One tower, flared at the top, was higher than the others.
"About ten miles away," Tom guessed.
Cal shook his head. "Fifteen to twenty. Let's get mov-
ing."
They trudged straight across the desolate countryside,
keeping the city as their fixed destination point. After half
an hour they reached the summit of a low hill.
Still no sign of human life. But more of the city had
come into view. Many shorter spires could be seen, clus-
tering below the higher ones. Horizontal connectors—
aerial roadways?—linked a number of the towers. What
was disturbing about the city was its isolated quality. The
travelers saw no indication of suburbs. For all its graceful,
soaring beauty, the city resembled a self-contained fortress
in a hostile wilderness.
They walked on. At last they viewed the city complete,
and Tom realized that even those towers which seemed
short were tall indeed. The lone spire soaring above all the
rest had to be on the order of three hundred storys.
No one said much. Occasionally Sidney Six would
clack, buzz, and talk to itself in a low tone, storing a de-
scription of the sights for retrieval later.
Obviously the residents of that city had chosen to build

A.D. 3987
87
upward, not outward. Because the land would not easily
support life? That seemed logical, given the vegetation, the
haze in the sky, the indistinct sun now half out of sight be-
hind the western horizon.
Finally, Gordon White said, "What's happened? This
complete desolation—"
"War?" Sidney Six suggested. "A holocaust?"
"If so, it took place a long time ago," Cal said. "There's
no evidence of man-made destruction."
That was true. Yet something had caused the inhabi-
tants of the city to abandon the land.
Tom, shivering, said, "We're assuming we'll find people
in that city. What if we don't?"
White nodded. "He's right. We might be walking toward
a monument."
Depressed by the thought, they trudged on.
Crossing another low rise, they started down toward
what looked like another watercourse, but with two differ-
ences. No water flowed in the bottom, and it was over-
grown with brown grass. At either side, low walls had
been built to keep the banks from collapsing. The walls
were made of blocks of a gray, stonelike material.
"Artificial," Cal said aftei-examining the wall. "But very
hard."
Walking was easier in the empty stream bed, ditch, or
whatever it might be. The channel seemed to be leading
toward the city. They tramped for some ten minutes. The
walls, showing no evidence of disrepair, continued on ei-
ther side. Suddenly they heard a low, steady moaning.-
A vehicle shot into sight from around a bend, traveling
fast. Streamlined, with an opaque black cowl forward, it
tapered to a large exhaust tube aft. From the tube gushed
a barely visible vapor. The vehicle bore cryptic markings,
only one of which was familiar—a triangle, repeated
twice.
The vehicle skimmed above the watercourse at a height
of about two feet. But it was not a ground-effect machine
riding on vertical air jets. The sere grass under its fleeting
shadow showed little sign of disturbance.
"Lasers," Cal whispered.
The two men drew their weapons from under their cov-
eralls, then hid them in large outside trousers' pockets. The
speeding vehicle began to slow down. The moaning—the
sound of its propulsion plant—diminished.

88
Time Gate	(
The vehicle came to a stop about ten feet away, then
slowly descended to rest on the ground. The hinged cowl
fell open. Seated one behind the other were two men.
As they climbed out, Tom caught his breath. Both were
at least seven feet tall.
They were extremely slender, sticklike. Each wore a
kind of dark, tight-fitting body stocking, with a hard vest
over the torso. Their helmets resembled shiny black eggs.
One man held a wand. A weapon?
The voice of the man without the weapon boomed
through an amplifier. But his peremptory inquiry, though
clear in general tone, was gibberish.
Cal waved one hand. The other was still concealed in
the pocket where he had hidden the laser. "Strangers! We
can't understand you."
Once more the rapid-fire gibberish crackled from the
helmet. White pointed to his mouth, moved his lips, and
lifted his palms in the universal gesture of noncomprehen-
sion.
The man without a weapon walked rapidly back to the
vehicle. He climbed aboard and disappeared through a
hatch leading to a rear compartment. When he returned,
he carried a small metal wafer in one gloved hand.
The man laid the wafer against his throat and took his
hand away. The wafer did not fall. Suddenly, from the
amplifier, recognizable speech crackled. "We can now
translate you. I am Officer Klok. Who are you?"
"Scientists," Cal said. "Travelers—"
"You are small," Klok rasped. "No people with whom
we are familiar look as you do. Where have you come
from?"
"We'll talk about that with whoever's in charge."
"In charge?"
"The boss. The headman." Cal gestured to the towers
visible above the channel bank. "Whoever runs that city."
"The Chairman! You wish to see the Chairman?"
Strain showed on Cal's face. "Right."
"We have been observing you carefully, strangers,"
Klok informed them. "Since you are most odd in appear-
ance, you will obey what we say in every respect."
"Are you police?" Tom asked.
Klok nodded. "We observed you first on the view at
Central. We have come out to ascertain your nature, your
origin, and your purpose in approaching Washingtowne."

A.D. 3987
89
"Washingtowne!" White exclaimed. "Is this the United
States?"
Klok fingered the throat wafer. "I am unable to obtain
a translation of those terms. This is Federal Earth, Prov-
ince Amerik. You will inform us as to your purpose here."
Cal shook his head. "We'll tell that Chairman of yours,
no one else."
Klok and his fellow officer conferred, Klok having re-
moved the wafer from his throat temporarily. He replaced
it after a moment.
"We will transport you. However, you are cautioned.
Officer Nem has a—" The next word was unintelligible.
"Arouse a commotion, or cause straggle in any way, and
Officer Nem will be compelled to employ liquefaction."
"Liquefaction?" White repeated with a shudder. "No,
thanks!"
"What is that device?" Klok demanded, meaning Sidney
Six.
"Oh," Cal hedged, "a research machine, I teld you—
we're scientists."
"It jiggles its arms. It blinks its lights. It hears me?"
"I certainly do!" Six answered. "And I don't mind tell-
ing you that I find your bullying attitude highly offensive.
I am a representative of the free pr—"
Noting Cal's glare of warning, the box stopped. Officer
Klok, however, wasn't satisfied. "In the event of difficul-
ties, your device is also subject to liquefaction."
"We'll keep our—ah—device under control," White
promised.
Klok gestured sharply. "Inside!"
One by one they climbed into the vehicle, bent, and
crawled through the hatch to the back compartment.
Windowless, and so small that they had to sit hunched on
padded benches along either side, the chamber smelled of
citrus. The aroma came from tanks at the chamber's aft
end. Fuel?"
The cowl closed. The vehicle began to vibrate. The
moaning resumed. Tom felt them lift, turn, and begin to
speed back up the channel toward the city.
Washingtowne. Some things had survived after all. Did
the name "Federal Earth" imply worldwide government?
That might be a hopeful omen.
Officer Nem pulled the hatch shut ami wedged himself
onto a bench foward. Because of his height he was forced

90
Time Gate	(
to bend almost double. But his wand, which evidently re-
moved troublemakers by means of liquefaction, did not
waver.
Presently, though, he seemed to relax. He unsnapped
latches and lifted off his black helmet. His skull was to-
tally hairless and gently pointed. He had alert brown eyes
three inches wide.
"Mutated genetic strain?" White whispered to Cal.
Officer Nem frowned, Klok had given him the wafer,
which he placed at his throat. "No speaking privately,
thank you please."
"Why not?" Cal challenged.
"We do not as yet know your origin or purpose. And
your appearance is suspicious in the extreme. Indeed," he
added, "never in my career have I encountered persons so
peculiar. Shall I not say—abnormal?"
"I guess it all depends on your point of view," White
murmured, looking less than happy under the policeman's
continued scrutiny.
Tom and the others were unprepared for the spectacular
sight awaiting them when the vehicle landed with a gentle
bump.
Officer Nem preceded them through the hatch. As Tom
clambered out onto a glassy black floor, he could see little
but darkness pricked by points of light. The sun had set
during their trip—
Then it hit him.
The vehicle had climbed extremely high. They were
looking down on the glowing tower city.
Beyond the transparent wall of a great circular room,
glittering spires winked and gleamed. Tiny lights darted on
the horizontal roadways below. They had arrived at the
summit of the very highest tower, evidently descending
through the immense, irislike port in the roof. The view
was breathtaking.
Officer Klok gestured toward a moving stair. 'To my
surprise, the Chairman wishes to receive you personally.
Step lively, thank you please."
In other circumstances, Tom might have grinned at the
wafer's tangled translation. Sidney Six was muttering
again, filing another description.
The moving stair was an inclined belt without steps.
Tom stepped on and sank half a foot. But the belt held
him comfortably after that.

A.D. 3987
91
On the floor below, Klok and Nem led them along a
bright corridor with gleaming walls. Tom couldn't locate
the source of the illumination. Around a corner, they
came to imposing double doors emblazoned with a silver
escutcheon incorporating images of an owl and a tree, plus
an inscription in the unreadable characters Tom had no-
ticed on the side of the police vehicle..
A muffled bell rang twice. The doors opened inward.
Inside, another huge, clear-walled chamber overlooked
the city. A man rose from a curiously sculptured chair. He
was even taller than the officers. A good seven and a half
feet, Tom estimated, bony in the extreme. Well into
middle years, the man had an austere face, and those un-
nerving wide eyes. One tuft of gray hair sprouted from his
chin. Otherwise his head was hairless.
The man acted neither hostile nor friendly. Officer Klok
made a sign of obeisance, then spoke in the unintelligible
language.
The man, who was dressed in a plainly cut one-piece
garment of rich purple, nodded. Then he waved in dis-
missal. The officers looked startled. But they marched out.
The tall man walked to the curiously designed chair.
The arm contained a number of controls. He pressed a
transparent button. A moment later they heard his voice.
"This room is now circuited for immediate translation. No
intermediary devices are required. We receive quite a few
visitors from other provinces. Having the entire room
wired is most helpful."
And the system was obviously more sophisticated than
the wafers, Tom realized. It did a far better job of trans-
lating the man's voice into natural speech. He continued,
"I am the Chairman, Doktor Phlonykus. Though I am not
as suspicious as my officers—good men, those!—I might
say that the room is also heavily monitored for my per-
sonal safety. In the event of any unusual activity, various
concealed devices will automatically apprehend and re-
strain troublemakers."
Suddenly he smiled. "But I am confident such a warning
is unnecessary. You do not appear unfriendly. Merely—if
I will not offend you—unusual-look'ng. By our standards!
Now, please identify yourselves."
"I'm Dr. Calvin Linstrum. You're the Chairman of this
city or territory?"

92
Time Gate	(
"No," returned Doktor Phlonykus, "I am the Chairman
of Federal Earth."
Taking a seat, he let that sink in. After a moment he
continued. "Under the terms of my contract, I spend peri-
ods of one year administering affairs of the global govern-
ment from each of the different province capitals. Two
months ago, my daughter and I traveled here from our
last residence in Europa. Normally I would not have re-
ceived you in person. It was the description of your physi-
cal appearance that prompted me to do so. May I inquire
where you come from?"
"From two thousand years in the past."
Doktor Phlonykus' wide lids dropped briefly over his
flecked gray eyes. Tom began to catch some of the atmo-
sphere of the room, and the city: order, control, every-
thing in balance, in contrast to the wretched state of the
surrounding countryside.
Doktor Phlonykus said merely, "Explain."
Taking the better part of an hour, Cal did.
At the end, Phlonykus said, "Your tale staggers the
imagination. Please give me a few moments to adjust."
"I would have thought your society would be familiar
with the principles of time travel," White said.
"I have encountered references to it in the literature,"
Phlonykus said. "It is mentioned in one or two obscure
footnotes, if memory serves. We do not possess the
knowledge of how such travel is accomplished."
Cal's eyebrows lifted. "You mean the secret's been
lost?"
"Along with many other technological accomplishments
of the past." Doktor Phlonykus strode to the outer wall,
speaking with his back to them, "Do not let the appear-
ance of this fine city deceive you. There are but nineteen
such cities scattered around the world. And that is the en-
tire sum and substance of Federal Earth. Ninety-nine per-
cent of the globe has been abandoned as unfit for human
life."
The travelers received this staggering news in stunned
silence.
Phlonykus continued. "You say you wish assistance in
locating one of your number who has journeyed to this
time. The answer to that request must wait until I am con-
vinced that you come from where you say."

A.D. 3987
93
"We never thought of bringing any proof," Cal admit-
ted.
"The most convincing proofs are your own remarkable
physiques. You are so short! Can the human race have
changed that much in a mere two thousand years? Of
course, the texts make it quite clear that it has. Yet, con-
fronted with living examples—" Phlonykus shook his
head. "I find it far easier to cope with the fact in the ab-
stract. But now, perhaps you are in need of rest and re-
freshment—"
The double doors opened£ A girl rushed in.
"Father, may I have permission to tap the central com-
putation blank? My figures on .the liftway stresses are
wrong. The—"
She stopped suddenly, aware of the visitors.
The girl was young, about Tom's own age. Nicely built.
And she was only about an inch taller than Tom. Perhaps
the women in this far future had not undergone the same
drastic evolutionary changes as the men.
The girl had a pretty face, with flecked gray eyes similar
to those of Doktor Phlonykus, but not as wide. Judging
from the way her fabric helmet fitted tightly over her
head, covering it completely except for the face cutout,
she was bald.
Impatiently, Phlonykus said, "Mari, I am busy confer-
ring with these most unusual visitors—"
"I heard about them. Unusual is hardly an adequate de-
scription—" She paused. "We're being translated?"
"They do not speak our language, for reasons that I will
explain later. Please state your business, Mari. Briefly!"
"My calculations have resulted in a gross error. The
work crew is at a standstill. Unless I can use the computa-
tion banks tonight—"
To the others, Phlonykus explained, "My daughter is su-
pervising construction of a new pedestrian way on the
twelfth level."
"Supervising!" Tom blurted. "How old is she?"
Phlonykus replied, "In calendar years? Why, seventeen.
I fail to see—"
"Seventeen and working on a building project?"
"In charge of it," Phlonykus amended. His daughter
was watching Tom with unconcealed dislike. He was, after
all, shorter. And he had hair.
Phlonykus told his daughter, "The name of this young

94
Time Gate	(
man is Thomas Linstrum. He is brother to our other visi-
tor, just there. They do not understand our ways, Mari. I
shall explain why at a more opportune time."
"The computation banks—"
"You'll have to wake a controller. However, if the crew
has reached an impasse, permission is given. Next time, be
more careful in preparing your theoretical base."
"Suggestion received. Thank you, Father." She started
out, still studying the travelers suspiciously. "Good evening
to you all—whoever you may be!"
When she was gone, Phlonykus sighed. "She is impetu-
ous. Typical of the young. But I assure you that she has
the capacity to direct the construction project. Her index
number is three-ten. She is genius rated."
"Genius!" Cal cried, plainly unable to accept the idea of
a seventeen-year-old girl being more intelligent than he
Was.
"There is nothing unusual," Phlonykus returned. "Virtu-
ally 85 percent of the children born on Federal Earth
achieve that rating. As I suggested, we have lost a number
of technological secrets of the past. But others have sur-
vived, including the chemical means for stimulating the
human embryo and removing potentially harmful emo-
tional factors that might inhibit the infant's development to
its genetic limit. In short, we still know how to help the
human brain realize its full potential."
In response to their stares, Phlonykus waved. "Chemis-
try, gentlemen, simple chemistry! The techniques are five
centuries old! Over the short range, those techniques bene-
fit all of society. Over the long range—" Walking slowly
to the outer wall," he gazed at the lights. "It is an exercise
in futility."
When he faced them again, shadows lay under his eyes.
A trick of the lighting, perhaps, but appropriate to his
melancholy tone. "Do not let my percentage figures
concerning genius children deceive you. There is another,
far more telling percentile in operation. One hundred per-
cent of the children are born to four percent of the
world's population. The rest of the race is incapable of
reproducing itself. As a result, the number of human
beings on the earth has been shrinking steadily for
hundreds of years. Genius, in the end, will be worth noth-
ing, since the finest brains of Federal Earth have failed to
unlock the secret of how to make the race fertile again. As

A.D. 3987
95
historical perspective, I might add that the search has been
in progress literally for centuries.; Without success."
Despair seemed to capture the Chairman. He continued.
"In simplest terms, the race is dying. Another two or three
hundred years—" He shrugged. "Very likely even the
nineteen cities will be gone. Artificial production of chil-
dren is not the answer. We have tried that The same ste-
rility to fertility ratios, ninety-six versus four, hold true
among those who are laboratory-born. Indeed, recent evi-
dence suggests that the fertile percentage may still be
dropping. Sometime after your era, though not long, rela-
tively speaking, and about nineteen hundred years before
mine—"
One hand lifted, eloquent, sad.
"In a tragedy of almost unspeakable proportions, man-
kind destroyed itself."

11
dying earth
"Are you familiar with the concept of the doomsday
device?" Phlonykus asked. "At least, that is what what it is
called in the folklore."
Tom nodded. "People in our time speculated about it
Some kind of nuclear or chemical superweapon with the
potential to destroy the earth. The idea was an extension
of the arms race—bigger and bigger weapons always shift-
ing the balance of power, until one day, some nation
would construct a doomsday machine, hide it, then an-
nounce its existence—and tip the balance of power per-
manently toward itself. Some in our country argued for
developing our own doomsday capability. But the dangers
were too great. None was ever built."
"Not in your time, that's true."
"Later?" Cal said.
Phlonykus nodded. "Construction commenced after the
midpoint of the twenty-first century. A one-of-a-kind pro-
ject. Completion required some thirty years, due to the im-
mense costs. And it nearly bankrupted its builders, because
along with the device itself went the construction of a vast
network of protective facilities. From the beginning, they
meant to trigger the device. And they did."
A shudder raced down Tom's spine. "When?"
"I believe the year was a.d. 2080."
''Who built it?" White asked.
"The Asiatics, in confederation with several of the more
militant nations of what was then Afrique. The device was
96

Dying Earth
97
to be used against the western nations and was eventually
so employed."
Cal looked pale. "In our era, there was talk of an even-
tual conflict between the white race and the third world.
Revenge for exploitation, real and fancied, of the latter by
the former. No one dreamed it would ever come."
"Alas, it did," said Phlonykus.
Tom asked, "Was the doomsday machine a bomb?"
"Not precisely. Its heart was an installation somewhere
in Asia. The exact location is documented in the histories.
The control center,, built around a mammoth computer,
launched several dozen radiation sources in a form much
like the earliest, primitive space satellites. Each orbiting
carrier released intense radioactivity over a wide area of
the globe. Bombs without a bang, so to speak. When the
device was set off, nearly 80 percent of the human race
died in a matter of days. Indeed, the builders lost much of
their own population too. It simply was not possible to
protect great masses of people from radiation of that high
an order. As a result, Asiatic manpower was depleted far
beyond the original projections. They were unable to take
maximum advantage of their insane strategy. Stretched
thin they were able to occupy only about half the globe
for about twelve years. In truth, there was little left worth
occupying."
Phlonykus paused. His voice dropped lower, "From that
moment of incredible destruction dates the decline of man.
For about one hundred years, the planet survived in a
state close to barbarism. Young colonies on the Moon and
Mars, colonies be.gun with high hopes at the start of the
century, were cut off from contact with the mother planet.
Lacking supplies, they disappeared within a generation. On
Earth, the rebuilding process began—including the horri-
ble business of rounding up the genetic freaks born as a
result of the radiation. Survivors lived underground for
nearly four hundred years, until the radioactive half-life
decayed sufficiently to permit a return to the surface. By
then, man's genetic makeup had been drastically altered.
Among the side effects, the capability to reproduce was
sharply curtailed. And since then, the death of the
planet—and the species—has been virtually inevitable. Be-
cause it is happening so slowly—" A moumful smile.
"Sometimes we pretend that all's well. But that is an illu-
sion. Perhaps it's an illusion necessary for sanity."

98
Time Gate	(
Silence.
Tom gazed down into the gleaming tower city. Some-
where down there, Mari was busily supervising a construc-
tion project. To what purpose?
Could this marvelous city really represent man at the
end of his accomplishments? Recalling the wasted country-
side, the city standing like a fortress in a hostile land, Tom
had a deep, sad certainty that Phlonykus was neither lying
nor exaggerating.
"As a footnote," said the Doktor, "I believe I mentioned
that during the chaotic century following 2080, many of
man's technological secrets were lost. No wonder. Entire
cities were burned by maddened mobs. Some of the
knowledge was recovered. We could once again send rock-
ets to the Moon. But we have not done so. Far too costly.
As another example, we still know how to produce invisi-
bility shields developed for police work in the early
twenty-first century and then adopted by the general pub-
lic for personal privacy. Sometimes my officers employ
such shields. On the other hand, we know nothing of this
time-phase effect you described, Dr. Linstrum. Perhaps
now you understand my astonishment over your pursuit of
the assassin Kop."
"Koop."	*
"Ah, yes. You say he murdered a chief executive of
your land, one Archibeld?"
"Bald," Cal said. "Archibald."
"In our histories it has become held. Faulty scholarship
after the destruction, probably."
White looked startled. "You've heard of him?"
"My dear sir, for centuries our historians have tried to
sort out the causes of the doomsday catastrophe. Your Ar-
chibeld was struck down at midpoint of his career. And I
know he worked actively on behalf of eliminating weapons
that were the forerunners of the doomsday device."
"That's why Koop killed him," Tom said. "He believed
Archibald's disarmament efforts were wrong."
"Disastrous idea! In the best judgment of our scholars,
the sudden departure of Archibeld from the world scene
centuries ago was a direct, linear cause of the arms
buildup that led to the doomsday holocaust. It is theorized
that, had Archibeld lived to carry out his plans, things
might have been entirely different—" Phlonykus gestured
toward the lighted city. "And we might not be crouching

Dying Earth
99
here in our splendidly lighted caves, awaiting the final
night."
"Then that makes our mission doubly important," White
said.
"Wait, wait!"
They all turned, to see Sidney Six waving its stalks.
"There's a logical dilemma here, Dr. Linstrum. If you ap-
prehend young Koop, return to the Adirondack forest, and
prevent Archibald's murder, time will be wrenched back
on its original course—"
"And Federal Earth as we know it might well cease to
exist," Phlonykus nodded. "We are, after all, the descen-
dants—the living consequences—of Archibeld's absence
from world affairs. That dilemma became apparent as we
talked."
"I can't deny the possibility," Cal told him. "If we
succeed, you might not be here."
"You place a high price on my help, Drs Linstrum. To
ask me to abet the possible destruction of all I have
struggled to build—even the possible destruction of my
self—" Doktor Phlonykus turned to stare outside, mur-
muring, "I am not prepared to give you an immediate
answer. You must wait. You must wait."
The Chairman provided comfortable, if unusual, accom-
modations on a floor several levels below. One of his staff
demonstrated operation of the sleeping platform, an ob-
sidianlike slab that hung in the air with no visible means
of support
A chute whisked Tom's coverall away to clean it
Shortly, the assistant returned, reporting unhappily that
the automatic cleaners had rejected the unfamiliar fabric,
and consigned it to the shredder. The assistant's assistant
arrived with more contemporary clothing: a balloonlike
sleeping suit and, for the morning, a dark-blue body stock-
ing much like those worn by the police.
Adjoining each private sleeping room was a small, bare
chamber with a single handle jutting from the wall.
Turned on, the handle activated humming sound waves
that tingled Tom's bare skin and left him feeling mar-
velously clean.
He didn't have to adjust the lighting controls in the
sleeping room. The moment he thought about darkening
them, they dimmed.
He climbed onto the sleeping slab, discovering that his

100
Time Gate	(
body did not—could not—touch it. He was supported
comfortably by the gentle currents of air.
Weary, he waited for sleep. He thought of Sidney Six,
assigned its own cubicle despite its protests that it could
rest its circuits anywhere, even in a hallway. He thought
of Mari—
He found himself curiously interested in her.
In a girl who was bald?
Halfway into dreams, he laughed. With her tight-fitting
fabric helmet in place, she was exceedingly attractive—
Her image vanished as he imagined silvery spheres
launched into the atmosphere that day so long ago. He
saw continents in flames. Hideous genetically damaged
creatures roaming the land. Whole cities sunk in bunkers
underground. Colonists on Mars sending messages to their
home planet, then waiting, and listening to the messages
dying away, unanswered—
Somewhere on this wasted planet, Donald Koop held
the key to it all. The last, disturbing image in Tom's mind
was of Donald, staggering over the burned landscape
beneath the forlorn red sun.
He slept
In the morning, Doktor Phlonykus summoned them to
his private apartments, one floor down from the chamber
in which he had received them the preceding night. A
meal was ready on a triangular table. The food consisted
of a colorless, tasteless beverage full of bubbles, large pink
fruits resembling melons, and small dark brown loaves
with a rocklike crust. Biting into the crust released a
strong flavor reminiscent of yeast. In the mouth the hard
substance turned chewy.
Seated on a padded bench beside Mari, Tom asked how
her project was proceeding.
The flecked gray eyes regarded him with mistrust. "We
have resumed schedule now that the computation error has
been corrected." She ate a bite of the melon fruit. "Your
name is Thomas?" She pronounced it as two distinct sylla-
bles.
"Tom," he smiled.
No smile was offered in return. "And how old?"
He told her.
"What is your intellect rating?"

Dying Earth
101
He explained that, in his time, they didn't have such a
rating.
"Barbaric," was her comment. It irritated him.
Doktor Phlonykus entered, looking haggard. He still
wore his one-piece purple garment. Had he stayed up all
night, deliberating?
Phlonykus made a few perfunctory inquiries about their
comfort, then came to the point. "I have considered the
matter carefully, Dr. Linstrum. Emotion argues for re-
fusal. Reason pleads an equally eloquent case and tells me
that if all the horror of the past centuries could be un-
done, even at a personal price that I prefer not to contem-
plate, I really have no choice. Therefore, I will place the
full resources of my security wing at your disposal, to help
you find the assassin."
Silently, three teardrop-shaped vehicles sped through the
sky away from Washingtowne. It was morning, one day
after Doktor Phlonykus had announced his decision. It
had taken only that long to track and discover Donald
Koop.
The tracking, as Phlonykus explained it, wasn't compli-
cated. First, scanning scopes swept the surrounding area
for a distance of three hundred kilometers, searching for a
single bleeping dot to indicate an unusual life-form. The
dot would have to be Donald, Tom learned, since wild ani-
mals were nonexistent
Long ago, animals had become obsolete as food sources.
All edibles were chemically synthesized. Insect life existed
out on the barrens, to be sure. But the only surviving ani-
mal of size was a mutated variety of the dog. These were
kept as pets by the city dwellers and never ran wild.
Donald, like Cal and his party, had arrived outside the
limit of the short-range scanners keeping constant watch
on the area immediately around the city. Cal and the oth-
ers had crossed the perimeter on their way to the city,
prompting the arrival of Officers Klok and Nem. Donald,
on the other hand, had evidently headed in the other
direction.
Following discovery of the dot, sky vehicles flew east-
ward at a high altitude, so Donald would not realize he
was being observed. Cal was quite strong on this point. If
at all possible, he wanted Donald taken by surprise. Their
real goal was not Donald himself, but the Gate control.

102
Time Gate	(
Missing the city, as Cal and the rest had come close to
doing, Donald had wandered to the shore of a dry channel
that had to be the old Chesapeake Bay, No water flowed
to, as Phlonykus called it, the Lantik Ocean. The Lantik
was now only a hundred-kilometer-wide cesspool, roughly
midway between the land masses of Amerik and Europa.
Surrounding it was a vast, dusty basin.
The sky vehicles brought back high altitude holograms.
An enlargement identified Donald positively. He was
curled up in a posture of sleep at the top of a dune. So to-
day, the pursuers were flying east. Two of the teardrops
carried officers in black vests and helmets. The third, pi-
loted by Phlonykus personally, had Cal and his party
aboard.
Although it was early morning, the waste below looked
as dim as ever. The streamlined teardrops cast lonely
shadows as they ghosted along two storys above the
ground.
Mari had insisted on joining them, overcoming her fa-
ther's objections by saying that the construction project
was now back on the track. Tom sat beside her in a sculp-
tured seat behind the pilot's bench. He kept trying to start
conversation. "For all this work you do, there must be
some preparation, some schooling—"
Her wide eyes were remote. "Schooling? What is that?"
Her speech sounded tinny, filtering through a throat wafer.
"A school's a place of instruction."
"An ancient concept," Phlonykus said over his shoulder.
"They have not existed for centuries."
"Then how do you learn?"
"The natural way!" Mari told him. "The embryo in the
mother's womb is instructed by nonvocalized electronic
signals. The mind is implanted with knowledge—"
"Before birth?"
"The process is far too extensive to be completed in
nine months. It is continued until age two. By that time,
the infant has acquired the sum of human knowledge. Of
course, learning how to apply it takes eight more years. At
ten, the child is in full command of himself, has chosen
his primary vocation, and is physically mature enough to
begin an apprenticeship. By the end of puberty, he or she
is prepared for a fully functioning role in society."
"That's incredible."

Dying Earth
103
"It is your system that is incredible, Thomas. I know all
about it."
When he asked how, she replied blithely that she had
used a telescanning machine to read out the contents of
his brain while he slept.
"Mari!" Phlonykus said. "That is hardly polite."
"No one said I could not, Father."
"And what did you find?" Tom demanded. *
"That you are a very shallow person, Thomas."
He scowled.
"I am speaking intellectually, of course," she added.
"Your primitive emotional makeup is quite another mat-
ter."
Across the aisle, Cal showed his dislike of the girl. He
still refused to accept her supposed brilliance. For once,
Tom agreed.
Mari continued matter-of-factly, "You also have pecu-
liar notions about the female sex. As I understand it, your
culture regards them as love objects."
"If you mean that we marry, have children—"
"By random chance! The dictates of the heart! To as-
sign emotional values to a circulatory organ is most irra-
tional. And to select a life's companion on the basis of
feelings, instead of matched intellectual levels—the only
word for that is still—barbaric!"
"There's a lot about us that you find barbaric, isn't
there? Not to mention unpleasant."
"If you mean I am unhappy that you are here, that is
true. I do not like the possibility of ceasing to exist. To
surrender my life, my consciousness, so that generations in
the past may labor their way forward through igno-
rance—"
"Mari!" Phlonykus said. "I have made the decision. Say
no more."
"You may be genius rated, Mari," Tom said, "but when
it comes to emotional maturity—kindness, compassion for
others—you have a lot to learn."
Mari turned < scarlet. Then she faced front. Her father
commented, "You are wise in your own way, young
Thomas Linstrum. The emotional maturity of which you
speak is not arrived at by chemical means, nor at an early
age. Only the experience of living can provide it."
Tom was almost mad enough to make another remark
about bald girls. But he didn't. Why play her game?

104
Time Gate	(
A crackling sound filled the teardrop. Phlonykus threw
a switch. They heard the translated voice of an officer in
another teardrop. "Target in view on the screens. Range,
one and a half kilometers and closing."
"Then he is still wandering the shore of the old Lantik,"
Phlonykus said.
"Let's not set down too closely," Cal cautioned.
The Chairman picked a landing spot half a kilometer
from Donald's approximate location. The silent craft
settled toward earth. With a gentle bump of extendible
pads, it landed. The other two teardrops landed alongside.
The party disembarked.
The wind whined as the policemen readied strange
weapons that included wands, spheres, and three-pronged
staffs tipped with multicolored crystals.
An officer approached. Tom recognized Klok's voice.
"The target is roughly one half kilometer forward, where
the ditch commences." He indicated a dune hiding the
horizon.
Cal pulled his laser pistol from the belt of his dark
orange body stocking. All their clothes had been demol-
ished by the cleaning chutes. White drew his weapon too.
Sidney Six quivered its stalks. "I find this exciting. Ra-
tionally speaking, of course! Shall we go?"
"We shall," Cal nodded. "But not you."
"Dr. Linstrum, once more I protest your insufferable,
authoritarian—"
Phlonykus gestured. Two officers jumped forward,
wrestled the box into one of the teardrops, and locked the
hatch from outside. Sidney Six complained loudly, banging
the teardrop's inner wall. Finally it gave up.
"My officers will follow at a discreet distance,"
Phlonykus promised.
White said, "We won't call for them unless we need
help."
Cal added, "The fewer of us there are, the better our
chances of taking him by surprise."
An immense, stooping figure against the dull red sky,
Phlonykus said, "I wish you success."
With a curt nod, Cal started up the dune.
At the top, he bellied down. White and Tom crawled up
beside him. Ahead, by the drop-off at the shore of the old
Bay, they saw a solitary figure.
Donald walked a few steps in one direction, then a few

Dying Earth
105
steps in another. His gait was shambling, without purpose,
as if his mind had abdicated all but the most primitive
control—
The red sun flashed from Donald's spectacles. Cal whis-
pered, "We'll crawl the rest of the way. Remember, he's
still armed."
Tom's mouth grew dry. The wind between the dunes
sang on a low, mournful note. On hands and knees, they
moved forward.

THE BROKEN GLASSES
They crawled to the crest of the dune separating them
from Donald and the eroded shore. Sadly, Tom contrasted
the picture of the Bay in his own time with the panorama
of desolation confronting them now. Ghostly sand clouds
blew across the basin stretching eastward. This was the
end of it, then. Emptiness. Death—
Tom felt a stab of pity for Phlonykus and his people.
Of what use was their technology when this emptiness was
the true symbol of the destiny of man?
And Donald, with his sick, power-hungry ego, had
brought the ruin.
Cal whispered, "When I signal, stand up. Don't show
him your laser right away, Gordon," he added, sliding his
own weapon back into his belt, the handle grip pointing
forward.
"Wouldn't it be better just to charge?" White asked.
"No, we're too far away. He'd have a clear shot at us.
Let's see how he reacts."
Donald was about thirty yards away, in the open. He
squatted at the edge of the drop-off, drawing a pattern on
the ground with the tip of his gun. His face was dreamy,
self-satisfied.
"I'm glad we have some backup," White said. "All of a
sudden I don't have much guts for this. Look at Koop's
face. He enjoys what he sees!"
Tom looked back. Lying shoulder to shoulder on a
dune, Doktor Phlonykus and a half dozen of his police
106

The Broken Glasses
107
awaited developments. One policeman held a rectangular
device close to his helmet, as if he were watching it. Some
kind of monitor screen trained on them or Donald or
both?
"All right," Cal said, "Up!"
Side by side, they stood.
It took about a minute for Donald to realize that he was
being observed. When he did, he jumped to his feet. The
dreamy-mad smile disappeared. The red sun glared from
the blue lenses.
Cal called, "Donald? We want to talk to you."
Another moment passed. Tom was conscious of their
vulnerability, clear targets at the top of the dune. Donald
held his laser pistol in his right hand. Tom watched for
any sudden tensing of the fingers to show that Donald had
decided on resistance.
Suddenly, Donald smiled. "This isn't Pompeii, Linstrum.
I don't need your help."
"Donald, we want to come down there and talk—"
"Stay where you are!" Donald raised the laser, "I can
hear you just fine."
Cal wiped his mouth. "All right. But please listen.
There's been an emergency. We need the Gate control—"
"How do you like this?" Donald yelled, doing a crazy
pirouette, a full circle, his free hand embracing the hazed
sky, the blowing dust, the forlorn basin stretching eastward
toward the cesspool of the Lantik. "You were all so sure
that if Archy's disarmament plans failed, everything would
be wiped out Bang, no more Earth. But it's still here!"
"Doesn't he see—" Tom began.
"He doesn't see anything," White breathed. "He's lost
his mind."
"It's beautiful!" Donald screamed, dancing up and down
now, laughing, waving his arms. "And I made it! Me!
Donald Koop!"
"If this is the Earth you made, where are the people?"
Cal shouted. "Where are the cities? I'll tell you where,
Donald. You wiped out almost all—"
White seized Cal's arm. "Don't anger him!"
But the damage was done.
"Don't preach at me, Linstrum! You're wrong, all of
you. Archy had to die. It wasn't a catastrophe. The Earth's
beautiful—and it's mine! I can do anything I want with it!
1 own it!"

108
Time Gate	(
Suddenly he held up a small, familiar object. "I can still
change it, Linstrum. Anywhere! Anytime! I'm the
Creator!"
Creator, moaned the echo on the wind. Creator—
White's cheeks shone with sweat. "No wonder he thinks
it's beautiful. He believed he's the only one left. He proba-
bly never saw the city. He thinks he's—"
Unable to go on, White let an equally horrified Cal say
it, "God."
In a moment, White recovered a little. "We can't handle
him in that state. Signal Phlonykus."
Tom said, "I'll try to get close enough to grab the con-
trol."
"No, Tom, I forbid—"
But Tom was already starting down the dune, trying to
walk slowly, steadily. The slope and the sand made footing
tricky. Tom called, "Calm down, Donald. You know me."
"My friend Thomas. Sure."
"We won't hurt you, Donald. Put the gun away,"
"Don't try to fool me, Thomas," Donald said. "You
aren't my friend anymore. Not if you came here with
them."
Tom fought his fear as he reached the bottom of the
dune. "Please listen, Donald. What Cal said is true.
There's been an emergency at the Gate. We desperately
need the control."
Instantly, Donald pointed the laser at Tom's stomach.
"The control's mine! It's where it belongs—in the hands
of the Creator! You don't realize, Thomas. I have the
power of life and death now. Over everything!"
Donald's right hand began to shake. The laser muzzle
waved erratically, "That includes you, Thomas. So stop."
He took one step back, toward the drop-off.
"I said stop right there—"
"Okay, forget the control. Let's just talk. You don't
know what you've done, killing Archibald."
"I changed history!"
Tom was fifteen yards from Donald now, forcing every
step. Fear consumed him. "But when you understand
what's happened—"
"No closer, Thomas!"
Tom kept walking.
"I'll hurt you if you don't stop right where—Thomas,
you'd better listen!"

The Broken Glasses
109
Tom raised his hand. "Donald—"
From the dune, Cal shouted his brother's name. Don-
ald's pistol hand jerked. Tom flung himself forward, hit-
ting the sand as a thin red beam hissed through the air
where he had been standing.
Someone else yelled. Tom rolled over, and saw Gordon
White pitch sideways. The line of the dune top blackened
with helmets. Doktor Phlonykus deployed his men right
and left. Cal seemed as surprised to see the officers as
Tom was.
Donald scrambled down over the edge of the drop-off,
only his head in sight as he aimed the laser at the police-,
men running both ways along the dune, spreading out to
encircle him.
"Tell them no firing!" Cal warned Phlonykus.
Donald steadied his pistol with both hands. Tom heard
a wild buzz of sound, then Cal's cursing, as he smashed a
three-pronged staff from the hand of the officer who had
triggered it. "I said no firingl"
"Use the shields!" Phlonykus ordered. "That's why we
brought them!"
The Chairman had wanted to employ the invisibility
shields from the start. But Cal—because someone else
made the suggestion, Tom was sure—had rejected the idea.
Now Tom was seeing the result of his brother's stubborn
insistence on controlling every situation. There was confu-
sion—chaos—on the crest of the dune, as policemen
scurried in all directions, hunting cove'. Abruptly, two of
them vanished, then two more, evidently employing the
shields.
Tom turned again, gasped—
Donald's hands opened. The laser fell. Slowly, he sank
from sight
With the others, Tom raced toward the place where
Donald had disappeared. "How is Dr. White?"
"Passed out," Cal shot back.
They found Donald at the bottom of the drop-off.
He lay on his side, his mouth open. His body bore no
mark. Both blue lenses, cracked into star patterns, reflect-
ed multiple suns. He was dead.
Tom felt the beginning of tears of shock. Doktor
Phlonykus said, "My men are trained to react quickly. Of-
ficer Tep would not have discharged his sonic had he not
believed one of us would be hit."

110
Time Gate	(
Cal's weak gesture conveyed his partial comprehension
of what had been a natural mistake in the tension of the
moment, On his knees beside the body, he looked up all at
once.
"I didn't want him dead. I didn't want him dead."
"I—I'm sorry," Tom said, with difficulty. "I tried. But
all at once it hit me that nobody could reason with him.
He was beyond that." He shook his head. "Dr. White—"
"Mari is attending to him," Phlonykus said, reaching
across to the officer holding the rectangular device Tom
had noticed before. It was indeed some kind of communi-
cations monitor, with an elliptical faceplate. Phlonykus ad-
justed controls and said to Cal, "Had you not rejected my
suggestion about the shields, Dr. Linstrum, this might have
been prevented."
Still on his knees, Cal seemed not to hear,
Phlonykus scowled, then spoke to the monitor plate.
"Mari?"
A colored dot pattern flashed on the plate, cleared and
formed an image of the girl's face. Then the image shifted.
Tom saw Dr. White lying on the sand, eyes closed.
Mari's voice rattled through the speaker. "The wound is
deep, in the rib region. But it needn't be fatal."
"Take one of the craft and return him to the city at
once."
Mari nodded. The image blanked out.
Cal found the control unit. Sand trickled away as he
held it up. That strange, lost expression filled his eyes.
"Donald's dead. But nothing's changed. His death here
didn't undo the damage."
The crushing complexity of time's paradoxes started an
ache at the edge of Tom's mind. He remembered his
thoughts of separate Donald's, coexisting at different
points along the time river. The ache grew worse as Cal
went on. "Back on that March thirteenth in the past, there
must be another Donald. Still alive."
"The Donald who was there to kill Archibald?" Tom
said. "Before he came here and:—and died?"
"Yes." Hopelessly, Cal stared at the control. "We may
have to capture him all over again."
Tom had no idea how long he waited. Three hours?
Four? It seemed like a century.
He paced to the transparent wall, stared up at the taller

The Broken Glasses
111
towers, blurred now as Earth's diffused sun sank. He could
not stop feeling angry about the fact that, just before
noon, Cal had put him down again—hard.
Why? Tom wondered again, full of the rage that had
become so familiar lately. I just wanted to go along to
help him!
It didn't help to tell himself that Cal was tense, desper-
ately worried about the growing complexity of their pre-
dicament. Donald's death yesterday had opened a
Pandora's box of new problems.
Sadness swept over Tom as he stood in a pool of weak
red light falling through the tinted wall. Donald had been
out of his mind toward the end. Yet Tom still remembered
the good times they had shared. He thought briefly of
Donald'd corpse, whisked away to refrigerated storage
pending Cal's decision on disposition.
Cal's decision. Always Cal's decision!
Events seemed to be slipping from their collective
hands. As the situation worsened, reactions grew heated—
and unpleasant. If the two of them continued to exist in
this state of doubt and peril, Tom's anger would surely
break loose, A major blowup could be in the making.
Well, he thought, it's been coming for quite a while.
Trying to thrust the problem from his mind, Tom
turned back to the shadowy room, and Gordon White.
The scientist lay in what Doktor Phlonykus called a
therapy bed. It resembled a giant plastic egg sliced through
its long axis. From the rim, various tubes and monitor
pads ran to White's temples, rrms, legs and chest. Com-
plex equipment in the wall behind the bed read out the
status of his life systems.
Directly above the bed hung a circular plate. Tiny
magenta dots chased over its surface. Phlonykus had tried
to explain how invisible rays from that screen healed a
serious wound. But last night, when White was brought to
the hospital, Tom had been too tired for much of the ex-
planation to register.
White's color seemed good. Sleeping, he breathed regu-
larly. A light hospital garment concealed the laser wound.
In one corner, a special communicator showed the same
color image that had been visible since noon; a section of
dry plain, located at about the spot where they had arrived
in the fortieth century. In the background, four helmeted
officers lounged against the vehicle that had taken Cal and

112
Time Gate	(
Sidney Six to the point of departure. The officers acted
restless.
The curtain of vertical light beams that served as a door
dissolved. Mari walked in.
Before the light beams sprang up again, Tom glimpsed
two physicians outside. One was nearly eight feet tall.
Mari's flecked gray eyes acknowledged Tom's presence
before she surveyed the monitors.
"He's making excellent progress, Thomas. In fact, he
may be conscious tomorrow."
"Then you're sure hell recover?"
"As soon as your friend was safely inside this hospital,
we were certain of that. The challenge has been to prevent
permanent tissue damage. That, too, I'm happy to say, has
been accomplished." She nodded to the communications
screen with its image of the red-lighted plain, "No sign of
your brother and that queer box?"
"Not yet."
He had almost grown accustomed to the rattle of her
voice through the throat wafer, even begun to accept her
appearance, including the tight-fitting helmet. She was a
pretty girl indeed, with finely turned features, a generous
mouth. What he could not grow accustomed to was her
constant air of condescension. Some of this resentment
showed when he said, "Shouldn't one of the regular doc-
tors check him?"
Mari frowned. "I am fully qualified—"
"In addition to being a construction engineer, you're a
practicing physician?"
"That is right."
"Well, in our admittedly primitive era, the study and the
practice of medicine are complicated enough so that a
man or a woman has no time for anything else. Of course,
I realize you're a superior intellect—■"
"But, Thomas, our staff physicians are all engaged in
other fields of endeavor. Doktor Holmm, the young man
you met, is also a nutritional manufacturing systems de-
signer, as well as assistant conductor of our lightplay sym-
phony."
"How in the name of sense can you handle so much?"
'The human mind is capable of great accomplishments,
provided it is utilized to capacity. Since all of our develop-
ment, learning, as you term it, is done in infancy and

The Broken Glasses
113
early childhood, there is ample time for the practice of
many vocational roles."
Tom was silent. For the first time, her uncompromising
stare softened a bit.
"My comments yesterday upset you, did they not,
Thomas?"
"Upset me? Never/'
"Speak honestly, Thomas. Perhaps I was too sharp.
Now that I have grasped the limitations of your intelli-
gence—"
"Thanks!"
"Please, I did not mean to offend—"
She looked helpless. She did have feelings after all!
Her voice dropped lower. "Before you grow angry,
Thomas, consider. Despite all the accomplishments of our
people, we have not found a way to arrest the dying of the
race."
And she looked at him with such pain that his hostility,
drained away.
Mari turned back to the communicator. "How long will
your brother and the reporting box be gone?"
"No way of telling. They'll have to wait for Donald to
appear at Camp Lookout. And there's extra time involved,
because they had to travel from here back to the Gate, in
our day, to reset it for the weekend in March. Before they
jump forward again, they'll have to make another stop and
reset it for this present."
Sinking down in a sculptured chair, Mari said, "There is
bad feeling between your brother and that chattering
machine. I did not understand why your brother took it
along/'
Tom looked bitter. "I don't think Cal wanted to go
alone. But there was another reason. Before Six got into
the act, I said I wanted to go."
"And he rejected your idea?"
"Naturally. He said someone had to stay with Gordon
in case the present changed suddenly, once the time flow
was put back on its original course. It was only an excuse.
Cal's a brilliant man. That's part of his problem. He re-
fuses to believe anyone else is capable of coming up with
good ideas."
"Especially a sibling," Mari nodded. "I detected the ri-
valry."
"Oh, you're a psychologist too?"

114
Time Gate
(
"I have taken many special seminars in intrapersonal
behavior. Your brother has a weakness which is typical of
men of his mental profile. It can only lead to friction, hos-
tility—"
"There's a simpler way to say it, Mari. It can lead to
trouble. And it will, unless—"
A moving image on the communicator distracted him.
The brief moment of rapport with the girl was shattered.
On the screen, all four officers ran toward someone or
something out of range of the lens.
Tom turned a switch, so that the officers could pick up
his voice on a two-way band inside their helmets.
"Are they back?" he asked.
Alarmed, Mari pointed to the city beyond the wall.
"But, Thomas—there is no change!"
She was right. If they were now on an alternate time
track, no visual evidence supported the fact
The officers had disappeared from the screen. Tom
shouted. The officers heard him, dissolved the image into a
distorted wide-angle view. Tom saw the policemen cluster-
ing around Cals He glimpsed a waving stalk.
"Cal? Six? Somebody answer!"
One of the officers switched lens position again. Now
Tom and Mari got a close-up of the metal box hovering.
Beyond it, half of Cal's face was in sight
Cal was unusually pale. For some reason he had his
eyes closed.
"Six, did you reach Camp Lookout?" Tom asked.
"With no difficulty. Following our stop in the bunker to
reset the Gate, we—I cannot report further at the mo-
ment."
"But we've waited all afternoon—"
"There is an emergency! Show him, officers!"
"They must have failed," Tom whispered.
A black helmet filled the screen. "Officer Klok request-
ing a therapy bed and emergency facilities. We are rush-
ing Linstrum to the city."
A sudden shift of the lens showed Cal, In the bunker,
he had evidently put on twentieth-century clothing, includ-
ing an outercoat All at once, Tom saw the reason for
Cal's unsteadiness, his closed eyes.
He was in pain. A large, wet stain marked the front of
his coat. A bloodstain.
Sidney Six lost its composure, exclaiming, "I suggested

The Broken Glasses
115
treatment in our own time! From the bunker! Dr. Lin-
strum insisted on returning here to see what had changed.
He can barely stand—"
"But who shot him?" Tom pleaded. "Is Archibald alive
or dead?"
No answer. Six exclaimed, "Catch him!"
Cal pitched forward out of range of the lens.

13
DONALD TIMES TWO
In a sparsely furnished room two floors below, Doktor
Holmm conferred with Tom while Sidney Six hovered.
The young physician's calm manner didn't ease Tom's
concern. Cal had been rushed to one of the building's sur-
geries. But Tom still didn't know what had happened at
Camp Lookout.
Holmm said, "Your sibling's wound is classified moder-
ately serious to serious. Transplant is the only thing."
"Transplant! What kind?"
"A portion of his intestine was nicked away by a laser.
He is bleeding internally. That should be under control
very shortly, however. I will perform the implantation. I
would advise you to reamin here. If anxiety proves too
strong, I will arrange a medication."
"You're—replacing part of his intestine with someone
else's?"
Doktor Holmm paused on his way out. "Use of genuine
donor's organs ceased centuries ago. We employ only the
most perfect synthetics, far more durable than the human
variety. What is unknown in connection with the pro-
cedure on your sibling is the possible rejection reaction of
his body. We have chemical agents to offset that, of
course. But metabolically, Dr. Linstrum is different from
our average patient."
"What are his chances?"
"Even. It depends entirely on his reaction to the trans-
116

Donald. Times Two
117
plant. I will send someone to report as soon as we are cer-
tain."
Just as Holmm hurried out, Phlonykus entered.
"I have sent Mari to assist in the surgical theater.
She will bring us word of the outcomes"
Tom nodded dully, then turned to the floating box.
"You and Cal failed—"
"Failed?" Sidney Six waved its stalks. "On the con-
trary!"
"But conditions here are just the same!" exclaimed
Phlonykus. "This—time flow to which Dr. Linstrum re-
ferred has not been altered!"
"Yes it has," the machine replied. "At least I assume so,
since President Archibald is alive, well, and back in the
White House, where he resumed his duties on the morning
of March 14,1987."
"You found Donald?" Tom asked.
Six dials jiggled. "Most curious! Even I, with my vast
ability to assimilate the unusual, have difficulty compre-
hending the existence of two Donald Koops. One here, an-
other there in the Adirondacks—What? Found him? Yes.
Your brother and I arrived perhaps half a mile from the
site of the lodge and the adjacent helicopter landing field.
Are you familiar with the terrain at the campsite?"
Tom shook his head. He had read descriptions of Camp
Lookout. But in the tension of the moment, his mind was
blanks-
Six explained that the rambling lodge was set well back
from a bluff that afforded a fine view of the mountains.
The cleared landing area was located just west of the
lodge, where the line of the bluff made a sweeping curve
outward. Beyond the plowed ground, thick woods
stretched to the bluff's edge. In those woods, deep with
snow, Cal found Donald's tracks without difficulty.
Donald had built a shelter from fallen branches, about
six feet back into the trees. He had a clear view of the
plowed field.
"Actually," Six said, "Linstrum allowed a generous
safety margin. We arrived shortly past ten on the morning
of the assassination. Pardon me, the planned assassination.
Took Koop completely by surprise. I distracted him by
sounding my klaxon. Your brother leaped at him, seeking
to capture the laser pistol. Unfortunately, footing was poor
because of the deep snow. Your brother stumbled. Koop

118
Time Gate	(
spun around, fired a burst. Your brother fell. Though I am
sure he was in great pain, he got to his feet almost at
once. Koop then aimed at the nearest target—ahem! One
touch of that beam and my career would have, as it were,
melted away. Before he could fire, your brother attacked
him again. I assisted by flailing Koop with my stalks. He
lost the laser pistol in the struggle—"
"But where is Donald now?"
"I am coming to that My klaxon aroused the Presiden-
tial security guards. They rushed from the lodge, joined by
Air Force personnel guarding the landing field. Your
brother planned to render young Koop unconscious and
return him to the bunker, in order to avoid lengthy ex-
planations. Unfortunately, his wound upset those plans.
Koop managed to break away and race off through the
trees. Apparently he became confused about direction. We
heard a piercing shriek—"
Six stopped, its green glass hemispheres flashing. "In
spite of the snow, Koop was running extremely fast, you
see. He burst from the trees directly on the edge of the
bluff. Because of the slippery footing, he could not stop in
time. He fell—"
"He's injured?" Phlonykus asked.
"He is dead."
"Dead?" Tom repeated. "Twice?"
"I am even less prepared to grapple with the paradoxes
than you," Six admitted. "We were not able to examine
the body. From the edge of the bluff, it was an exceedingly
long way down to those large rocks. But he did not move.
And he lay in such a curious, broken position—"
Once more Six stopped. Then, remarkably softly he said,
"In the course of my journalistic endeavors, I have seen
many ugly sights. But none uglier than Koop sprawled
among the boulders. I believe we may safely assume that
he not only died there, but on March 13,1987, as well."
There was a strange, forlorn expression on the face of
Doktor Phlonykus.
Six went on. "Dr. Linstrum found strength to return us,
via the control device, to the Gate. Just in time, too. The
security forces were pelting through the woods. In the
bunker, I suggested immediate medical attention, as I be-
lieve I mentioned. Your brother insisted on resetting the
coordinates to return us here. The rest you know. I only
hope that I survive to record this remarkable story."

Donald. Times Two
119
Tom sank down in a chair, pondering the mid-num-
bing paradox of two Donalds. And President Archibald
restored to life—
No, wrong. Despite all the twists and turns, conditions
were presumably back as they had been before Donald
started on his disastrous time journey. The only difference
was that Donald was dead—
Twice.
He heard Phlonykus say softly, "Archibeld lived?"
"Lives," Six corrected. "If I comprehend the river anal-
ogy, he lives now—this moment—back there in 1987,
where he is busily promoting disarmament."
"But here, it's exactly the same!"
"I haven't had time to notice, Doktor."
Chilled, Tom stared at the Chairman. "You told us that
historians considered Archibald's murder a direct, linear
cause of the doomsday detonation."
"Yes."
"Perhaps all the historians were wrong."
"That begins to seem an inescapable conclusion."
"The mistake might have come from the work of just
one historian, you know. One wrong conclusion, accepted
by other historians for generations afterward. It's happened
before. In medieval times, for instance, inaccuracies were
perpetuated by scholars who assumed that some primary
source was absolutely correct."
"Archibeld lived," Phlonykus repeated. "And still the
doomsday spheres flew through the sky. Still the planet is
dying—"
Slowly, Tom nodded. "Cal straightened out the present
we live in. But yours—"
"I had such high hopes," the Chairman said. "And I am
not a man who commits himself easily to emotion. You
cannot grasp what I felt during the time of decision. I do
not wish to die, to be wiped out by an instantaneous
change in history. Yet, for the sake of others, I forced my-
self to permit your brother to leave, hoping"—a weary
gesture—"hoping with all my heart that we would sud-
denly see a new Earth to replace this one that is dying. It
has not happened. The historians were wrong. Completely
wrong!"
The Chairman rushed from the room.

120
Time Gate	(
An hour passed. Two,
Tom was thinking about going to the surgery when
Mari appeared. "Success, Thomas! There was no rejection.
He will survive, and return to consciousness in a day or
two."
Whooping, Tom hugged her.
Alarmed, she wriggled out of his grasp. Tom looked at
her more closely. Her wide eyes still mirrored a deep
worry.
"Mari, what's wrong?"
"It is my father, Thomas. Some terrible gloom has
seized him. He has sealed himself up in his official cham-
bers and will neither see nor speak with anyone."
The Chairman remained in seclusion for three days.
Even his daughter was not permitted into his presence.
On the morning of the third day, Cal woke up.: He was
moved to a large room overlooking the city. The room
contained two automated therapy beds. The other was oc-
cupied by Gordon White, who was up and around now. Hp
looked sallow, but otherwise he seemed his old self.
Doktor Holmm stated that Cal would be confined for at
least another week. This touched off an argument. Cal in-
sisted that he was well. Only a sudden spasm of pain con-
vinced him otherwise.
He fell back against the headrest, struggling to breathe.
Doktor Holmm programmed a tranquilizing injection from
the bed. The injection returned Cal to a drowsy state and
eliminated his inclination to argue.
At dusk, Mari looked in. Relieved, she said that her fa-
ther had broken his seclusion and had summoned all the
chief executives of Federal Earth's nineteen cities to an
emergency conference, to begin late that evening. Together
with members of Phlonykus' own advisory staff, they
would meet in complete secrecy. The subject of the con-
clave was unknown. Mari reported that her father still
looked exceedingly grim.
That night, several immense airships appeared over the
city. Each vessel was accompanied by a swarm of smaller
protective craft. Flashing running lights of orange and
green, the sky vehicles maneuvered to the summit of the
tallest tower and dropped down through the iris port. The
dignitaries were arriving.
Next evening, Tom discovered why.

Donald. Times Two
121
Cal and White were finishing dinner. Cal was still in
bed. White stood by the window, munching a stalklike
purple fruit. Sidney Six had gone off to record its thoughts
for posterity.
Abruptly, the light curtain at the door vanished.
Phlonykus entered. He wore his purple garment of office,
but now a silver medallion decorated the front. He looked
tired, but, in contrast to the last time Tom had seen him,
his step was purposeful.
"Are you up to conversing, Dr. Linstrum?"
"Of course, Doktor," Cal answered, though his voice
was weak.
"My physicians say that in a day or two, Dr. White can
resume normal activities. I therefore ask for his personal
assistance, and permission for him to operate the Gate on
my behalf."
"On your—" Cal nearly upset his meal tray. "For what
purpose?"
"For the purpose of returning to the ninth day of De-
cember in the year 2080. In the archives, my research staff
has discovered that, at noon of that day, the doomsday
device was detonated."
Afl at once, they understood. White said, "You want to
try to prevent it?"
'To prevent the destruction of the race? Indeed. I have
outlined the potential dangers to my executives and ad-
visers. I have particularly noted the possibility that this so-
ciety may alter so radically as to cease to exist. We argued
the matter more than twelve hours. The vote was narrow.
Just a margin of three in my favor."
Thunderstruck, Cal began, "I don't think you under-
stand—"
"But I do, Dr. Linstrum," Phlonykus said. Standing tall
in the dim chamber, he made an imposing picture. "I per-
mitted you to carry out your plan, hoping that it would
avert the catastrophe. Now it is evident that Archibeld's
role was not significant in causing—or deterring—the
holocaust. It is no easier to make the decision a second
time. But with the means of time control still available, I
feel we must undo the damage if we can."
Cal shook his head. "The stakes are too great—"
"The stakes, my dear Linstrum, are nothing short of the
survival of man. We know there is no error in the conclu-
sion that stopping the doomsday device would reshape his-

122
Time Gate	(
tory as we have known it—tragically—for nineteen
centuries."
Tom sensed tension in Cal's voice as he said, "I'm sorry,
Doktor. The risk—"
"I am fully aware of the risk! I accept it!"
"Without my personal supervision of the Gate—"
Phlonykus snorted in contempt, more human than Tom
had ever seen him. "Dr. Linstrum, you force me to remind
you that your decisions are not always correct. You refused
to permit my men to employ the invisibility shields in cap-
turing Koop. In fact, you sneered at the very idea. You
did not need such assistance."
Cal was scarlet. Phlonykus continued, "You, sir, are not
the only person alive who is capable of making intelligent
decisions, or managing a difficult situation through to its
conclusion. I intend to go personally to 2080."
White exclaimed, "You'd endanger yourself?"
"Since the decision is mine, Dr. White, I cannot allow
the danger, if any, to fall to others."
Cal's mouth wrenched. "You'd try to stop the Asiatics
from detonating the doomsday machine? In the heart of
their own country?"
"Not an easy task, I admit. But I am prepared to cope
with it. Despite my age, I am in excellent physical condi-
tion, The matter of succession of authority has already
been settled. Further, I can enter the past with certain ad-
vantages. The personal invisibility shields, for one. In
2080, they were in use only in western countries. They
greatly improve the chances for success."
"I still can't permit you to—"
Cuttingly, Phlonykus broke in, "Are you concerned for
your personal safety? Afraid you may be wiped out instan-
taneously?"
"My personal safety has nothing to do with it."
"Then I request—no, I demand use of the control."
"You can't demand anything!"
"If you press me, Linstrum, I can render you incapable
of coherent thought. And, by means of drugs, induce Dr.
White's cooperation. You are inside my city and my hospi-
tal, after all. I dislike even mentioning such measures. But
if you force me—"
From the shadows, White spoke up, "As long as Doktor
Phlonykus is willing to ran the risks, and his own people
agree—well, I think we owe him our cooperation." He

Donald. Times Two
123
faced the Chairman. "Coercive drugs won't be necessary,
Doktor. I'll help you."
"Not without my authorization!" Cal raged.
Abruptly, White was at the bedside. "Cal, get hold of
yourself! This man saved your life. Mine too. Without his
help, Archibald would be dead. When I say we're in his
debt, that's understating it!"
The tension held another moment. Then it broke, in
Cal's low exhalation. "All right. Permission granted. But
not until I'm recovered and can do with you."
"No," Phlonykus countered. "You will be confined for
several days yet. And I intend to go as soon as possible.
The mood of my executives and advisers could change.
The vote could be reversed. While I have their consent, no
time must be wasted."
Bitterly, Cal said, "Very well. But I don't know the
whereabouts of the control unit."
"It's with the apparel we removed prior to your surgery.
We have the unit in our possession. The point is, Lin-
strum, I could not honorably use it without your agree-
ment. Dr. White, we shall depart as soon as I can make
necessary preparations. Please see to your personal read-
iness."
The chairman bent toward Cal, just the merest sugges-
tion of a bow. There was mockery in his glance, but none
in his voice. "I thank you for your selfless decision."
He strode out
A tension had been building inside Tom too. A decision.
He said to White, "I'm going along. I'm sure Phlonykus
will give his permission."
Before White could reply, Cal barked, "Out of the ques-
tion!"
"No, Cal," Tom said, hating to do this but knowing he
must. It had been a long time coming. And if ever a mo-
ment was appropriate, this one was. "I'm going to be my
own man for a change. Phlonykus was right. You're a dic-
tator."
"You're doing this deliberately, because I'm laid up in
this infernal bed!"
"Partially, that's right," Tom agreed. "But I also want to
help them, because they've helped us."
"I emphatically forbid you—"
"I don't care what you say, Cal. Do you understand
that? I don't care. I'm grown, and I have my own mind—

124
Time Gate	(
regardless of what you think of it. You've pushed me to
this, you know. If Phlonykus says yes, I'm going."
He spun and walked out
In the hospital corridor, he heard Cal shouting at him to
come back. He felt shaky now that it was done. And it
was. In a matter of moments, the final break had come.
A break that was vitally necessary. And long overdue.
But it was none the less painful for all that
Trying to ignore the shouting, Tom walked faster.

14
"MONGOLYAH"
"Just here," said the elderly technician with the wide
amber eyes, "This small plate operates on a rocker princi-
ple. The pressure against the top switches on the shield.
Pressure against the bottom turns it off. When the shield
operates, you feel nothing. Nor is vision impaired, save
perhaps for a slight blurring. Those around you are unable
to see you, however, and if they are also wearing shields,
you cannot see them. How is the fit?"
Tom flapped his arms. "Seems fine."
The technician moved around behind him, unfastened
the straps holding the shield in place. The shield, metal but
practically weightless, covered Tom's chest
The technician placed the shield on the laboratory
bench alongside the Chairman's. He said to Phlonykus,
"Any other special requirements, sir?"
"Winter gear, Lexx. For myself, Dr. White, young
Thomas, and Mari. I presume the journalistic box is im-
pervious to extreme temperatures. It can accompany us if
you can rig a shield for it."
"I'll try, sir." Technician Lexx's expression indicated
doubt. He made notes with a light-stylus. "Cowled coats.
Double thermal trousers. Boots-Correct, sir?"
Phlonykus nodded. "We're going to a montainous region
of the Far East. Mongolyah."
Tom didn't bother to correct the Chairman's pronuncia-
tion. He was too busy puzzling over why Mari was joining
the mission—a surprise to him. It struck him as a bad
125

126
Time Gate	(
idea. There would be danger enough without their being
hampered by the presence of a girl.
Chagrined, he realized that he was reacting to Mari al-
most the way Cal had reacted to him.
Cal. He had been in Tom's thoughts almost constantly
these past two days. Since the brief but bitter argument,
Tom had not returned to his brother's bedside. Nor had
Cal sent any messages.
Tom regretted the quarrel. Yet something in him in-
sisted that he had no choice but to join the mission, to
prove his maturity once and for all.
"Weapons, sir?" Lexx's inquiry returned Tom to the re-
ality of the supply laboratory.
"A nerve trigger for myself and one for Dr. White,"
Phlonykus said. "Also as many hundred-load magazines as
you can conveniently pack into the coats. Mari will want
some special tools, I'm sure. But she'll tell you in person."
Lexx promised that all requisitioned items would be
ready on time. Departure was scheduled in about forty-
eight hours, following a final, exhaustive physical checkup
for Gordon White, to make sure he was fit for the ordeal.
Phlonykus piloted the sleek vehicle that bore them
across the traffic ways toward the tallest tower. Tom
asked, "When did your daughter decide to come with us?"
"I made the decision, Thomas. We needed someone to
disarm the doomsday device. From what Mari has learned
in the archives, she assures me it will be a simple task. All
the pads that launched the radiation bearers were operated
from one computer—a computer complex for its day, but
primitive by our standards. According to Mari, one
hundred and forty-four reprogramming steps will totally
disarm the system, and cause it to burn itself out beyond
repair."
Tom grinned. "I hope she brings a list."
"Oh, no," Phlonykus returned matter-of-factly. "She will
have it all in her head, in perfect sequence." He noticed
Tom's expression, and smiled. "You continue to find
Mari's abilities unusual, don't you?"
"That's an understatement, sir."
"But disarming the computer will be childishly easy! No
more difficult for Mari than it would be for a person of
your era to repair a wooden wheel. Knowledge is relative
to the task. To Mari, that computer is a nineteen-

•'Mongolyah"
127
hundred-year-old antique. You should not feel in-
timidated—or inferior."
"I shouldn't. But I do."
But there was another reason he wished she were not
going along, Tom admitted to himself. He was worried
about her safety.
It was startling to realize that, against all odds, he had
grown to like her. Probably in part because she repre-
sented a challenge. But on another level, he simply found
her very attractive.
The Chairman steered the cab through a port in the side
of the tall tower. Automatic controls braked the vehicle
against a landing platform.
As they walked to the moving stair, the Chairman
asked, "Have you visited your brother today? He is mak-
ing excellent progress."
"Fm glad to hear that. I haven't seen him."
"Do you intend to see him before departure?"
"I suppose IH have to."
"This gulf between you is an unhappy thing."
Tom tried to shrug it off. "He thinks I'm a child."
"Do you really wish to risk your life in Mongolyah to
prove otherwise?"
Tom looked into Phlonykus' strange wide eyes. "Yes."
Frowning, the Chairman studied the reflective walls
beside the slowly ascending belt. He said at last, "Given
Dr. Linstrum's attitudes, I suppose that is the only possible
answer."
Some three dozen bald, emaciated dignitaries accompa-
nied the party to the departure site two days later. Tom
presumed the men must be the Chairman's advisers.
Black-helmeted ofiBcers formed a protective ring around
them.
Sidney Six had come along, waving its stalks as it pro-
tested Phlonykus' decision that it be left behind. "Arbi-
trary! As arbitrary as Linstrum, if not more so—ahem!"
Technician Lexx had failed to adapt an invisibility shield
to fit the metal box.
Tom, Phlonykus, Mari, and White stood apart from the
rest. They were leaving from approximately the same spot
at which Tom and his companions had arrived. Tom could
hardly move inside his heavy trousers and cowled, fur-

128
Time Gate	(
lined coat. The garments smelled musty, as though re-
trieved from some museum.
Doktor Phlonykus raised his gloved hand. "I wish you
well. May we all be reunited in a happier present."
Confusing thoughts flooded Tom's mind in these last
moments. He felt a keen regret that Cal was not well
enough to be returned to the bunker. If Mari succeeded, if
history changed, would Cal still be in the hospital here?
Would here exist?
Earlier, Tom had visited his brother in his recovery
room. They had exchanged little more than curt good-bys.
Cal's expression remained almost childishly sullen. Tom
wondered how he could despise his brother's attitudes and,
simultaneously, fear and hope for his safety.
Phlonykus turned to White. "At your convenience,
Doktor."
White's florid color was back, contrasting with the pale
fur encircling his face. He manipulated the Gate control
awkwardly in his gloved hand.
"Stand by, please—"
The red sun vanished.	i.
Standing on the stainless steel plate, Tom recognized the
familiar lights of the Gate chamber. The chamber was
empty, the red door down the tunnel closed. Where were
Stein and Walker? Perhaps they had grown weary of mon-
itoring the empty chamber, gone off to rest
White busied himself with the new spatial and temporal
coordinates he and Phlonykus had worked out Finally,
White called ready.
They took their places on the platform beneath the gold
floodlights. Mari glanced at Tom. Her eyes showed an
emotion he had never seen there before.
Fear.
Had Doktor Phlonykus not been standing between
them, Tom would have followed his impulse and grasped
her mittened hand.
Reading the wall controls, White announced, "Five sec-
onds."
They were thrust through the cool, tingling darkness into
blinding light.
"Shields on!"
Phlonykus cracked out the command before Tom's eyes
adjusted to the dazzling sunshine. He stabbed his glove un-

•'Mongolyah"
129
der his coat and depressed the top of the rocker panel. De-
tails of the surroundings blurred.
He was alone. The others had vanished.
"Dr. White? Mari?"
"Here, Thomas."
Mari's voice. Someone bumped his side. A gloved hand
closed on his.
Except for that slight blurring at the fringes of vision,
he saw his own body clearly. On the right, he heard the
Chairman say, "Hold hands so we stay together. May I
have a time reading, please?"
White's voice. "Accounting for time zone differences,
shortly past ten."
"Less than two hours. The entrance to the facility
should be in sight—" A pause. "Yes! There, on the slope."
Mari said, "That's at least two kilometers away!"
"Sorry we couldn't come closer," White said. "I wanted
to allow a safety margin,"
Phlonykus spoke with urgency now. "It will require at
least an hour to reach the entrance. Then we must wait
for an opportune moment to get inside. If none presents it-
self—"
Tom, responding to a tug on each glove, started to walk
across the rocky ground crusted with hoarfrost.
"—we shall have to burn through the outer doors using
Dr. White's laser. I hope that is not necessary. It will make
penetration of the underground more difficult."
Impossible, Tom thought. But he didn't say it.
The air was thin, piercingly cold. He noticed a plume of
vapor on his right. Another came from his own lips as he
exhaled.
"Doktor, when we breathe out, the shields don't hide
it!"
Mari found a partial solution to the difficulty. Fastening
her coat collar across her mouth helped to diffuse the
plume that seemed to appear from nowhere. They began
trudging again.
Ahead, an immense concrete door was set into the
mountain's face. Several small figures clustered around it.
Guards, undoubtedly.
Shortly the intruders mastered the knack of moving to-
gether while holding hands. They walked faster.
In one way, this desolate plateau ringed by snowy peaks
was less unnerving than Pompeii or the fortieth century.

130
Time Gate	(
There was no evidence that this was the year 2080, except
for several curiously fluted masts poking from the moun-
tainside and a large truck of unfamiliar design parked on
a road directly below the concrete door. With its open rear
bed, the vehicle resembled a futuristic troop transport
Still, this was Mongolia—the heartland of the Asiatic
power bloc. A country in which a white face would be in-
stantly suspect
The wind-scoured peaks thrust up all around, snowy
summits lost in patches of cloud. The only break in the
mountains ringing the plateau was a pass far to their left*
The rutted road disappeared up there.
Tom shivered, not entirely because of the cold. His
mind kept sounding a single word. Doomsday. Once the
hands of the clock reached noon, doomsday—
While they were still a good half kilometer from the
parked truck, the great concrete door slid back. Three Ori-
entals wearing drab uniforms and carrying sidearms strode
out of the mountain.
"Missed our chance," White whispered with a telltale
leak of breath from under his collar.
The soldiers moved down the slope to the truck. Two
climbed into the cab. The third swung a leg over and
climbed into the open bed.
At White's urging, they quickened their pace. It was al-
ready ten past eleven—less than an hour till the computer
automatically launched the orbiting radiation bombs. They
formed a single file, accustomed to maneuvering invisibly
now. At least Tom certainly hoped they were invisibles
They neared the large track. The man sitting in the rear
smoked a small cigar and anxiously studied the cold, sunlit
sky.
Behind Mari, Tom moved carefully around the rear of
the truck and across the road of frozen mud. Without
warning, Phlonykus stopped. Tom collided with the girl,
couldn't stifle an exclamation of surprise.
The Oriental stood up. Frowning, he scrutinized the
area from which the sound had come. Tom ached from
standing still. Surely the man could see him. He was star-
ing right at him!
Frown deepening, the Oriental knocked on the rear of
the cab. He jabbered loudly, pointed, then climbed down
from the track bed to investigate.
A gloved hand tugged Tom's, an urgent signal to move.

•'Mongolyah"
131
The suspicious soldier started walking in their direction.
Tom bumped into Mari again, backed away as someone's
foot—White's?—struck a loose rock, making it rolls
The Oriental wheeled around toward the sound, glanced
down—
A grinding rumble up the slope diverted his attention.
The great concrete door was rolling aside.
More soldiers began straggling out in twos and threes.
They chattered among themselves as they headed for the
transport vehicle.
Noting their casual pace, the man who had almost dis-
covered the four began to shout and wave. He pointed to
a curiously shaped watch on his wrist, then at the sky. The
other soldiers understood. Moving faster, they piled into
the back of the vehicle.
Someone turned on the engine. The truck lifted from
the ground, riding on jets of air. The noise hid the sound
of Tom and his companions running forward.
Tom dodged in and out among the soldiers still strag-
gling out of the mountain. Brushing against one, he
jumped back The man whirled and registered alarm when
he saw that no one was within four feet of him.
By that time, Tom had slipped by the guards with their
oddly designed rifles. He slid his back against the concrete
retaining wall on the near side of the door and darted in
just as the door mechanism began to rumble again.
The cement floor vibrated as the door closed, darkening
a long, dim tunnel. Had the others gotten inside? Tom
groped for them, not daring to speak—
With a ponderous chunk, the concrete door shut
Startled, Tom saw Phlonykus, Mari, and White.
"What's wrong with the shields?" he whispered.
Frantically, Phlonykus fumbled under his outercoat,
then ran his hand over the rough tunnel wall. "It must be
all this rock Somehow it nullifies—"
"Let's move," White interrupted. "We have thirty-four
minutes."
Mari pointed down the tunnel. "There are the lifting
tubes. We descend to the fourth level."
They ran that way, beneath ceiling hemispheres that
cast a feeble light The lifting tubes resembled two elevator
shafts without cages or doors. In front of the tubes, the
corridor formed a T. There, someone cried out

132
Time Gate	(
Tom whipped his head to the left. An armed guard
leaped up from a stool.
White and Phlonykus charged him, struck him with
their fists, drove him to his knees. They tore the rifle from
his hands and punched him twice more.
But the wiry guard had surprising strength. He rolled
away, lurched to his feet, stabbed his hand toward the
wall—
Panting, White leaped in to deliver a punch. The guard
doubled. But his fingers had already closed on a T-shaped
switch. As the guard collapsed, the weight of his body
dragged his hand down, and the T-bar with it
Instantly, sirens howled.

15
THE DOOMSDAY CLOCK
Ear-piercing, the shrieks multiplied. White snapped the
T-switch to its original position. TTie sirens kept screaming.
"The lifting tubes!" Phlonykus cried, pulling out the
nerve trigger that technician Lexx had provided. It was a
long, thick wand whose muzzle end widened into a bell. A
thick cylinder surrounded the wand at its midpoint.
Phlonykus stared at the Oriental characters above eactt
tube. "This one's down," he said, stepping over the thresh-
old. Unsupported by any kind of platform, he began to
sink slowly.
Mari jumped in next, followed by Tom and White.
Descent was smooth. As the main floor rose past Tom's
eyes, he saw soldiers racing from the far end of the tunnel
to answer the alarms.
They floated down past a door opening onto a steel-
lined corridor. "Level two," White said.
Suddenly there was a commotion below, a shout from
Phlonykus, Between the tips of his boots, Tom saw the
Chairman point the nerve trigger at something outside the
shaft He heard two corklike pops.
The third-level opening came into view. Two Orientals
lay asleep, their weapons fallen nearby.
White drew his own nerve trigger, and none too soon. A
fat yellow head popped into sight below, its owner regis-
tering alarm as he saw Phlonykus floating down. White
aimed along the shaft's side, pressed the nerve trigger's fir-
ing stud.
133

134
Time Gate	(
The Oriental's eyes glazed. He pitched lazily into the
tube—a military officer, judging from his medals. The
man toned slowly as the shaft pulled him downward.
Tom could hear jabbering from level four. Jackknifing
his body forward through the door, Phlonykus disappeared
suddenly.
Soldiers leaped into the tube at the second level. One
jockeyed his curiously shaped rifle into position, fired
downward—
Tom shoved White, then kicked against the tube wall to
propel himself out through the door an instant before a
bolt of white light sizzled down the tubei It missed Tom
and struck the unconscious officer floating below. The of-
ficer disintegrated, pieces of him flying outward to splat
against the shaft wall.
Tom shot out of the tube three feet above a parquet
floor. The shaft's field let go. He dropped in a heap. White
fired the nerve trigger—pop! pop!—at two men whose
striped robes resembled the diplomatic morning coats of
their own era.
Suddenly silence spread around them. Panting, Tom
climbed to his feet. A fast count showed eight Orientals
sleeping—three military men, five striped-robed civilians.
The room itself was immense and several storys high.
Ahead, its semicircular wall blazed with lights and dials.
Among the lights was a row of clocks, showing the time
at various points around the world. One clock, the largest,
showed twenty-seven until noon.
In startling three-dimensional color, monitor screens dis-
played images of rocket launching pads. Each pad held a
slender missile topped by a spherical pay load capsule.
The radiation pods!
Mari stripped off her coat and gloves, ran past some
benches set on a carpet in the center of the parquet
Uncovered, her hairless head gleamed. In her haste, the
girl knocked over a taboret. An enameled bottle smashed.
Clear fluid leaked across the floor. Rice wine? To celebrate
the day of destruction?
The red minute hand of the largest clock jumped.
Twenty-six until noon.
"No one can enter except by these tubes," Phlonykus
said to White. "Watch the up shaft. I'll take the other. If
you exhaust your magazines, I have more—"
In the down tube, two soldiers floated into view, trying

The Doomsday Clock
135
to position their weapons for a shot. Phlonykus crouched,
the nerve trigger angled upward, popping. The soldiers
drifted downward, out of sight?
But more appeared from above. And others rose in the
up shaft. White began firing. Soon the vast room reverber-
ated with yells and popping, as though every bottle in a
huge wine cellar was exploding its cork.
"Thomas—help met"
In response to Mari's cry, he dashed around a large
control console set out from the semicircular wall. More
uniformed soldiers crowded both tubes. One managed a
shot. White leaped aside. Where he had been standing, the
parquet smoked, bubbled, then hardened into a three-foot
depression. White fired again, again—
The clock hands moved. On tiptoe, Mari used a small
power tool to loosen the bolts holding a section of wall
plate.
Stretching, Tom caught the plate as it fell, threw it
aside.
Mari pulled a probelike instrument from her belt. She
inserted the probe among the exposed relays, turned it a
half turn, then back a full turn.
"Now over here, Thomas."
Using the first tool, she uncovered a second bank of cir-
cuits, then a third. Tom caught the faceplates, hurling
them to the floor.
Face stark with concentration, Mari bridged two con-
nections with a tool that extruded a strip of silvery metal.
One hundred and forty-four steps. She had done six—or
was it seven? He didn't see how the girl could remember
all the necesary steps, especially in their proper order.
The largest clock showed twenty-four minutes until the
hour.
Mari's hands and forearms were buried inside a fourth
opening. Suddenly smoke gushed from the interior of the
wall. She leaped back as green sparks erupted like minia-
ture fireworks.
"That is the last of the recircuiting," she breathed. "The
rest is programming. It will go faster—"
She ran to the padded chair in front of the wide console,
which was covered with switches and start-stops of different
colors. Sitting, she wiped her palms against her cheeks,
glanced once at the clock. Then she bowed her bald head,

136
Time Gate	(
pressed a control with her right hand, waited, touched
another with her left—
The lights on the wall began to change pattern, increas-
ing speed in some places, going dark in others. Her hands
began to fly, literally slapping the controls. On-off, flash,
flash. On-off, flash—
By the tubes, the bedlam of shouts and popping contin-
ued. Abruptly, brilliant light filled the chamber. A familiar
voice cried out. Tom whirled.
Mari screamed, nearly toppling from the chair.
Only Gordon White remained by the tubes. Doktor
Phlonykus was gone.
And another bubbling depression was hardening in the
floor.
White's nerve trigger popped, disposing of the soldier in
the up tube who had apparently been responsible for the
blast that had killed Phlonykus. The Oriental floated away,
a smile on his sleeping face.
For a moment the great chamber was still. Man's
screams had dwindled to ragged sobs. Both tubes remained
empty. Surely the enemy wouldn't give up—
"Phlonykus ran out of loads," White said, unscrewing
the cylinder from the wand, then positioning a new one.
"He was changing magazines when they shot—Tom!"
His shout spun Tom around as Mari ran past him, cry-
ing, "Father!"
Tom held her back.
"Let me go!"
"Stop, Mari!" He shook her. "Mari, there's nothing
left!"
He hadn't meant to say it that bluntly. She started to go
limp. Then she regained control. But she kept staring at
the new pit in the parquet.
"Mari—look at the clock!"
He turned her toward the wall. Nine minutes till noon.
The monitors showed smoke plumes rising from the launch
pads.
"How many operations left, Mari?"
She touched her cheek. "Twenty, Twenty-one. I've for-
gotten—"
"You can't forget, Mari. Your father died so those rock-
ets would never go up." He pushed her toward the console
chair. "Don't make his death amount to nothing. Mari, do
you understand?"

The Doomsday Clock
137
She nodded in a vague way. "My head hurts, Thomas. I
can't seem to recall the sequence. It's all a confusion—"
"Try. You can do it" Lifting her bodily, he positioned
her in the chair. "You're smart enough, Mari. That
brain of yours—genius rated—"
White shouted a warning. A soldier in the down tube
leveled his rifle. Tom dragged Mari to the floor.
A blaze of light melted the operator's chair. White fired
back, missed.
Tom pushed himself up, and something made him say,
"One of those shallow emotional reactions. I couldn't see
you killed—"
White's nerve trigger popped again. A long sigh signaled
the attacker's sleep. Mari stared at Tom with a curious ex-
pression as he helped her up. She laid her other hand on
top of his. Then she hurried to the console.
The operator's chair had disappeared, its plastic fused
into the floor like white swirls in a dark cake. But the con-
sole was undamaged. Mari began to hit the on-offs. Slowly
at first, then faster. The clock showed seven minutes till
noon.
White called Tom's name, fishing the Gate control unit
from his coat. He tossed the control. Tom caught it
"Hang on to that in case something happens to me.
They seem to have given up trying to attack through the
tubes. They'll probably try something else. They—"
He stopped, listening, as Tom pocketed the control.
"Hear that?" White whispered.
Tom nodded. "Like air leaking."
White sniffed. "There's no odor."
Tom located a source of the steadily increasing hiss. But
no vapor issued from the ceiling ventilator. And he still
detected no smell. Yet the evidence of his ears was unmis-
takableo
"Hurry up, Mari," White yelled. "They're pumping in
some kind of gas."
Tom blinked, a ringing in his ears all at once. His stom-
ach grew queasy. When he took a step, his legs were wob-
bly. Nerve gas!
Temporary or permanent?
No way to tell.
"Five more steps," Mari called, hitting another on-off.
The dizziness worsened. Tom swayed. The clock showed
four minutes until the hour. On the monitors, smoke no

138
Time Gate	(
longer gushed from the rockets. At three pads, technicians
dashed back and forth, as if searching for the causes of a
malfunction. With a little cry, Mari collapsed.
White grabbed for Tom's arm and missed, lurching like
a man intoxicated. "Come on. I don't think they'll come
after us in person now—" A racking cough. "Relying on
the gas—"
The minute hand jumped to three before the hour.
Tom staggered after White, stomach burning, his head
ringing, his fingertips numb. He had never been drunk on
old-fashioned alcohol, but he imagined that this must be
the sensation—an absolute loss of control of mind and
muscles—
White knelt beside Mari. An image on one of the moni-
tors was replaced by the face of a gaunt Oriental with
many medals on his uniform. Behind him, other officers
hovered. The gaunt man's eyes searched the chamber.
Tom knew they were being watched until the gas took ef-
fect-
White cupped Mari's chin. "Did you finish?"
"One more—" She rolled her head out of his grasp.
"One—"
Tom dropped to his knees, wondering if he could ever
get up again. "Mari, this is Thomas. Stay awake. Is there
one more step?"
Her flecked gray eyes closed. She held her stomach.
"Dizzy. Sick. So sick—I—" She choked.
Tom knew how she felt The nausea struck in swift
waves. On the monitor, the gaunt man's lips peeled back
in a smile. Silently, he spoke to those around him£ Tom
gasped, "One more step? What is it Mari?"
"Can't—think. Sleepy—"
"Mari, what's the step? Tell me so I can do it"
"Can't—seem to remember—"
She was drifting deeper into unconsciousness. Like some
surrealist vision, the clock stretched, looking almost liquid.
Tom rubbed his eyes.
Two minutes before twelve.
Tom did the only thing he could think of—slapped
Mari's cheek, hard.
Her head snapped over. She moaned.
Fighting his own lethargy, he helped White pull her to a
sitting position.
"Mari," he pleaded, "tell me. Which control?"

The Doomsday Clock
139
The blow had revived her a little.
"The main on-off—"
"Which one?"
"Largest. Color code—purple—"
"How do I set it? Mari? Tell me!"
"To—on. Full on—" Her head lolled against White's
shoulder.
Tom struggled to his feet. The parquet seemed to sway.
When he looked down, it was moving—
The floor undulated like a black sea. The ripples wor-
sened his nausea, brought a sour taste to his throat.
The central console seemed miles away. He lumbered
toward it, saw the console melt, stretch, oddly elastic—
No, it's the gas. A trick in your mind—
Stumbling on, he wondered where he found the
strength. Some will other than that of his dazed conscious
mind—
One foot lifted.
Another.
Stumbling—staggering through heaving black oceans
while the console seemed to retreat—
The clock jumped to sixty seconds before noon.
He reached for the edge of the console. His sense of
distance was impaired. He missed, lurched forward, hit his
head on the corner. With a cry, he fell.
The pain proved his salvation. It pierced his confusion
just enough to let him grope upward, seize the console's
edge, and hoist himself to a standing position.
As he gazed down, the switches melted together, gelatin-
ous, unreal—
Thirty seconds remained on the clock.
Largest switch. Color code purple.
Why did the controls run like water? Where was it?
Where?
Fifteen seconds. The sweep hand kept moving.
Hurry. Hurry—
Driven by a last-ditch strength he didn't understand, he
found it, and then only because of its distinctive size and
color. His hand missed it on the first pass.
Ten seconds, the sweep hand moving—
He tried again. Which way? On?
No, off.
No, on—

140
Time Gate	(
He couldn't remember. Nor could he comprehend the
Oriental characters on the switch. Meaningless—
Five seconds.
Gambling, he hit the switch and rocked it to the op-
posite position.
Coughing, he started back across the black sea to White
and Mari, mere specks, an infinity away—
Simultaneously, all the lights on the wall shut down.
Tom kept moving, driving himself. White's gesturing
had the quality of slow motion. He wanted something.
What?
The Gate control!
Tom fumbled it from his pocket and he reached the
others. The great wall remained dark only a moment. Sud-
denly all the lights came on, along with a new panel not
previously illuminated. The panel was a large red rectangle
etched with oversize characters. It blinked on, off, on, off,
like an alarm. On the monitor, the gaunt officer showed
consternation, then rage,
"Control," White croaked. "Use—"
"We're—not in the open. The risk—"
"No choice. Use it."
But Tom couldn't. The bos slipped from his fingers.
Consciousness began to drain from his mind.
They would never get back. They would be executed for
aborting the doomsday device—
What did it matter? He was sick, exhausted, wanting
only to close his eyes.
He had a surreal glimpse of Gordon White's face as the
scientist groped for the fallen control, lifted it—
Too late, Tom thought. Too—
Darkness.

16
3987-again
Distantly, a voice. It seemed to be repeating familiar
words.
Tom's sluggish mind struggled to make sense of thems
He opened his eyes—
Remembered.
And recognized the man repeating his name. "Tom,"
Dr. Stein said, "where's Cal? What's happened?"
"I'm not sure."
Suddenly, vast relief. He was in the Gate chamber. On
the far side of the platform, White groggily raised himself
onto his hands and knees.
The aftereffects of the gas made it hard to concentrate.
But the nausea and the ringing in his ears diminished mo-
ment by moment.
He stared at the other person just waking on the plat-
form.
Mari.
She lay with her back to him, whimpering a little. His
thoughts came in bursts:
Her father's gone.
Will she remember?
The gold floodlights make her hair shine—
Her hair?
Tom rolled her over as she came fully awake. He recog-
nized her, yet he didn't.
Lurking somewhere behind the heart-shaped face of this
girl with the long, gold-streaked auburn hair he saw the
141

142
Time Gate	(
old Mari—but only dimly. This girl's mouth was wider,
her eyes more nearly the size to which he was accustomed.
They were still gray, but lacking flecks. White noticed the
difference too.
There was fear in the way Mari touched her hair.
"What's become of me? Thomas—who am I?"
"Do you know your name?"
"My name is Mar—I'm not sure." The hope in her eyes
faded, replaced by tears. "I remember my father."
With White's assistance, she got to her feet. The scien-
tist said, "Evidently we succeeded beyond our expecta-
tions."
Desperately, Tom plumbed his own mind. Only frag-
mentary images existed to suggest what now lay ahead in
the other—the new—3987. He glimpsed gleaming streams
of blue water, a sky warming with stub-winged aircraft, a
profusion of brilliant-colored fruits hanging in an orchard.
The images made him think of his brother. "Cal's still up
there, Dr. White."
"Or maybe he isn't. We'd better find out."
"I'd certainly be grateful for some kind of explanation,"
Dr. Stein said.
"Later," White said, hurrying to the wall.
Swiftly White reset the coordinates. All at once, Mari
started trembling. "Don't take me there. I'm afraid of
what I'll find. Of who I'll be—" There was terror in the
new girl's voice all at once. "Perhaps I won't be anyone."
Soon White was ready. He stepped onto the platform.
Tom gripped Mari's hand. She didn't protest.
The tingling darkness descended—
Tom heard a crack as the limb of the tree in which he
had materialized gave way. He landed on his rump in
thick, dark grass. Pear-shaped orange fruit rained down
around him. The sun dazzled him with summery warmth.
Nearby, at the edge of the orchard, Mari was getting to
her feet.
Dr. White appeared. Without a word, the three walked
toward the top of a nearby hill.
If this was a.d. 3987, they had indeed succeeded. The
sky was clear, the air sparkling. The warm wind brought
them scents of an abundant land. An animal resembling
an albino chipmunk poked its head from a burrow, blink-
ing at them as they passed.

3987—Again
143
"Seems obvious that the Asiatics never rebuilt the
doomsday device," White commented. "Probably too
costly and time-consuming. If I knew that Cal was safe*
I'd award us medals."
Tom reached the hilltop first. Light struck his eyes—
glittering light, from the mirrored faces of innumerable
buildings. Low and geometrically shaped, the buildings be-
gan about five miles away, filling almost an entire quarter'
of the horizon.
"That is not my city," Mari said. "Oh, Thomas, that is
another—"
She couldn't go on.
They heard a distant whine, saw some kind of train
flashing along an elevated rail. The train disappeared be-
hind a hill, racing toward the city.
"Obviously our best bet is to contact the authorities,"
White said,
"If they can understand us," said Tom.
"Let's see who we can find around that monorail."
They followed the elevated rail for nearly two miles.
Then they sighted what seemed to be a passenger switch
station, a large bubble suspended on gleaming rods beside
the track. The bubble was reached by intricate metal
stairs.
Near the station stood many vehicles. Peculiar, py-
ramidal vehicles, six-wheeled. A family was just parking
one of the odd machines. Despite their curious robes, the
man, the woman, and the two children looked reassuringly
human.
The adults were only a bit taller than Tom and White,
with normally contoured eyes, and full heads of hair. One
of the children pointed at the trio.
Approaching the family, White smiled.
"Hello. Can you put us in touch with the police?"
Blank stares.
"Authorities?"
Alarmed, the woman jabbered in a strange tongue, then
indicated the stairs. The family rushed off.
At the top of the stairs, the husband rapped on a win-
dow. A man poked his head out, looked, then ducked back
inside.
"One way or another," White said uneasily, "I think
we'll meet the authorities."
Shortly, a large, multicolored van arrived. It consisted

144
Time Gate	(
of two pyramids connected by a large cylinder. Rolling on
twelve oversized tires, it stopped in the parking area.
Three officers jumped out to question them, but the lan-
guage barrier proved insoluble.
Tom, White, and Mari were pushed inside the vehicle's
cylindrical section. The trip in the windowless transporter
lasted half an hour. They emerged in a kind of garage and
entered a corridor with walls and floor that glowed with
shifting color patterns. Tom held Mari's hand tightly.
Finally, they faced an official with insignia on the shoul-
ders of his robe.
The man was middle-aged, portly, and had a kind face.
After several futile questions, he called for a rhomboidal
apparatus on legs.
"I hoped Mari might know the language," White whis-
pered.
Tom said nothing. The girl slumped on a stool, staring
at her hands. Who was she in this clean new world in
which humanity had not only survived but thrived? Proba-
bly, as she had feared, she didn't exist. His heart ached.
The rhomboidal affair proved to be a translator. From
that point, matters were simpler.
The portly official was Echelon Chief Bomfils, the
equivalent of a police precinct commander. The building
was an outlying station. Trying to sound casual, White
broached the subject of where they had come from.
Chief Bomfils grew agitated, sending aides scurrying.
Soon, his superiors—an area commander and a zone
leader—had joined the interrogation, which lasted three
hours.
At the end, Tom knew they had reached the right year.
Otherwise nothing was the same. Nothing.
Bomfils and his superiors had no knowledge of a
doomsday device. In the history of this Earth, there never
had been an Asian attack.
"An astonishing story," Bomfils said. "I regret to say
that I do not believe it."
To judge from the other faces, none of them did.
Tom tried to think of proof. Finally he hit on a possibil-
ity. "Does time travel exist here?"
"Of course," said Bomfils, his voice filtering through the
rhomboidal apparatus. "It is exclusively the province of
temporal scholars in the learning hives."
Who invented time travel?" Tom asked him.

3987—Again
145
"I am a defender of public order, young man, not a his-
torian/'
"Can't you look it up? Don't you have research materi-
als available?"
The zone leader suggested, "A beam to the information
vaults, perhaps?"
Reluctantly, Bomfils agreed.
Another hour passed. The Echelon Chief arranged for a
light meal of bland, yeasty foods to be served to the trio.
Then an officer arrived with a tiny capsule that was fed
into a screen reader. Curiously shaped letters flashed by.
Suddenly Bomfils pulled a lever. Unrecognizable charac-
ters were replaced by dimensional images. Tom jumped
up. "That's my father!"
A moment later Bomfils focused on another image, and
Tom got an eerie jolt. He recognized himself, although he
was white-haired, and at least fifty years of age. He was
posed rather stiffly in an office, next to a stooped, older
man—
Cal!
Bomfils switched his gaze from Tom to the image and
back again.
"There is a certain resemblance—" He paused, then ad-
dressed the other officials. "This is a monographic account
of the twentieth-century discovery of the time-phase effect.
There are images of the inventor, Linstrum, and his sons
who carried on his work, Thomas and Calvin. Perhaps this
one,who calls himself Thomas Linstrum, tells the truth."
Partially convinced, Bomfils ordered a city-wide search
of police records. It turned up the presence of a peculiar
patient in one of the larger hospitals. Via translation of his
unfamiliar speech, the man insisted that he was a citizen
of the past. Kept company by a metal box of unknown
function, the man was recuperating from wounds.
"This report was circulated to all districts," Bomfils ex-
plained. "My aides did not bring it to my attention, since
it had no application in this command."
"I'm sure it's my brother," Tom said.
"We will escort you to him."
Hardly hearing, Tom turned to Mari. His smile van-
ished when he saw her forlorn expression. He took her
hand.
A police vehicle carried them into the city. With a pop-
ulation of forty-sis million, Bomfils said, the city occupied

146
Time Gate	(
the entire east coast of what had been, long ago, the
United Statesj
The city was called Province East. Deep in its myriad
of geometric buildings, so different from the towers of
Doktor Phlonykus' doomed Earth, they reached the public
hospital. It spread over fourteen blocks. In a huge ward
reserved for indigents, they found Calvin Linstrum with
Sidney Six hovering at his bedside like a mother tending a
sick child.
The change in the future, Cal reported, had taken place
without any warning. One minute, he was in his room in
Phlonykus' city; the next, in the unfamiliar hospital. He
knew then that the course of history had been altered.
"It wouldn't have been," White said, "except for Tom."
He explained.
In Cal's eyes, Tom still saw rejection and anger. Some-
thing made Tom say, "I admit I forced the issue of going
along. But I had to."
"I still find it hard to believe that you alone were re-
sponsible for aborting the doomsday device," Cal said.
Sidney Six quivered its stalks, "Dr. Linstrum, you are,
on occasion, insufferable! Why do you bridle at giving
your brother credit—"
"That's all right, Six," Tom interrupted. "I don't mind.
From now on, I won't have to push so hard." He spoke
the words with a cool, relaxed certainty that was alto-
gether new.
"Push?" Cal repeated.
"To prove something."
"What?"
"I wasn't sure of myself, Cal. I wasn't sure whether you
might not be right. I never admitted that till now, but it
was there, pushing me. I feel badly about walking out on
you in the other hospital. But it had to be done. Now that
we're back—well, I know I'm as capable as the next per-
son. I accomplished something I can be proud of." He
looked straight at his brother. "And no one can take that
away."
"IH testify that he handled himself well," White said.
"Mari and I certainly didn't have the power to make it to
the doomsday console. But he did."
"I've been thinking about that too," Tom said. "Some-
thing gave me the strength—drove me. Probably you, Cal.

3987—Again
147
Ironic, huh? You were responsible for saving the human
race after all."
"We can discuss psychological niceties another time,"
Cal snapped.
Initially disappointed by his brother's all too typical
reaction, Tom soon realized that he couldn't expect Cal to
change his behavior in a moment. Indeed, he would proba-
bly never change much at all. What had changed was
Tom's own attitude. Even in these unfamiliar surround-
ings, he felt more relaxed. There was less need to retort,
to argue, to prove. He had done the proving inside the
mountain in Mongolia. And he had proved his competence
to the most important person of all—himself.
In time, perhaps Cal would recognize him as an equal.
The history that Bomfils had quoted oSered hope.
"The sooner we return to where we belong, the better,"
Cal was saying. "The doctors keep telling me that I have
to rest a few more days. But I'm perfectly well—"
He swung his thin legs off the bed. Suddenly his cheeks
paled. He swayed and sat down.
A chubby head poked around the screen at the end of
the bed. "If I may be so bold—"
An aide with one of the rhomboidal translators followed
Echelon Chief Bomfils, who came right to the point.
"What you have revealed to us this afternoon is both star-
tling and significant. Therefore, before you return to—
ah—your own time, we feel it would be valuable for us to
have your transcript of the highlights of this remarkable
affair."
Automatically, every head turned toward Cal, Even
Six's stalks pointed that way. Tom didn't feel angry. He
accepted the fact that Cal would be the voice of their fa-
ther until Tom gained his confidence. He made a mental
note to speak to Bomfils in private.
In a moment, Cal handed down his answer. "All right, a
transcript. But fast. I want to go through the Gate as soon
as possible."
Bomfils nodded to agree.
A police vehicle bore them out to the orchard the fol-
lowing evening. On the way, Tom said to Cal, "On the
subject of my studying marine biology—"
"We'll discuss that another time."
"That's the point. There's nothing to discuss."

148
Time Gate	(
"What do you mean?"
"Marine biology's out£ According to the monograph on
the early years of the time-phase effect—"
"When did you read that?"
"Last night. Bomfils made it available."
"I wondered where you went for five hours."
"It's fascinating stuff, Cal. It says we worked together in
the department. The Gate was my career as well as
yours."
"I'm not sure you're really qualified—"
"History says I am," Tom grinned. "Or was?" He patted
his pocket. "Bomfils provided a hard copy, translated into
what he calls Old English. Our English. You can read it
sometime. But the monograph definitely says we were co-
directors of the department."
Cal went, "Hmmph."
"A remarkable document," buzzed Sidney Six, hemi-
spheres flashing, "I perused it over your brother's shoulder.
Indeed, I can hardly wait to write my book."
"Your what?"
"My narrative of this adventure! The first published ac-
count of the operation of Department 239-T! Not a mere
gaggle of press dispatches, mind you. A best-selling book!"
"I'm afraid there already is," White told him. "I looked
at the monograph too. Six published his book in the au-
tumn 1988. Archibald wanted to close the department, but
as soon as the book appeared, he couldn't."
"Historically speaking—ahem—the die is cast. But
don't fret, Dr. Linstrum. I will gloss over your personality
defects."
Cal fumed as Six continued. "Now please pardon me
while I file away a few more impressions before we de-
part. For my last chapter, you knowj"
Flashing its hemispheres twice, the machine began to
mutter to itself.
Cal glowered. Tom concealed his amusement.
A moment later, Mari broke the silence. "I am still not
certain that I should go with you."
Grumpily, Cal said, "That's all settled. There's no life
for you here."
"But I feel so strange, Dr. Linstrum. No longer the
same as I was—" The girl touched her long hair.
"No longer genius rated?" Tom smiled, gratified when

3987—Again
149
she smiled back. He took her hand. "That doesn't bother
me a bits"
To his brother he said, "Do you really know why she
decided to come with us?"
"I persuaded her that it was the only sensible course."
"And I showed her the monograph. I not only worked
with you at the Gate, Cal, I raised a family. You never
married, by the way. Too busy—"
Once more Cal looked ruffled. Tom went on. "The
monograph includes several long footnotes on our personal
lives. And photos of my two sons. One of them took over
operation of the Gate after we died/'
Cal started. "You know how long we lived?"
Tom patted his pocket. "It's in here."
"When— That is, when did I—"
"I'm not going to tell you. It's the one section of the
monograph I'm sorry I read. And I'm going to tear it out
before I let you see it."
"I insist that you—"
"No."
Cal started to speak again. He stared at his younger
brother, and didn't.
"Anyway," Tom said, "The footnote of real interest was
the one about my wife. She was a girl who found out that
the heart is a little more than a circulatory organ after all.
Her name was Mari."
She smiled at him then, warmly, completely.
The vehicle glided to a halt. Echelon Chief Bomfils ap-
peared outside the hatch. "We have arrived."
In the balmy dusk, they walked up the hill into the or-
chard. The geometric city glowed along the northern hori-
zon. Sweet aromas drifted from the trees*
"Where's the control?" Cal asked.
With a wry expression, Gordon White surrendered it.
"Some things never change, do they?" White murmured.
Tom smiled.
Calvin Linstrum was too preoccupied to notice.

About the Author
John Jakes was born in Chicago. He is a graduate of
DePauw University and took his M.A. in literature
at Ohio State. He sold his first short story during his
second year of college, and his first book twelve
months later. Since then, he has published more than
200 short stories and over 50 books—suspense, non-
fiction, science fiction, and historical novels. His
novels comprising the American Bicentennial Series
were all bestsellers, and his books have appeared in
translation from Europe to Japan. Originally intend-
ing to become an actor, Mr. Jakes has manifested a
continuing interest in the theater by writing four plays
and the books and lyrics for five musicals, all of which
are currently in print and being performed by stock
and amateur groups around the United States. The
author is married, the father of four children, and
lists among his organizations the Authors Guild, the
Dramatists Guild, and Science Fiction Writers of
America. In 1976 he was awarded an honorary
doctorate by Wright State University for his contri-
bution to the nation's Bicentennial observance.