The phone on Professor Osbert Osternak's desk rang. "Excuse me," the snowy-haired chief scientist of the Erwin Schrödinger Memorial Research Institute said to the younger man sitting across from him. "Yes? . . . This is Professor Osternak, yes. Who is this, please? . . . Oh?" The old man's eyebrows shot upward almost to his hairline. "Oh really? That is most interesting." He settled back in his chair and sent an apologetic shrug across the desk. It seemed that this was going to take a while. "Yes, that is true, quite true. . . . Yes. That is so. But how do you . . . of course. Amazing! And so it happens. . . . So, what can I do for you?. . ."
Dr. Rudi Gorfmann, Osternak's deputy, wearing a black bow tie and dress shirt beneath his white lab coat, sighed impatiently. The old fool would be prattling on for half the evening now, and Gorfmann wanted to be on his way to Innsbruck for the Celebrity Club's charity fund-raising banquet. He stood up and turned to face away across the office. With its antiquated wooden bookshelves and panellingeven a chalkboard!it was as much of an anachronism as the mind it belonged to. Gorfmann paced across to the window of the Gothic "Keep," which on its rocky eminence formed an incongruous focal point for the Institute's modern laboratory blocks and reactor housings, and stared out at the peaks of the Bavarian Alps, frosty against the darkening sky. His reflection stared back from the glass: a clean-shaven face, neatly groomed blond hair, gold-rimmed spectacles. Meanwhile, Osternak's voice babbled on behind. "This is unbelievable. When does he intend to do this?. . . Ach, so. . . . Can we get together and talk about this?. . ."
Old scientists should be forcibly retired at forty, Gorfmann fumed to himself. Newton, Einstein, anyone of brilliance . . . none had done anything useful beyond their twenties. All they had achieved after that was to place the seal of unchallengeable authority on ideas that had become outmoded, making further progress impossible until they died off and made room for new blood with new vigor. If it weren't for such tyranny of age and tradition, Columbus would have landed on the moon, Watt would have harnessed fusion energy, and the Wright brothers would have built the first starship. And Rudi Gorfmann would have . . . He realized that Osternak had stopped talking on the telephone, and turned back to face the desk.
"I'm sorry," Osternak said, gesturing for Gorfmann to be seated again. "But it was rather important. I know you have a dinner to get to. Now, where were we?"
Gorfmann remained standing. "I protest at this policy of indecisiveness and timidity that you are imposing on the Institute," he repeated.
"But I'm not imposing anything, Rudi. The directors are in full agreement that"
"On scientific issues they follow your lead, which makes it the same thing. My question is, are we scientists, dedicated to discovery in a spirit of boldness, with confidence in our own judgment . . . or old women cowed by superstitions and frightened of anything we don't understand?" Gorfmann jabbed a finger in the direction of the window. "Outside, in that building down there, is what's probably the most significant breakthrough in the entire history of physics, maybe in entire history, perioda tested, proven, up-and-running transfer gate. We are talking about a working time machine! . . . The implications are staggering. Everything we thought we knew about logic and causality will have to be revised. The very fundamentals of physicsspace, time, energy, matter, chargeall take on new meanings. Unimaginable technologies will grow from it. . . ."
"Rudi," the professor interrupted patiently. "I am aware of all this."
"What I'm saying is that it is ours!" Gorfmann said, punching a fist into his other palm. "Usthe scientists here at the Institute. It was our work that made this a reality. The rewards and the recognition that it deserves belong to us."
Osternak nodded. "And I'm sure that in time you will receive them."
Gorfmann snorted derisively. "When, with the snail's pace of the way things are moving? Fifty years from now? A century? What use is that to me? I am young, and I still have a life ahead of me that I mean to enjoy. I want the rewards and everything that goes with them, now. But all we get is restrictions, restrictions, this ridiculous blackout on publicity, and tests, tests, and more tests." He waved a hand in Osternak's direction. "Look, I'm sorry if this success has come a little late in life for youthere is nothing I can do about that. But it doesn't have to be that way for me. I say we should go public now. I would like to make the first official announcement during my speech tonight."
Osternak shook his head. "It is too early for anything like that. You said yourself a moment ago that the implications are staggering. It is precisely for that reason that we cannot risk the turmoil that this kind of news would unleash, until we understand all of the ramifications fully." The professor waved at the equations strung across the blackboard on the wall. "We still don't understand the effects on mass-energy conservation, or the intricacies of sequential nested loops. From the animal experiments it appears that two passes through the chamber in too short a time can severely disrupt the central nervous system. We have no idea why. I understand your feelings, but with things like that unresolved, our byword for the foreseeable future can only be caution."
"Caution, caution, all I ever hear is `caution'!" Gorfmann exploded. He turned his hands upward appealingly. "It wasn't caution that"
"I'm sorry, Rudi, but I must insist." For the first time there was an edge of sharpness to Osternak's voice. "The consequences of inviting pestering and interference from outside would be catastrophic at this stage of the project. That position is final. I want your solemn word not to utter one word about it, either tonight or on any future occasion, without express official direction. Is that understood?"
Gorfmann marched across to the door and grasped the handle without saying anything.
"Rudi," the professor called as he opened the door. Gorfmann turned and looked back. "Your assurance, please." Osternak's tone left no room for debating.
Gorfmann bit his lip in suppressed frustration. It was either that, he could see, or he'd be out of a job before he got out of the building. And that would mean an end to any chance of benefiting from his involvement with the projectever. Not to mention the impossibility of getting hired by any other of Osternak's cronies in the business, and a complete ban on publication. . . . It was true: The old fart could ruin him. He glared balefully through his spectacles and nodded his head once, stiffly. "Very well. But I protest." With that he turned about and marched out of the office.
"Have a good evening, Rudi," the professor's voice called after him.
As he came out, he noticed a cloth lying on the floor on the opposite side of the corridor, outside the cleaners' closet next to Professor Prandtl's office. Such sloppiness offended him, and at another time he might have tossed it back inside. But at this particular instant he was too annoyed to bother and walked away, making a mental note to have a word with the cleaners about it tomorrow.
Feeling debonair and resplendent in his black tie and evening dress, Rudi Gorfmann walked up to the spotlit podium and smiled to acknowledge the applause following the toastmaster's introduction. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen." He paused and looked around the tables of white shirtfronts and glittering hands and throats. "I have something confidential to announce concerning our work at the Erwin Schrödinger Memorial Research Institute." He looked from side to side ominously. An expectant silence fell. "Up there, in our castle-laboratory in the mountains, we are not really making a Frankenstein monster. But the image is one of the conditions that we have to meet under the terms of our contract. You see, we are funded by the proceeds from the will of an eccentric German billionaire who had a fixation about bats and cats." Appreciative laughter came from around the room. "But seriously, thank you again for asking me to come and say a few words tonight. It is probably not often that a professional scientist gets an opportunity to speak on these occasions. Therefore I will make the most of that opportunity by saying a few words about science. . . ."
At his table afterward, he was the center of attention. "I thought that what you said about quantum mechanics was fascinating, Dr. Gorfmann," the platinum blonde sitting on one side of him said. "I believe that quantum mechanics might be the explanation for telepathy and ESP. What do you think?"
"First one must be certain there is something that needs explaining," Gorfmann replied profoundly.
"Oh, it's been authenticated, no doubt about it," a tall, thin-haired man opposite declared airily. "In fact I have irrefutable experience of it myself."
"I am sure some people would consider it irrefutable."
"But we have a lot of science in the world already, and a lot of people still aren't happy," a bejeweled, middle-aged woman said from farther along. "It can't guarantee happiness, and that's what counts."
"What can?" Gorfmann asked. "That's not what science ever set out to accomplish. Its purpose is discovery, no more."
"But people don't look at it that way," the bejeweled woman's husband said, as if that meant something.
"What I mean is, those people who spend lots of money on gadgets because they expect wonderful things, and then find out that they're just as miserable."
"More so. They're broke," a sandy-haired man said. The others smiled.
"Then perhaps they should re-examine their expectations," Gorfmann suggested.
Buffoons, all of them, he thought inwardly. Functionally incompetent, overindulged children. If intellectual defectives like these could brainwash a society of drones into lavishing them with accolades and riches, what would those of genuine ability accomplish if they put their minds to it? It was the likes of Osternak, with their pathetic notions of modesty and professional ethics, who kept the glamour out of science and deglorified it, consigning themselves to second-class roles in the world when they could have been running it. Things would change when Gorfmann got where he was aiming.
"What do you think is the best way of teaching children to be rational and logical?" the brunette who was with the sandy-haired man asked.
"You can't. They already are. But you can unteach them."
The head waiter came to the far end of the top table, which was where Gorfmann was sitting, and asked the club secretary something. The secretary indicated Gorfmann with a motion of his hand, and the head waiter approached. Gorfmann looked up inquiringly.
"Dr. Gorfmann?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is a telephone call for you. You may take it at the table if you wish."
"Oh?" Gorfmann looked surprised. He wasn't aware of anything urgent. "Very well. Yes, thank you. I'll take it here."
The head waiter nodded in the direction of one of the doorways, and another waiter who had been waiting there came forward carrying a cordless phone on a tray. He deposited the tray beside Gorfmann's plate and retired to a discreet distance. The other guests diverted their attention to leave Gorfmann a measure of privacy.
"Hello? This is Rudi Gorfmann speaking."
"Just checking," a man's voice replied. There was a hint of a chuckle in it, as if the speaker was feeling pleased with himself and couldn't quite contain it.
"Who is this, please?"
"It doesn't matter. Let's just say that, as I know you'll be pleased to learn, you're even cleverer than you think."
"Look, I don't" There was a click, and then a buzz came on the line. Gorfmann put the phone down and sat back in his chair, baffled. The waiter, who had been hovering, came forward. Gorfmann nodded, and the waiter took the tray away.
The platinum blonde next to him glanced around and saw that the others were still talking among themselves. She laid a hand lightly on his arm and leaned closer to whisper. "Some friends of mine will be getting together later at the Claremont. Do you know it?"
"The ski lodge, higher up in the pass, above the Institute? Yes, it's very nice up there."
"It will be just a few late-night drinks, and maybe a small party. If you've no other plans, perhaps you'd like to join us?" The blonde held his eyes pointedly. "It can be a very friendly atmosphere."
Gorfmann considered the proposition. He had left his car at the Institute and driven down to Innsbruck with Dr. Hoetzer, since they had some technical things to discuss. So Hoetzer would have to drop him off at the Institute, but it was on the way to the Claremont, anyhow. "Thank you," he said. "No, I have nothing else planned. Shall I meet you up there later?"
"I'll be waiting," the blonde said alluringly. "My name is Lisa." Gorfmann smiled at her conspiratorially.
He sat back in his chair to sip his wine and surveyed the room with a satisfied eye. Yes, indeed, it was going to be a good life, he decided . . . once he had found a way to get around that doddering fossil, Osternak.
"I tried talking to Osternak about it tonight before we left," Gorfmann said, gesticulating in Hoetzer's wagon as they drove back from Innsbruck. "I wanted to say something at the banquet, in fact. But he wouldn't listen. I think he's getting past this kind of work. Perhaps we should start organizing ourselves to do something about it." He eyed Hoetzer surreptitiously as he spoke, gauging his reaction.
"Well, let's see what happens at the policy meeting next week," Hoetzer replied tactfully. They came out of the last of the bends on the steep climb from the Weiderwasser bridge and saw the lights of the Institute's main gate ahead. "Where's your car parked, Rudi?" Hoetzer asked, happy to change the subject.
"In front, outside the Keep," Gorfmann replied.
The general parking area for staff was inside the main gate, adjoining the maze of alleys and irregular-shaped yards between the various buildings, known collectively as the "compound." At the front of the Keep, however, there was an enclosed gravel forecourt with a small parking area reserved for senior personnel, which opened onto the road via a separate gate.
"I wonder, could you do me a small favor?" Hoetzer asked.
"What's that?"
"I need to pick up a generator set that I'm borrowing. It's just behind the gate from the compound into the center parking area. I could use some help lifting it into the wagon."
Gorfmann pulled a face in the darkness. He wanted to go home, change into more casual wear, and then be on his way up to the Claremont to meet Lisa as quickly as possible. But there was no way out of it. "Of course," he said, forcing a genial tone.
"Thank you so much."
"Not at all."
They turned into the main gateway, and Hoetzer stopped to let the security guard know what they were doingthe guard seemed aware of the arrangement already. Then they drove across to the other side of the almost empty parking area, and Hoetzer reversed into a slot in front of the compound gate. "Hardly the best dress for this kind of thing," Hoetzer said cheerfully as he climbed out.
"No," Gorfmann agreed. He took off his topcoat, folded it, and put it on the seat before joining Hoetzer on the other side of the gate. The generator was mounted on a steel-frame base with a lifting bar at each end. Gorfmann looked it over and undid his tie before tackling it. They manhandled the generator through the gate and across the few meters to the wagon. "The guard seemed to know about this already," Gorfmann remarked as Hoetzer opened the rear door.
"Oh yes. I cleared it with security this afternoon. I just didn't want to drive all the way down to Innsbruck and back up again with the weight."
"Very sensible."
They heaved the generator up onto the tailboard, and the wagon sank on its suspension as it took the load. Hoetzer slammed the door shut and dusted his hands together in a manner indicative of a job well done. "Thanks so much," he said again.
"Don't mention it. Look, I'll tell you what." Gorfmann gestured in the direction of the compound gate. "Why don't I just go through the Keep? It'll be quicker than driving around, and you won't have to stop."
"It wouldn't be any trouble. . . ."
"No, the walk would be quicker."
"Well, if you're sure."
"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay, then. Good night, Rudi."
"Good night. Thank you for the ride."
Gorfmann walked back through the gate and began crossing the compound through the jumble of shadows cast by the surrounding structures and laboratory buildings. As he forgot about Osternak and Hoetzer and generators, and his mind turned to thoughts of the promise that lay ahead with Lisa, his pace quickened, and he began whistling to himself.
"Hey, Rudi," Hoetzer's voice called from behind him. Gorfmann stopped and looked back. Hoetzer was standing just inside the gate, holding something up. "You forgot your coat."
"Oh, silly of me," Gorfmann called back. He turned and retraced his steps.
"That won't do. You're turning into an absentminded professor already," Hoetzer said, handing it over.
"I hope not. We've got one too many of those already."
"Now, now, Rudi."
"Thank you. Good night again."
"Good night."
Slipping his coat on as he walked, Gorfmann crossed the compound again and entered the rear door of the Keep, which to his mild surprise he found unlockedbut that happened sometimes. He walked along the darkened passageway that led to the front lobby and went out through the main entrance to the executive forecourt, feeling in his pocket for his keys. But at the bottom of the shallow steps outside the door, he stopped dead in sudden bewilderment. His car was not there.
Fuming, he paced from one end of the forecourt to the other, thinking that someone might have moved it for some reason, but the reaction was a mechanical oneit was obvious just by looking that there was nowhere else the car could have been. Finally, accepting the inevitable, he stormed back into the lobby, slamming the door behind. "What in hell's going on?" he muttered to himself as he crossed back to the passageway leading to the rear door. "Oh God, this is too much. Not at a time like this, of all nights!"
He went back through the compound, across the staff parking area, and reported the loss to the security officer on duty at the main gate. Then he signed for one of the Institute's pool cars and used that to go home and change into casual wear before carrying on up to the Claremont. By the time he got there, he was beginning to get over his misfortune. It was quite late next morning when he left again, and he went straight to the Institute. By then he was feeling still irritable at the inconvenience, but much better.
In the transfer-chamber control room, Gorfmann typed the parameters for the test run into the supervisory console, verified the readback on the display screen, and confirmed the command. "Envelope profile verified and locked," he reported to Kurt and Hilda at the other stations. "How are we doing on the interface?"
Hilda consulted another panel. "Override is released," she said.
"Probe vector, Kurt?"
"They're still adjusting the resonators."
"Estimate another ten minutes to phase three," Gorfmann said into a microphone on his console.
"Check," a voice replied from a grille by the screen.
A phone rang at the back of the room. Moments later, Josef called from the desk by the door, "Reception calling for you, Dr. Gorfmann."
"Put it through." Gorfmann picked up the handset from the hook on one side of the console. "Hello, Gorfmann here."
"Main Gate Reception. There is an Inspector Wenkle from the police department here, asking to see you."
Gorfmann frowned, surprised. He had only reported a stolen carhardly earth-shattering enough to warrant a personal visit, he would have thought. He sighed at the fastidiousness of plodding officialdom. "Very well. Show him into the visitor room there, would you. I'll be over in a few minutes."
"Very good."
Gorfmann turned toward Kurt, who was entering numbers from a list into a keyboard. "Take over here, please, Kurt. I have to go and see someone at the main gate. And remember what I told you about the synchronizing calibration. It is most important for it to be accurate."
"Sure."
"Is it about your car?" Hilda asked.
"Probably, but that is a personal matter. You have your work to worry about. Kindly attend to it." Gorfmann hung his lab coat by the door at the back of the room and left.
Kurt and Hilda made faces and exchanged shrugs. "Snotty today, even for him," Kurt observed.
"Well, he has just lost a brand-new car," Hilda said.
"What did he need a car like that for anyway?" Kurt asked. "Planning on moving to Hollywood or somewhere, is he?"
"Oh, he's a big celebrity now, didn't you know?" Josef said from the back. "Science guru of the trendy set. Big hit at the dinner in town last night."
"I wonder if we could transfer him back to another century," Kurt mused distantly. "How about the Dark Ages? I figure they could have used some help then."
"Perhaps somebody already did," Josef said. "That could be what turned them off science for a thousand years."
Gorfmann entered the visitor room and closed the door behind him. A man wearing a tan raincoat and Tyrolean hat, and holding a thin leather document case under one arm, turned away from examining the exhibits in the display case on the far wall. He was of medium height and build, with a swarthy face, big nose, and thick black mustache. He nodded his head to indicate the caption FUSION PHYSICS over a section of the display. "It says there that if all the energy you could get from the fusion fuel in the oceans is represented by the distance across the Atlantic, then on the same scale Arabia's oil reserves measure six thousandths of an inch," he said.
"That sounds about right," Gorfmann agreed.
"Amazing, isn't it? And yet you still read things that say we're about to run out of it."
"You shouldn't believe everything you read."
"Is that the kind of work you do here?"
"Some sections of the Institute are involved in related areas. I myself am concerned with more fundamental aspects of physics. Inspector, look, I am extremely busy. We are about to begin an experimental run. Could we get to the point, please?"
"Of course." Wenkle's manner became more brisk. He removed his hat and sat down near the end of the table, which took up most of the room, motioning with a hand for Gorfmann to take the head chair, across the corner. Gorfmann did so. Wenkle put the document case down next to his hat and took out a manila folder, from which he produced several forms clipped together, and some handwritten notes.
"I take it this is to do with my car," Gorfmann said after Wenkle had perused the papers in silence for a few seconds.
"Er, yes . . . Dr. Gorfmann."
"Well, have you found it?"
Wenkle studied his notes for a moment longer. "First could we go over some of the information you gave when you reported the loss? The vehicle was left on these premises, is that correct?"
"Yes, but is this really necessary? You have just said that I've already given you this information."
"We do like to double-check our facts, if you wouldn't mind, sir. It will only take a few minutes."
"Very well. Let's get on with it."
"Now, let's see, you left the car here at the Institute, and went down into Innsbruck yesterday evening. How did you get there?"
"I drove down with a colleagueDr. Hoetzer, from the plasma laboratory. We had some technical matters to discuss. It seemed opportune to use the time."
"I see. And at what time did you leave?"
"At six o'clock."
"Approximately."
"No. Precisely."
"Ah . . . I noticed when I arrived that the staff parking seems to be inside this gate. Is that where you left your car?"
"No. There is also a small parking area for senior personnel at the front of the Keep, where the offices are. It has its own driveway, leading directly out to the road."
"So the thief wouldn't have had to go past the security post here at the main gate?"
"That is correct."
"What was the purpose of your trip?"
"I was a speaker at a fund-raising banquet given by the Celebrity Club at the Hotel Ibis. Is that sufficient?"
"More than adequate." Wenkle added some comments to his notes and turned the page. "And you left the hotel in Innsbruck with Dr. Hoetzer at? . . ."
"Oh, I'd say about ten."
"Precisely?" Wenkle's tongue poked at his cheek for the merest fraction of a second.
Sniff. "Approximately."
"And what time did you arrive back here?"
"Let me see . . . We left the ballroom at around ten, a few minutes to collect coats and get Hoetzer's wagon from the garage . . . Oh, it must have been around ten-thirty, ten forty-five at the outside. I found that my car was gone, and I reported it. Now, if you're completely satisfied, Inspector . . ." Gorfmann half rose, bracing his hands on the edge of the table to indicate that he was ready to leave.
Wenkle, however, shifted another form to the top of the papers in front of him and studied it, giving no sign that he was finished. Gorfmann held his pose for a few more seconds, then conceded with a sigh and sat down again. Finally Wenkle said, "Yes, we do have some information, Dr. Gorfmann. Your car was found this morning, at the bottom of a two-hundred-meter cliff less than a kilometer away, on the steep stretch of road between here, and the Weiderwasser bridge. From the impact point where it struck the rocks, it was evidently traveling at considerable speed, and the skid marks where it went off the road indicate that it was out of control."
Gorfmann looked stunned. "My God! . . . Is it badly damaged? It was almost new."
"Completely burned out, I'm afraid. I assume your insurance will take care of that."
"And that driver? Was he? . . ."
"Oh, no doubt killed instantly. The body was burned to a cinder. We're having to run checks on dental and medical records to try and identify him."
"I see. . . . That's terrible. . . . Have you been able to determine when this occurred, Inspector?"
"Not really. As I said, the car was found early this morning. But from the amount of burning and the degree to which it had cooled, the accident itself must have happened many hours earlier. It could have been at any time during the night or the previous evening. The car was in a gorge, invisible from the road. We were alerted only when somebody reported the broken fence and headlamp glass, after daybreak this morning."
Gorfmann licked his lips as the full awareness sank in. "Well, if there's anything else I can tell you . . ."
"Just one thing. Out of curiosity, do you have your car keys with you now?"
"Yes."
"May I see them, please?"
Gorfmann reached into his trouser pocket and drew out a leather-tagged key ring containing as assortment of keys. "That one, and that one," he said, separating out two of them.
"Thank you. Er, do you have another set, by any chance?"
"I do, as a matter of fact. I keep them in the desk in my office, here at the Institute."
"When was the last time you saw them?"
"Oh . . ." Gorfmann made a vague motion in the air that could have meant anything. "I don't know. You don't really notice after a while, if you know what I mean. They've been there since I bought the car."
"Have you been to your office this morning?"
"Well, no actually . . . I, er, I was somewhat later getting back down from the Claremont than I intended, and since we were due to conduct some rather important tests, I went directly to the lab. I was there until you arrived."
"And you haven't heard of anything unusual being reported from there todaysomebody breaking in, for instance?"
"Breaking in?" Gorfmann looked surprised. "No, nothing like that at all. Why?"
In reply, Wenkle reached inside his document case again and drew out a plain white envelope. From it he took a key ring with just two keys on it, smoke-blackened and dulled. It also had a medallion attached, bearing a distinctive red motif and encased in a plastic coating that had been partially melted. "Are these the keys from your desk, Dr. Gorfmann?" he inquired.
Gorfmann stared in astonishment. "Why, yes. . . . Yes, they are."
"Can you explain how they came to be in the thief's possession?"
Gorfmann blinked rapidly behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. "No, Inspector, I can't," he replied, for once completely bemused. "I have no explanation to offer at all."
One side of the road had been closed off for a short distance by temporary barriers, reducing the traffic to a single lane. A few cars waited at one end while a policeman wearing a Day-Glo orange overjacket directed traffic through in the other direction. Rudi Gorfmann looked on glumly from a rocky projection above the gorge, while from behind the barriers a tow truck from Innsbruck winched what was left of his car slowly up the precipice. Inspector Wenkle and several other officers, along with two men from the insurance company, were watching from in front of some cars parked in a line along the verge. A cold breeze was coming down from the mountains, and Gorfmann drew the collar of his fur-lined parka closer around his neck and face.
At least, whoever had taken it hadn't had long to derive much pleasure from the act, he reflected with a twinge of satisfaction. Served him right. Too much riffraff on the loose altogether, these dayswith no sense of decency or respect for other people's rights or property. No discipline in the schools, that was what it was. Too many do-gooders hamstringing the police.
After Wenkle's visit to the Institute the previous day to inform him about the accident, he remembered recalling that Osternak hadn't been seen by anyone that morning, which was unusual because the professor went by strict habits. For a while, Gorfmann had wondered secretly if maybejust maybe, for some reasonit might have been Osternak who had gone over in the car. Perhaps he had lost his keys, or forgotten where he'd parked his own car or something, and in some kind of emergency borrowed Gorfmann'she knew that Gorfmann kept a spare set of keys in his desk. Unlikely, admittedly . . . but not impossible. But then Osternak had reappeared later in the afternoon and shattered that fond hope. Now Gorfmann would have to go through the chore of choosing, buying, and getting them to fix all the problems and squeaks in another piece of moron-engineered incompetence that passed as a new car.
But it was a thought. . . . Maybe he could doctor the brakes of Osternak's car one of these dark, slippery nights. . . . Tricky, though. Gorfmann's position at the Institute would make him an immediate suspect. It wouldn't do to simply leave a trap like that, which he could have set as easily as anyone else. It would have to be done in such a way that he'd have an absolutely foolproof alibi.
"It feels as if winter's on its way," a voice said. Inspector Wenkle had walked over and was standing next to him.
"Yes, quite a nip in the wind. Have you made any progress in identifying the culprit?"
"Not yet, but it's still early. There's information to come in from a lot of places. From the X-rays, it seems that he had a surgical pin in his kneeyou know the kind of thing I mean?"
"Yes indeed. In fact I have one myself. It was from a climbing accident, many years ago."
"They're quite common. . . . Oh, and there was another thing. I talked to Dr. Hoetzer. Apparently he almost had an accident himself last night, immediately after dropping you off. He tells me that as he was driving out of the main gate, a car came out of the gateway higher up at the Keep, swerving all over the road at considerable speed, and almost collided with him head-on. It seems probable that it was your car, Dr. Gorfmann."
"Good heavens! Then I must have just missed him by minutes."
"So it would appear. But it does fix the time of the theft at around ten-thirty. If anything else turns up, of course I'll let you know."
"Thank you. I would appreciate it."
"Well, I must be getting back. Good day, then."
"Good day, Inspector."
The solution occurred to him a half hour later, as he was leaving the site in his pool car after the wreck had been hauled away. Of course! With a time machine at his disposal, he had the means for constructing the perfect alibi! Literally perfect. For what better way could there be of establishing that he had been in another place at the time a murder was committed, than actually being there? He could arrange for there to be two of him! Let even the best Wenkle in the world find a hole in that if he could. Gorfmann was so pleased with the inspiration that he laughed and chuckled out loud to himself all the way back to the Institute.
For the alibi to be effective, Osternak would have to be done away with in a manner that required the killer to actually be there, physically, at the same time. That way, the incontestable demonstration that he, Gorfmanni.e. his other selfhad been somewhere else would prove his innocence beyond question. And the perfect occasion had been just two nights before, when he knew, moreover, that Osternak had been working late, alone, in his dingy office up in the Keep. He also knew that Osternak, being Swiss, kept a revolver in the middle drawer of his desk. As the police would reconstruct it, the professor would have disturbed an intruder who had discovered the gun, and in the ensuing confrontation been shot with his own weapon. The time would be known precisely, and Gorfmann would have been miles away, in full view of hundreds of people. It was perfect. There would then be one other key participant to be taken care of to avoid possible complications, of course, but recent events had even provided a means of accomplishing that.
By the evening of that same day, he had completed his plans. He waited until it was late at night, when the Institute was still. Then, wearing loose black clothing, his face darkened by streaks of greasepaint, and carrying a bag with a day's supply of food and a flask of hot coffee, a kit of tools, and a formal evening suit with dress shirt, he materialized stealthily from the shrubbery by the executive parking area and let himself into the Keep. He crossed the lobby and went along the darkened passageway to the rear door that opened out into the compound, and from there, keeping to the shadows, made his way over to the dome containing the time-transfer gate. Inside the control room, he activated the supervisory console, and working quickly, primed the system for a simple transfer back to the early morning hours of the day before lasthe couldn't risk arriving later, when people might be around. That meant he would have to find somewhere to lay up through the day, but that wouldn't be difficult.
He set the initialization routine on automatic with a delay of thirty seconds, then hurried through to the transfer room itself, climbed inside the safelike, metal-walled chamber, and closed the door. A few seconds later his head seemed to explode in a riot of colors, and he felt as if his body was fizzing from head to toe, like a can of shaken-up soda. Then the sensation passed, leaving only a tingling in his fingers and a mild feeling of nausea, which quickly passed. He opened the door carefully. All outside was dark and still. He went through to the control room and the console display verified that the time and date were as he had intended. Satisfied, he crossed back to the Keep and made his way up to one of the attic rooms, hardly ever visited, which was used to store old office machinery, archived documents, and some pieces of surplus furniture that even included a comfortable four-seat couch. Yes, he would be fine here for a day, he decided, looking around. He'd even brought himself a couple of books to read. And the wait would be well worth it.
It was early evening when Gorfmann emerged and crept down to the floor on which Osternak's office was situated. Policemen were always making such a big thing about how thorough they were. The way to prevail against them was to be even more thorough. And how could such pedestrian, one-dimensional minds stand a chance against thoroughness combined with scientific training?
The corridor ran from front to back of the building, between doors leading to stairways at both ends. He waited behind the door to the rear until he saw his earlier self come in at the other end from the front stairs and go into Osternak's office. After a few minutes' wait, he tiptoed along to Professor Prandtl's office, which would suit his purpose nicelyit was opposite Osternak's, and Prandtl was away on a lecture visit to the U.S. until the following week. He turned the handle gently, eased the door open, and slipped inside . . . and instantly recoiled back out again. There was somebody in therelying on the sofa beneath Prandtl's window, wrapped in blankets and seemingly asleep. Gorfmann didn't know what to make of it. Somebody with domestic troubles staying away from the house, perhaps? But he didn't have time to wonder, for he was out in the open in the corridor, and anyone could appear at any moment. He looked around for an alternative, spotted the cleaner's closet next to Prandtl's office, and quickly hid himself inside. It would give him just as good a view of Osternak's door, anyway.
The secret was to be thorough and check everything. He waited, watching, through the crack from the closet. The first thing was to be absolutely certain that the time sequence he was on was as he remembered.
And then the handle of Osternak's door rattled and turned a fraction. Gorfmann brought his eye close to the crack to observe. Osternak's door had opened partly, and through it he could see the version of himself that had been two days ago, standing with one hand on the door handle and looking back into the room. "Your assurance, please," Osternak's voice demanded sharply from inside the office. And then Gorfmann's eyes drifted downward, and he saw to his consternation that a cleaning cloth was lying on the floor, right outside the closet. He must have dislodged it from one of the hooks inside the door in his hurry to hide himself. Instinctively, he crouched down, pushed the door open a fraction, and started to reach out.
His other self nodded his head stiffly. "Very well. But I protest." It was no good. There wasn't time. Gorfmann pulled the door to again and watched, petrified, through the crack as his other self came angrily out of Osternak's office.
"Have a good evening, Rudi," Osternak's voice called out.
His other self closed the door, glanced down at the cloth, hesitated for a split second, then snorted and walked away. Gorfmann straightened himself up slowly, shaking with relief and silent laughter. Of course . . . it had to work out that way. It had already happened!
His speech at the banquet had ended at about ten minutes after eight. It was now almost six o'clock. He emerged from the closet and went along to the accounts office, which overlooked the front parking area, and just to be doubly certain, watched himself depart at six exactly with Hoetzer in Hoetzer's wagon. Then he went up two floors and along to Hoetzer's office, where he switched on the large graphics printer that Hoetzer used for generating enlarged particle-trajectory diagrams from detector photographs, and set it to high-resolution mode. If left in that condition all night, the circuits would overheat and burn out. He didn't want to damage the machine, but a couple of hours would give it time to warm up nicely. Happy that all was going according to plan, he went back up to his hideout to wait. The secret was to be thorough, thorough . . .
He emerged two hours later at eight-fifteen, wearing thin cotton gloves now, and went down to the pay phone located in an alcove off the front lobbythat way there wouldn't be any record of the call on the Institute's telephone account.
"Thank you for calling. This is the Hotel Ibis, Innsbruck."
"Hello. I believe you have a banquet there tonight, being given by the Celebrity Club?"
"Yes, sir, we do."
"I need to speak with one of the guests, please. It is most urgent."
"One moment." Gorfmann thought he heard somebody come in through the back door from the compound. He leaned out from the alcove and peered along the darkened passage leading to the rear of the building . . . but there was no one. He remembered the figure on the couch in Prandtl's office and prayed that something wasn't about to go wrong now, through factors he couldn't possibly have anticipated. That would have been too unjust. But there seemed to be something strange afoot in the place. . . . Then the operator at the Ibis came back on the line. "The guests are all eating at the moment, sir."
"I'm sorry, but it is important," Another pause.
"Whom did you wish to speak to, sir?"
"I wish to speak to somebody there called Gorfmann. A Dr. Rudi Gorfmann."
"Who is calling?"
"Just put me through, please."
"One moment. I'm transferring you to a table phone."
"Thank you." Jubilation surged through him. It was all working!
Than a voice on the line said, "Hello? This is Rudi Gorfmann speaking."
He didn't believe it himself. "Just checking," he said, smothering the impulse to laugh.
"Who is this, please?"
"It doesn't matter. Let's just say that, as I know you'll be pleased to learn, you're even cleverer than you think."
"Look, I don't" He hung up.
The next thing to do was get Osternak out of his office for a few minutes to allow himself to slip in. That was why he had switched on the printer a couple of hours previously. He inserted more coins and punched in the number of the direct line to Osternak's office. Through the deserted building from the floor above, he caught the muted sound of a telephone ringing. Then a voice in the receiver said, "Hello?"
"Professor Osternak?" Gorfmann said, roughening his voice.
"Yes."
"Sorry to trouble you, Professor, but this is Security at the main gate."
"Yes?"
"We've just had a call here from Dr. Hoetzer, in Innsbruck."
"Oh?"
"He says that he was in a hurry to leave this evening, and that he left a piece of equipment switched on in his officea graphics printer, I think he said."
"Oh dear. That could be unfortunate."
"So I understand. But apparently a certain procedure has to be followed to turn it off. I offered to take the directions down over the phone, but Dr. Hoetzer was short of time. He said you were up there tonight, and your office is only two levels down from his."
"Oh, I see. You'd like me to go up and turn it off for him."
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Professor."
"Oh, good heavens, no. No trouble at all. I'll attend to it right away."
"Thank you very much."
"Not at all. Good night."
"Good night, Professor." Gorfmann replaced the phone. "Heh, heh, heh. And good-bye, Professor," he murmured in his natural voice. Since Hoetzer's room was at the far end of the building, Osternak would use the rear stairs. Gorfmann moved swiftly across the lobby and went up the front staircase by the elevators. He halted at the double doors into the corridor leading to Osternak's office and peeped through in time to see Osternak's door open and the professor emerge and disappear through the doors at the far end. Gorfmann waited until the far doors had swung shut then walked quickly to the open door of Osternak's office. Inside, he went straight to the desk and rummaged through the drawers. The gun was there. He checked the chambers. It was loaded. That was the final thing that might have gone wrong. He went through the drawers, rifling them and scattering the contents the way an intruder would, swept the papers off a side table, tossing down a few books from the shelves for good measure. Then he turned over a chair and a small table to give the appearance of a struggle, and threw down a candlestick, a figurine, and the clock from the mantleshelf over the fireplace, making sure that the clock was broken and showed the correct time. Finally he turned off the desk lamp, loosened the bulb in the ceiling light until it went out, turned it off at the switch by the door, and stood back in the shadows to wait.
He heard the door from the rear stairs open and Osternak's footsteps approaching less than a minute later. The professor appeared in the doorway, hesitated when he saw the darkness inside, then advanced a pace into the room and flipped the wall switch. Nothing happened. Then he did exactly what Gorfmann had anticipated: He came into the room to try the desk lamp.
There would be no melodramatics or gloating speeches, Gorfmann had decided. Besides being rather distasteful, they provided an additional opportunity for things to go wrong. It would happen just as if he were a real intruder. When Osternak was halfway across the room, Gorfmann stepped forward to be sure of his aim and fired twice at the heart. Osternak cried out in shock and reeled away, clapping a hand to his chest, crashed into a chair, and fell over it in a heap. Gorfmann moved forward cautiously and waited, but the form lay motionless, picked out in the light from the doorway. Gorfmann reached up and tightened the ceiling-lamp bulb. The light came on to reveal the professor staring upward with glazed eyes, with a mess of blood covering his hand and chest, and spreading onto the carpet. Gorfmann grimaced to himself and walked over to turn the light off again at the wall switch. From the doorway he surveyed the scene for anything he might have overlooked. Finding nothing, he pocketed the gunan intruder would hardly have left it; it would be found later in a place where it would seem to have been thrown awayand went back up to his hideout room for the tools that he'd brought. Now it was time for the really diabolical part of the whole thing.
For the remaining problem now, of course, was that there were two of him in existencea situation that would cause impossible complications and which obviously couldn't be permitted to last. And since the mind of his alter ego could be guaranteed to work in the same way as his ownit was the same mind, after allit wouldn't take long for the alter ego to figure out what was going onagain an intolerable state of affairs. Therefore the alter ego would have to go. The world was only big enough for one Rudi Gorfmann, anyway.
However, the beautiful thing about it all was that chance had already provided him the means. Wenkle had pinpointed the theft of his car as having occurred no earlier than ten-thirty. It was not yet eight forty-five. Hence he had over an hour and a half to do a sabotage job on his car, parked out front in the executive parking area. Then he would wait for the thief to appear, and force the events that followed into a different sequence. For if he prevented the theft from occurring, then obviously the car would still be there when his other self returned from Innsbruck. The accident would still happen, but with the subtle difference that the body recovered would be his unwanted other, unsuspecting self's, not the thief's. That meant, of course, that he would be on a new timeline and things would proceed from there on in a different waybut that would be no different from playing life by ear in the normal way that people did every day. In other words, he could handle it. The important thing was that Osternak would have been killed after surprising an intruder, who stole Gorfmann's car and in his panic to get away went over the cliff. An unidentifiable body would be recovered from the wreck, and a very alive Gorfmannhimselfwould reappear to deplore the tragedy. Brilliant!
He worked deftly and surely, fixing the primary braking system in such a way that it would feel normal the first couple of times the pedal was depressed, and then fail catastrophically. And just to be sure there would be no chance of recovery, he disabled the emergency brake. He finished well before ten, and feeling pleased with himself, cleared away his tools and settled down to wait well back in the shadows of the shrubbery for the thief. After Hoetzer dropped him off upon their return from Innsbruck, he had come through the Keep and out the front door. The thief might come from that direction, or from another.
And then a light came on in one of the windows one level up, overlooking the forecourtin the accounts office, Gorfmann ascertained from its position relative to the front door. A face appeared inside, pressing forward to peer down and shielding its eyes from the reflected light off the glass. Gorfmann remained motionless, deep under the shadow of the shrubbery. What was somebody doing in the accounts office at this hour? The face withdrew, and a moment later the light went out again. Was this something else to do with the figure on the sofa in Prandtl's office? Something strange was going on. Less than a minute later the performance repeated: the light in the accounts office came on once more, and the same figure came to the window and peered down, went away, and the light went out again. Perhaps somebody on the staff was using the premises for nocturnal romantic trysts, and getting some sleep in Prandtl's office in anticipation of an active night. How disgraceful. Gorfmann would have something to say about that if he found out who it was. At least it might explain the presence of the thief, he reflected. But the thing to remember for now was the need to be careful with others around.
And then he heard footsteps approaching in haste, not from anywhere near the front door, but on the gravel path coming around the corner of the building from the side door by the library. Moments later, a figure came running around the corner, clad in a light-colored sweater. Gorfmann waited until he was certain that the figure was indeed heading for the car, then stepped out into viewbut without getting too close for comfortand called out sharply, "Who are you? What do you want?"
The figure stopped abruptly, recoiled, and fled back around the building. Gorfmann blinked behind his spectacles in the darkness, his hand feeling suddenly very slippery around the gun he'd been holding in his pocket as a precaution. Exit one thief. Was it really as easy as that?
And then he heard more footsteps coming across the lobby inside the main door and barely had time to duck back under the shrubbery before the door opened and a different figure appeared, this time wearing a topcoat over evening dress, its tie loosened as he had loosened his before helping Hoetzer with the generator. It was his alter ego. There could be no mistake about it. Fascinated, he watched himself climb into the car and start the engine. The lights came on, and the car backed out, changed into forward gear, and disappeared along the driveway and out onto the road. Then he heard it accelerating away downhill in the direction of the Weiderwasser bridge.
So, it was done. The timeline had been changed. A strange feeling of elation and sudden weariness came over him as he moved forward into the light from above the entrance and stood for a while, savoring the fresh night air and looking up at the stars. At the same time, he experienced an inner wonder at this new, awesome power that he had glimpsed, there for those with the nerve to grasp it. Yes, it was going to be a very new world, indeed.
Now it was time to become the Gorfmann who would go back to the main gate and report the stolen car. But that Gorfmann was supposed to have just come back from a banquet. He went in through the main door, and a patch of brake fluid on one of his shoes caused him to slip on the tiled floor of the vestibule. He cursed reflexively as he almost lost his balance and then went through to the men's washroom a short distance along the passage leading to the backdoor to clean up. A few minutes later he emerged, carrying the soiled coveralls, and moving cautiously since he was still mindful that there were others in the building, made his way back up to the attic to put on the evening dress that he had brought with him for the purpose. As he straightened his tie and pulled on his topcoat, he grinned at himself in the mirror in fond of anticipation of replaying the same night with Lisa all over again. Time machines could be worth millions! The last thing he had to do was clean up the attic room to remove all traces of his occupancy, bundle up the gun and the other things he had used, and on the way downstairs, lock them away in his own office until he had a chance to dispose of them properly.
On his way down, he almost ran into Osternak.
Neither the professor nor his clothes had a mark on them.
Gorfmann stopped dead and stood, paralyzed. His eyes widened behind his spectacles. His head shook from side to side in a barely discernible motion of protest. "It can't be," he whispered.
The professor stared back at him, seeming equally bemused for a second or two, then his features relaxed, almost as if he thought something was funny. "Oh, but it can," he said.
"How is this possible?"
"I don't understand it. You don't understand it. That's what I've been trying to tell you Rudi, but you wouldn't listen. Do what you will. You can't win."
Something snapped inside Gorfmann's mind then. An insane look came into his eyes, and he shook his head again, violently this time. "Oh, but I can." Gorfmann produced the gun from inside the bundle he was holding. "So, I can't win, eh? We'll see about that." He motioned for Osternak to walk ahead of him, down the stairs. "And don't try anything clever, you old goat. I didn't hesitate to shoot you before, and I won't again."
"There's nothing you can"
"Save your breath."
They reached the ground floor and went out the back of the Keep into the compound. Gorfmann was breathing rapidly and heavily, his eyes darting fearfully this way and that. The older man moved warily, avoiding provocation. They entered the transfer dome and went into the control room, where Gorfmann activated the supervisory console and began flipping switches with one hand, all the time keeping the gun in the other trained on Osternak.
"What do you think you are doing?" Osternak asked.
Gorfmann's voice was by now little more than a hiss through his teeth. "As you say, I don't know what went wrong. But we are going to do it again, and this time I will get it right." He motioned toward the door through to the transfer chamber. "In there."
"Rudi, for heaven's sake, listen to me. You don't"
"Shut up."
"A second pass through the process will"
"Move, or I'll shoot you now and take you through dead. It's all the same to me."
Osternak stepped into the chamber. Gorfmann squeezed in with him, keeping the muzzle of the gun jammed against the professor's ribs. He closed the door. Moments later, Osternak felt a brief dizziness as the transfer proceeded, nothing more. But Gorfmann screamed suddenly, sounding hideous in the confined space, and the gun clattered to the floor as he clutched his hands to the sides of his head. He slumped against Osternak, and his body slid downward as far as the narrow chamber would permit. The door opened, and Osternak struggled to heave the inert form onto the floor outside. He stepped out behind and stooped over it. "That's what I was trying to tell you. . . ." But there was no point. Gorfmann was unconscious.
Osternak hurried through into the control room and scanned the instrument readouts. Through some fluke nobody seemed to be around, although it was still late in the working day. He thought back, replaying the events of the last several hours in his mind as accurately as he could. Yes, there was still time. He picked up the telephone handset from the hook on the side of the console and tapped a number.
"Yes," a voice acknowledged at the other end.
"Professor Osternak?" he queried, just to check.
"This is Professor Osternak, yes. Who is this, please?"
"I am a version of your later self."
"Oh. . . . Oh really? That is most interesting," the other Osternak's voice said.
"There isn't a lot of time. Now, if my guess is correct, Rudi Gorfmann is there with you at this moment, and you are having a rather disagreeable conversation about going public with the program. Am I right?"
"Yes, that is true, quite true." The other Osternak was doing a commendable job of managing to sound casual.
"And it is true, is it not, that you have been fearing that an illicit transfer will be made sooner or later?"
"Yes, that is so. But how do you"
"I know what you think, because I am you, you see. But then again, I don't have to tell you, because you are me."
"Of course. Amazing! And so it happens."
"It has happeneda transfer. We have a problem."
"So, what can I do for you?"
"Not me, for yourself. I am you, from about five hours in the future. Five hours ago, I was you, sitting in that chair and taking this call."
"This is astounding. I"
"Listen. Gorfmann is a lot worse than you think. He's insane."
"You are serious, yes?"
"Later this evening he is going to murder you."
"This is unbelievable. When does he intend to do this?"
"After eight, while his other self is at the banquet."
"Ach, so. . . ."
"I haven't worked out all the details, but he seems to have set up another self as an alibi. He'll leave your office in a few more minutes, which will give us a couple of hours. I think we might be able to stop him."
"Can we get together and talk about this?"
"That's why I'm calling you."
"How?"
"Right now I am in the transfer control room. There is another version of Gorfmann here, too, but he is unconscious. He has gone through two transfers in too short a time, and I think the stress has deranged him completelyexactly what we have been worried about. There's no one else here at the moment, but I'm going to move him into the motor room in case anyone comes back. As soon as the one that's with you leaves the office, get over here as fast as you can and give me a hand to move him somewhere safer. Then we can talk about what to do."
"I shall be most interested to meet you."
The two Osternaks used a dolly from the materials store to cart the still lifeless Gorfmann across the compound and into the Keep, where they took him to Professor Prandtl's office, since Prandtl was away for a week, and laid him out on the sofa by the window. They loosened his tie and made him comfortable with blankets and a pillow borrowed from the medical room on the floor below. As an afterthought, Osternak Two removed the car keys from Gorfmann's pocket. "I think as a precaution we'll hang on to these," he said. "It wouldn't do to let him go driving if he got out." Then they closed the door and went across the corridor to their own office to discuss what to do next.
The second Osternakthe one who had come back through the machine with Gorfmannhad a better idea of what was going on and assumed the initiative, taking the chair behind the desk. The other sat down opposite. "Fortunately, since we already share most of our thoughts, we don't have to waste a lot of time talking," Osternak Two said. In other words, Osternak One was already aware of the logical uncertainties surrounding this kind of situation. He didn't know if the events already established on a timeline could be altered; whether the situation involved parallel universes, branching universes, or heavens alone knew what; or what the complexities would be of skipping from one line to another. On the other hand, everything might be predetermined. That was precisely what the experiments currently in progress were designed to find out. Also, double passes through the process within too short a span of time caused disorientation of the central nervous system, and what the effects might be on somebody in Gorfmann's already unbalanced condition was anybody's guess.
"Agreed," Osternak One said. Which took care of the hours they could have spent debating things like that.
"I suggest that we play it safe until we're out of this wretched loop that Gorfmann has initiated," Osternak Two said. "Having two maniacs around is more than I know how to handle. So I say, let's play everything as it happened until the time that Gorfmann transferred back the first time to commit the murder. After that version of him goes back, there will only be one of him left, which will be a much simpler situation. We can worry about what to do next at that point."
"What time was thatwhen he went back?" Osternak One asked.
"I don't know. I'm not even sure when he arrived. But since there have been people working in the transfer dome all day, I suspect he's already here somewhere. My guess is that he arrived last night or early this morning, and is holed up somewhere until the time he has picked."
Osternak One nodded slowly. "Ah, I see . . . which will no doubt coincide with the time his other self is publicly visible at the banquet in Innsbruck."
"Exactly," Osternak Two said.
"Hmm." Osternak rubbed his chin. "Which one of us is going to get murdered?" he asked uncomfortably.
"Well, I've already been who you are right now, so it will have to be you."
"Oh." Osternak One didn't sound overthrilled. Then his expression changed as the implication struck him. "Wait a minute, Osbert. If you were me, and you're not dead, then you can't have been killed."
"Yes, I know you feel slightly stupid for having taken so long to see it, for I felt the same thing myself at this moment. So don't worry about it. The next question is, how are you going to stop him doing it?"
"You could tell me, of course."
"Which is what I said, too, when I was you, of course. But I also know that you realized while you were saying it that it wouldn't do. It has to be your idea, to keep things the way they happened. We can experiment later with what happens when you deliberately change thingsbut let's get out of this situation first. Which I remember is what you are thinking yourself at this moment, anyway."
"Well, if he is hiding in the building somewhere, we could search the place and . . . No, that wouldn't work, would it? That can't have happened with you."
"You're catching on."
"Why? Did you start to say the same thing?"
"Yes."
"But I assume I must come up with something, since you evidently did."
"I hope so. If not, God alone knows what happens."
Osternak One ran his fingers through his halo of white hair. "Well, the only think I can think of is that weI, that is, must fake it. Where do I get shot? Nothing gruesome, I hope."
"Twice, in the chest."
"Whose gun does he use?"
"Yours, from the desk. He makes it look as if an intruder was disturbed."
Osternak One thought for a moment, and then his expression lightened. "Ah, yes, well, in that case I could reload it with blanks. The sticky red solvent they use in the plating shop should make a passable blood substitute. . . . Er, does this happen in good light?"
Osternak Two beamed and nodded approvingly. "No, right here in the office. He lures you up to Hoetzer's lab for a few minutes with a bogus phone call, and when you get back he has fixed the lights. Complete darkness, apart from the light from the corridor."
"So a handful of the stuff carried in and smacked to the chest when he fires? . . ."
"Splendid, splendid!" Osternak Two said. He had a painful bruise on his hip from where he had fallen over the chair, but saw no need to say anything about that. "Now, you have to stay here to take the phone call, which will come at about eight-thirty. Before then, I will have left a jar of red solvent from the plating shop on the table by the graphics printer in Hoetzer's officeyou'll find out why when Gorfmann phones you. Also, I intend to install a hidden camera in the transfer-chamber room, running off a timer, to record when Gorfmann makes his first transfer back. Once that has occurred, we shall be out of the loop."
"He could have come back from several days ahead," Osternak One pointed out. "But of course, you are already aware of that."
"Yes. And that's why I'm going to set up a camera and not risk dying of cramp and cold trying to maintain a vigil there in person."
They stood up and regarded each other curiously. Finally Osternak One said, "Well, time is getting on. I have my preparations to make, and so do you. Is there anything useful I can do when I've cleaned up after being shot?"
"I'd just keep an eye on our sleeping friend across there," Osternak Two said, nodding his head in the direction of the door.
"Yes, well, I don't know if we're supposed to meet again, but in case not . . ." Osternak One held out a hand. The other shook it. "It's been . . . an interesting encounter." Osternak Two came around the desk, and walked toward the door. "One thing," Osternak One said. Osternak Two turned. "I don't know when I'm supposed to go back to become you."
"Oh, I think that will take care of itself," Osternak Two assured him. He turned away again and left through the door.
Outside in the corridor, Osternak Two looked briefly into Professor Prandtl's office to check on Gorfmann. The body was still out cold, but breathing more regularly now. Satisfied that there was no immediate call for medical help, he left the Keep through the rear entrance and went into the instrumentation lab to collect the things he needed to set up the camera. He carried the bits and pieces to the control room and found a suitable hiding place that commanded a good view of the transfer room and the door into the chamber. The camera and film were designed for extended-duration scientific work and would silently capture a frame every five seconds for twenty-four hours. There would be no trouble in coming back to change the magazine once a day if need be. He worked slowly and meticulously, his mind wandering over the peculiarities and apparent contradictions of the situation. How could the same object be physically present twice at the same time? What happened when somebody deliberately undid what had been done? Were memory patterns somehow altered to correlate with the changed circumstances? There were questions that he didn't have the beginnings of answers to yet. Time drifted on, and he became completely preoccupied with his thoughts. . . . And then his attention focused with the sudden realization that it was approaching eight-thirty . . . and his heart missed a beat. Oh God, the solvent!
He dropped what he was doing and hastened out into the compound and over to the plating shop. There, he scooped a glob of the red goo from its container into an empty can, stuffed the can in a plastic bag, and hurried over to the Keep and in through the rear door. Just as he was about to ascend the rear stairs, he heard a voice coming from the passage leading through to the front lobby. Fearful that it was the other Osternak looking for him after failing to find the solventwhich would have meant that he'd missed his cue and ruined everythinghe changed course and charged into the passage. But as he came closer to the lobby he recognized the voice as Gorfmann's and ducked hastily into a darkened doorway. Gorfmann was speaking under the canopy of the pay phone in the alcove at the end of the passage.
Gorfmann must have heard him come in, Osternak was certain. Yes, he could see Gorfmann's shadow form leaning out of the alcove to peer along the passageway toward the back door. Osternak froze in the doorway, not daring to move a muscle. And then, to his relief, Gorfmann moved back into the alcove again, and his voice resumed, "I'm sorry, but it is important. . . . I wish to speak to somebody there called Gorfmann. A Dr. Rudi Gorfmann." Osternak frowned to himself in the darkness. He had guessed that Gorfmann must have made his call from somewhere nearby. The time was right, but the call wasn't. Why was Gorfmann calling himself? Was there a conspiracy being enacted between the two Gorfmanns, which he had never suspected? A sinking feeling of impending disaster came over him. From the alcove, Gorfmann's voice continued, "Just put me through, please . . . Thank you . . . Just checking." Gorfmann sounded as if he was trying not to laugh. Then, "It doesn't matter. Let's just say that, as I know you'll be pleased to learn, you're even cleverer than you think." There was a click as Gorfmann hung up.
Osternak agonized in the darkness along the passage, wondering what to do. Then he realized that Gorfmann was making another call.
"Professor Osternak?" Gorfmann said, in a thick voice which the Osternak along the passage recognized instantly as something he had heard before. "Sorry to trouble, you, Professor, but this is Security at the main gate. . . . We've just had a call from Dr. Hoetzer, in Innsbruck. . . . Yes. He says that he was in a hurry to leave this evening, and . . ."
It was all still on track! He hadn't caused a disaster after all. Osternak drew a deep breath to recover his wind after his rush across the compound and the tension he had experienced since, and then emerged from the doorway and backed quietly away along the passage. From the front of the building, he heard Gorfmann finish his call, leave the alcove, and go running up the front stairs. Osternak paused again for breath at the bottom of the rear stairs. Oh God, three flights.
When Osternak Two got to Hoetzer's office, Osternak One was already there, searching frantically under the table by the graphics printer and along the shelves above just as Osternak Two had realized he would be. But Osternak Two was too breathless to explain, and besides there wasn't time. He opened the bag containing the can and held it while the other dipped his hand, and then waved weakly toward the door to send Osternak One on his way. Then he leaned against the printer for a while to regain his breath and composure. Just as he was coming back out onto the stairs, the sound of two shots in rapid succession came up the stairway from below.
When he was halfway back across the compound, it came to him that there were now not two, but three Gorfmanns loose: one at the banquet, one on Prandtl's couch, and the one who had just shot the other Osternak. So even when one of them made the transfer back through time, it would still leave two. The situation wouldn't simplify itself in the way he had imagined. He shook his head wearily, unable to grapple with any more of it and feeling like a piece of flotsam being carried along on a tide of events that was long past any ability of his to control. Resolved at least to complete what he had set out to do, he went back into the transfer dome to finish setting up the camera.
Professor Osternak One waited until he was sure that Gorfmann had left, then picked himself up slowly from the floor. His hip ached from the knock he had taken from the chair when he went down. Osternak Two could have warned him about that, he reflected huffily. Since he had no intention of lying there for the rest of the night, it followed that Gorfmann would know anyway that the murder attempt had failed, should he choose to come back to the office for any reason. Therefore, Osternak reasoned, he might as well use some of the time he had to tidy things up. But first, he went to his lab to collect the spare shirt, tan sweater, and pants that he kept there in case of chemical spills and other accidentsthe same clothes that Osternak Two had been wearing, he had noticed with curiosity, but it now made senseand then proceeded to the washroom to change, and to sponge the worst of the stains from the clothes he had been wearing. Then he bundled up the wet clothes, returned to his office, and stowed them in a cupboard for sending to the cleaners the next day. That chore taken care of, he spent the next hour righting the furniture, returning the books to their places, and picking up and sorting through the papers that had been scattered all over the floor. It was a shame about the broken clock and the figurine, he reflected ruefully as he put them back in their places. Then he sat down and poured himself a brandyhe had just been murdered, after all. That deserved some compensation.
Only then did he remember that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the Gorfmann in Prandtl's room across the corridor. Muttering a reproach to himself for his forgetfulness, he went out of the office, pushed open Prandtl's door, and looked in. And his jaw dropped in shock and dismay.
The couch and the room were empty. There was no trace of Gorfmann to be seen.
White-faced, Osternak One ran back into his own office and called the transfer-chamber room on an internal line. The ringing tone seemed to go on interminably, while all the time he tried frantically to think of the most likely places that Gorfmann might have gone. But with a madman, who could tell? Then the ringing stopped and his own voice answered cautiously, "Yes?"
"I'm in our office. He's gone. Gorfmann has gone. He's loose somewhere."
"I was just coming back. I've finished on the camera here. I'll be over there right away." Osternak Two hung up.
The car! Gorfmann mustn't be allowed to get to his carin his state he could cause a massacre. He usually parked it in the executive area in front of the Keep, Osternak knew. The thing was to check if it was still there. He went back into the corridor and along to the accounts office at the front of the building, which overlooked the executive parking area. He turned on a light, crossed the room to a window, and peered down, shielding his eyes with a hand. Gorfmann's car was still down there. That was something at least. And then he remembered that Gorfmann couldn't use the car anyway, because Osternak Two had taken his keys when they put him in Prandtl's office. Silly of him to have forgotten. Where, thenKeys! Gorfmann kept a spare set of keys in his desk!
Osternak ran out of the accounts office and up the stairs to the corridor where Gorfmann's office was situated. Sure enough, there was a shadowy figure at the far end. He started running toward it, expecting it to flee; it ran toward him, evidently expecting the same thing. It was the other Osternak, who, not surprisingly, had thought the same thing.
"His car's still there. I checked from the accounts office window," Osternak One panted.
"I know it is," Osternak Two replied. "So did I."
The door of Gorfmann's office was open, the light was on, and the top drawer of the desk had been pulled out. There were no keys in it.
"He must be on his way down. We have to try and catch him in the lobby," Osternak One cried. "You take the back stairs. I'll take the front." He rushed out again to the end of the building and scampered back down the front stairs. When he was almost down to ground level, he saw a figure in a topcoat and evening dress, its tie loosened, reeling drunkenly some distance away from him in the open lounge area outside the upper floor of the library. There could be no mistake this time. He started in that direction, and in the same instant Gorfmann saw him. "Rudi, stop," he called. But Gorfmann vanished down a side staircase. Osternak followed as fast as he could, but when he reached the bottom of the stairs, Gorfmann had gone. There were several directions he could have taken, but the two most probable, if he was going for his car, were either through to the lobby or out the library side door. Osternak picked the latter and followed the gravel path outside around a corner of the building to the parking area. Yes, there was a figure under the shrubs, near Gorfmann's car. Osternak started running toward it.
But instead of trying to escape, the figure stepped forward and called out, "Who are you? What do you want?"
Osternak halted in sudden confusion. It wasn't Gorfmann at all, in dinner dress, but somebody else in a black, single-piece garment that looked like a jump-suit. The last thing that Osternak wanted now was further complication. He turned and ran back around the corner and in through the side door. Inside, he vacillated over which way to go and finally went through to the lobby and down the passage to the back door to check the compound.
As Osternak disappeared down the passage from the lobby, the crazed figure of Gorfmann came out of another opening behind him, staggered across the lobby, fumbling with his car keys, and disappeared out the front door.
Out in the compound, Osternak One halted uncertainly. Gorfmann, in evening dress, was approaching from the gate that opened through from the general staff parking area. But he was behaving in a suddenly very different manner, walking jauntily and whistling to himself. And although his tie was untied, all of a sudden he didn't have a topcoat. Aware that something odd was going on, Osternak faded back into the shadows by the rear door of the Keep. And then another figure appeared at the gate behind Gorfmann. "Hey, Rudi," it called. Gorfmann stopped and looked back. It was Hoetzer's voice. "You forgot your coat."
"Oh, silly of me." Gorfmann turned and retraced his steps to the gate.
And then it dawned on Osternak what was happening. This wasn't the Gorfmann he had been chasing at all, but the original one, back from Innsbruck. Osternak exhaled his breath slowly at the thought of the collision that had almost occurred, and let himself quietly back into the building. He walked quickly back along the passage to the front lobby, and just as he got there a car engine started up outside. A moment later, he saw headlamps through the lobby windows, then Gorfmann's car backing out of its parking slot and roaring away. He ran toward the door, although the gesture was already futile, but then stopped dead as he was about to open it. The figure in the black jump-suit was still out there, standing in full view in the forecourt, now, looking up at the sky. Then the figure began crunching across the gravel toward the door. Osternak backed off and drew himself up into the darkness at the foot of the front stairs. The figure in the jump-suit came in through the door and then skidded on the tiles just inside the vestibule, almost falling over. Osternak heard him curse, and then watched him walk across to the passage at the back and go into the men's washroom a short distance along.
No sooner had that door closed when the sound of another door opening came from the far end of the passage, followed by footsteps approaching briskly. Osternak moved higher up the stairs, deeper into the darkness. It was the Gorfmann back from Innsbruck, no doubt going through to pick up his car. Hoetzer must have dropped him off in the general staff area for some reason instead of bringing him directly around to the front. Osternak was past trying to figure out what was happening now, or when, or with whom, or why. He waited in the stairway, totally bemused.
Gorfmann disappeared out through the front door. Osternak heard his footsteps come to a sudden halt outside on the gravel, then go stamping back and forth from one end of the parking area to the other. Finally they came back to the entrance, and Gorfmann burst through, slamming the door behind him. "What in hell's going on?" Osternak heard him muttering aloud to himself. "Oh God, this is too much. Not at a time like this, of all nights!" His voice faded away along the passage. The sound came of the back door opening, closing again with a bang, and then all was quiet.
Osternak waited a while longer, but everything remained still. He turned and went slowly up to his office, thinking that perhaps his other self might have gone there, too. But he found it deserted. He went over to his desk, sat down, took the flask from the cabinet below his terminal, and poured himself another large, straight brandy. He sat there for a long time, trying to make sense of it all, but he was too tired. Tomorrow he would write it all down. But for now . . . there was nothing more to be done for now. He replaced the flask, switched off the desk lamp, got up wearily, and walked over to the door. After one last look around and a final, baffled shake of his head, he turned out the light and walked the corridor to the front stairs. Just as he got there, a figure coming down the stairs fast almost ran into him. It was a Gorfmann. Osternak had no idea which one. He was wearing evening dress and a topcoat, but had his tie tied.
For a second Gorfmann just stood there, paralyzed with shock and looking as befuddled as Osternak felt. His eyes widened disbelievingly behind his spectacles, and his head shook protestingly. "It can't be," he whispered.
Suddenly the pieces fell together in Osternak's mind, and despite the circumstances he couldn't contain a thin smile. "Oh, but it can," he assured Gorfmann.
"How is this possible?"
"I don't understand it. You don't understand it. That's what I've been trying to tell you, Rudi, but you wouldn't listen. Do what you will. You can't win."
"Oh, but I can." Gorfmann drew out the gun. Osternak could have taken it, since it contained only blanks . . . but that would have spoiled everything.
As they walked away down the stairs, Osternak ahead and Gorfmann following a short distance behind with the gun, another figure who had been listening came down from the level above. He followed them at a safe distance across the compound and watched as they entered the transfer dome. He waited outside for a few minutes, and by the time he went inside, the control room was empty. He went over to the supervisory console, which had been activated, and read from the displays that the transfer countdown was just twenty seconds from zero. He moved quietly over to the door and peered around it into the transfer room just in time to see Gorfmann step into the chamber behind Osternak One and close the door. There was a brief humming noise, and then silence. Back in the control room the displays went through the posttransfer routine, and the system shut itself down.
Professor Osbert Osternak Two came back outside and stood looking around at the silhouettes of the Keep, the silent laboratory buildings, and the lights from the main gate area on the far side of the compound. He drew the set of Gorfmann's car keys from his pocket and stared at them for a long time, thinking to himself and wondering at the subtleties of the universe. Then he walked slowly back across the compound and into the Keep. Ten minutes later, wearing his overcoat and hat, he came out through the front entrance, climbed into his car, and left for home. It had been a long night in more ways than one. He had been awake an extra six hours, and his body was beginning to feel it. Tomorrow, for once, he would sleep in late, he decided. Very late.
Inspector Wenkle made a sweeping motion with his hand over the papers spread out on the desk in Professor Osternak's office. "The thing that puzzles me, Professor, is that the dentition of the victim matches Dr. Gorfmann's records perfectly. Also, we found traces of unburned hair that also matched samples from a comb found in Gorfmann's desk."
Osternak returned a what-am-I-supposed-to-say-to-that look. "Surely you're not suggesting that it was Gorfmann in the car, Inspector? How could it have been? You said that you interviewed him yourself the day after the accident happened."
"Also, they both had surgical pins in the same knee."
"Lots of people have surgical pins."
"But the dental records . . ."
"I'm afraid that's not my department, Inspector. Can't two people have similar dental histories?"
"Identical? I've never heard of it."
Osternak raised his eyebrows and held a prolonged shrug for a moment longer, and then placed his hands palms-down on his desk in a gesture of finality. "Well, all I can suggest, Inspector, is that you take a leaf from the practice of science," he said breezily.
"And what might that be, sir?"
"Hypotheses are built upon the best data available, but they are never inviolate. When incontrovertible facts are established which contradict the hypothesis, then the hypothesis must be revised. In this case, the hypothesis based on previous experience is that no two individuals have identical dentition. . . . I trust you take my point."
"I see." Wenkle rubbed his nose and seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. "This will cause quite a sensation among forensic circles," he remarked.
"Hmm? . . . Oh yes. Yes, I suppose it will."
"Well, I suppose there's no need to take up any more of your time, Professor."
"If you're sure I can be of no further help . . ."
"Oh, I think we've covered everything." Wenkle began collecting his papers together. "Where did you say Dr. Gorfmann went, again?"
"To Australia. He was a rather headstrong and unusually ambitious young manvery capable, mark you, but he thought he wasn't getting enough of an opportunity here. He resigned and went off to . . . oh, I forget the name of the place. One of those billabong-sounding, Aborigine words, out in the desert."
"A bit abrupt, wasn't it?"
"Remarkably so. It caused us a few headaches, I can tell you. But he was very temperamental. Terrible, the lack of consideration among young people these days. Terrible."
"It seems strange that he didn't wait to collect the insurance money."
"Didn't need it. His family's dripping with money. They own gold mines or something out in Australia. That's probably why he went there."
"Why would he have bought a new car so recently if he was going abroad?"
"Who knows? As I said, he was an extremely headstrong young man. It was probably an impulse that came out of the blue. He was like that. It doesn't surprise me at all. I only wish I had the money and freedom to be able to do things like that."
"I see." Wenkle zipped up his document holder and rose from his chair. "Just one more thing, Professor."
"Yes?"
"To enable us to close our file on the case, I suppose there'd be no objection to letting me have copies of the relevant documentshis resignation notice and termination papers?"
Osternak stared down at the desk for a moment. "You mean right now?"
"Well, if it wouldn't be any trouble, since I'm here anyway. . . ."
"Hmm . . ." Osternak sniffed and scratched his temple. "That might be difficult. I've just remembered that our secretary who handles all those things is off this afternoon."
"Well, maybe in the next couple of days?"
"Oh, in that case . . ." Osternak showed his palms in a gesture of magnanimity. It would mean a long session with Hoetzer's high-resolution graphics printer, but he could survive another late night, he supposed. "Certainly, Inspector. Give me a couple of days, and I'll let you have all the documents you like."
"Very good, then. Good day, Professor Osternak. And thank you again for being so cooperative."
"Not at all. I like to do my best for another profession whose objective is uncovering the truth, eh? Good day to you, Inspector."
Osternak got up and escorted Wenkle to the door. Then he came back and stood for a long time staring at the equations on his chalkboard. The recent events demonstrated an even greater need for care than he'd imagined. But when he went over the things that had happened and examined them again in terms of symbolic relationships . . . yes, yes, he could see a strange kind of logic beginning to emerge. Intrigued, he moved nearer the board, picked up a piece of chalk, and began to write.