The wrong end of time, p.8
The Wrong End Of Time, page 8
Now suppose, just suppose, there was going to be a coup against Prexy-what they called in the history texts a “palace revolution,” because of course the faceless mass would never be allowed to learn the details. Would that bring about the long-desired collapse of this over-blown, top-heavy, out-right dangerous economic cancer?
He feared not. Perhaps in another decade. Right now, there were still too many clever, dedicated, and insulted men in positions of influence, who remembered how they had been shot at in Viet-Nam, bombed in the Philippines, and ultimately spat upon in Panama. It wasn't their fault, they maintained, that they'd been dragged home under orders to quell insurrection, and that the other side had been waiting to pounce, so that when their house was set in order they had nothing else to do but squabble for power.
There had been a great weariness, a vast sense of futility. Everything they had undertaken with the best intentions had turned sour. Like an injured porcupine, exposing its spiny back to the attacker and pressing its soft belly to the ground, the nation had abandoned its outside commitments one by one and planted automatic missile sites along its coasts. The grandiose space program decayed, and for fifteen years or more no American had been launched into space except to service the orbiting missile-detectors -there were thousands. Meantime, .not from courtesy but a sense of self-preservation, the space-going powers duly notified every launching-for fear it might be mistaken for an attack-to the DOD.
Not to the White House. What would be the point? Effective government in America was the DOD.
During the four years of training that had preceded his injection into the States as a man who had not previously existed, yet who sprang convincingly full-grown into a flawless background, he had been told, over and over, the orthodox analogies. Look at what happened to the Romans, they said, when internal discord prevented them from deploying their own forces to guard their frontiers. They hired barbarian mercenaries, and within a century or two those same mercenaries took over. For “barbarian mercenaries” read “corporations under contract to the Department of Defense,” and you have it right there.
Or else: look what happened to Spain and Portugal when they lost their empires in the New World. From world-power status both countries declined into poverty, intellectual underdevelopment, and dictatorship. Or, most graphically of all, consider the British: tricked into electing a right-wing government that forcibly deported black -but not white-immigrants; expelled in, consequence from their own Commonwealth of Nations, which fell apart; denied entry to the “rich man's club” of Europe because of this incredible display of perfidy . . . and now moaning in squalor about the cruel way the world had treated them.
He had half expected America to collapse following the black exodus, six years ago, when in response to a collective invitation issued by the member-states of the OAU tens of thousands of highly skilled black intellectuals and their families had emigrated-to the accompaniment of cries of, “Good riddance!” Unfortunately all that had accomplished was to drop off the heads of the black power movement, leaving an amorphous quarrelsome carcass that the government found infinitely easier to handle.
Some of those emigrants had been disillusioned. Swallowing their pride, they had applied for re-admission, and had been turned down.
“Told you sol”
So he was not very optirriistic about seeing the downfall of Fortress America in his lifetime.
On the other hand. . .
From the moment of Sheklov's arrival until now, he had been so on edge about successfully cementing the newcomer's cover that he had-paid little heed to the news he had brought. The notion that some alien species might trigger a nuclear holocaust was too far from his everyday preoccupations; he had been sweating and shaking and dosing himself with tranks for fear some petty error on Sheklov's part would alert the ever-watchful security force that never ceased its surveillance of Energetics General executives. Now the major obstacle was past-now that Sheklov had been photographed in company with Prexy, when everyone took it that Crashaw, Levitt, and the team at their backs were the ultimate court of appeal concerning security-he could coldly review what he had been told.
Amazing. He hadn't even realized that the Russians had ventured as far as Pluto; naturally, the American newsmedia did not carry details of such achievements, and his contacts with Russian agents in Canada were sporadic and too brief for mere gossip. And they'd been out there for three years! Fantasticl
A stir of half-forgotten pride in his native land rose at the fringe of his awareness. As always, he slapped it down. For a quarter-century he had been careful to ape the opinions of those around him. He said the proper things about terrorism, bomb-outrages, insurrections, rebs, those ungrateful devils overseas. He took his vacations in the right places: at home, and usually in Florida. Before he married, he bad travelled a little, but to the permissible allies, South Africa and Australia. Now and then, on business, he went to Canada-ostensibly to sound out projects that might bring in some desperately scarce foreign currency. He never enjoyed those trips, except in an upsidedown fashion. The Canadians made it plain that they too would prefer to sever relations with the States, but it was known in the way such matters are known that if they tried it they would be occupied, like Mexico; things were quiet enough at home for the troops to be spared. So they compromised by flagrantly favouring the East Bloc, and the most heavily patronised ocean cruises nowadays run by Canadian Pacific were to Vladivostok via Japan.
He had had to turn somersaults in his head now and then. When he first came to the States, he had fully expected there would be a temporary alliance between the two super-powers against China, which might degenerate into shooting war. But that had been a wrong guess. As soon as American forces began to be recalled to fight at home, it had become obvious that the Chinese were going to expand into the resulting vacuum, and unless the two schools of communism resolved their differences fast the Maoists were going to leave the Leninists standing. (What was the distinction between “homoousian” and “homoiousian”?)
Hasty conferences, a couple of treaties, the firing of a few scapegoats, and the definition of spheres of influence not very sharply,– because the parties were always jockeying for advantage-had led to the present formally courteous accommodation, which was being strengthened as in both major countries the effects of fourth– and fifth-genera-
tion commitment were felt. A little confidence in your ancestors' achievements could work wonders.
And in your own achievements, too. He'd had a bad moment yesterday evening when Lora insisted on dragging that black into the photo with Prexy. Of course, she'd done it in order to embarrass him, just as she'd put on that dress she knew he loathed. Yet, as he'd realized a second later, everyone present who had kids of the same age, including Prexy-for what he was worth-would have sympathised instead of being repelled. It was a kind of in-group status symbol nowadays for teenagers to keep up this family-scale guerrilla warfare. Pour 'Spater les bourgeois! But sooner or later they'd learn that the minds of the bourgeois had been blown long before they were born.
So, if anything, her grand gesture, inviting this black to the party and parading around with him for hours on end, was more likely to have reinforced than weakened his coverl
Though naturally it would make sense to have security double-check the boy . . .
Now then: What about this question of the alien ship? What did they imagine, Back There, that he could do? He'd made all the suggestions to Sheklov that he could think of on the spur of the moment: financing some sort of hypothetical study of the problem, for example, under the guise of training in, management initiative, along the lines of courses he'd heard of many years ago that were given to industrial designers, You invented an imaginary race with three legs, or sonar instead of eyes, or living underwater, and told the students to equip this species with transport and accommodation. But this, although he personally regarded it as an inspiration because it was perfectly feasible to ask some bright young people, “How do we trade with contraterrene creatures?,” apparently meant nothing to Sheklov. He kept talking about “an attitude of mind.”
Have to go over this again in detail. Say after lunch in the den. Give the room another sweep for bugs first, naturally. But right now ;t Pressure that had been building up in his bladder since he awoke finally drove Turpin out of bed. There appeared to be a ritual about Sunday in the Turpin household. Sheklov hoped fervently that he wouldn't have to endure it more than once. But apparently Mrs. Turpin's mother insisted on it. Her name was Gleewood, but that had not been the maiden name of Mrs. Turpin. There had been some divorces-a fact that did not in the least surprise him.
Not wishing to seem discourteous, he accepted Mrs. Gleewood's invitation to join her and her daughter in the living-room and watch Rev. Powell's nationally-networked service at noon-the “lip service,” as someone had caustically termed it during last night's party. Peter, looking haggard, came too, several minutes after it started. That triggered off a lecture from his grandmother concerning the disgracefully casual attitude of young people to religion. Then she asked where Lora was, and Peter answered sharply, “Lying on her bed in a drunken stupor-where else?”
Which gave an excuse for another and longer blast. Sheklov sat there wishing the floor would open and swallow him, while Mrs. Turpin-Sophie, as she insisted he call her-simply sat with glacial calmness, sipping a rapid succession of gin atomics brought by Estelle. To reinforce his cover, Sheklov had intended to talk a little with the maid in the family's hearing about their supposedly shared homeland; so far, however, the girl had absolutely refused to be drawn.
It had crossed his mind, very vaguely, that she might not be Canadian herself, but the only reason he could think of for pretending to be was if she was wanted for a criminal offence, and had changed her identity to one that could hot be too closely investigated. The Canadians were efficiently unco-operative when it came to answering inquiries from the States about their citizeas.
Still, that was irrelevant. Right now, his job was to put himself beyond the reach of unwelcome prying.
To start with, he must get Turpin to have this Danty
checked out. Turpin would have an excellent excuse to do so, considering his daughter's connection with the boy. Boy? More like young man. Over twenty, under twentyfive. Hard to be sure owing to his bony leanness.
Had it surprised him to find that a Canadian timbersalesman could quote the Bhagavad-Gita7 He hadn't shown the least hint of it, just given a nod of satisfaction at the aptness of the passage. True, one did find people who adhered to non-Western religions both here and north of the border. But it was so atypical, he shivered imperceptibly whenever he recalled his incredible lapse. He had had to utter those words. It was as though someone else took momentary command of his tongue.
Then there was lunch, at which Turpin appeared with a sort of after-shave advertisement bluffness and a forced air of goodwill towards the world, and-shortly afterLora too, tousle-haired, bleary-eyed, and even more snappish than Peter. Mrs. Gleewood told her what she thought of her behaviour, in particular because she had dared to bring a black into her own home, when everybody knew that all the blacks in America were ready to slip a knife into your ribs the instant they got the chance.
“Don't talk to me about that radiated slug,” was Lora's sullen answer, at which Mrs. Gleewood rounded on Turpin.
“You know what this rude little bitch needs?” she rasped. “Six months in a reform camp, that's whatl”
“Hear, head”-loudly from Peter.
Details about reform camps had been included in Sheklov's briefing. He expected Turpin to explode at that. The camps were for incorrigible juvenile delinquents, and the most famous-at Sandstone, Georgia-boasted the highest murder-rate and the highest suicide-rate in the country. But Turpin merely said in a mild tone, “Lora will get over this phase, you know.”
“The hell I will,” Lora said, and moodily turned to her food.
By the time Turpin suggested he and Sheklov adjourn to the room he called his den, for coffee and liqueurs, it was all the latter could do not to shake his head in inexpressible admiration. Coping with this abominable motherin-law, this near-alcoholic wife, this homosexual son, this promiscuous daughter, and his job at Energetics General and his role as the best Russian agent ever to be injected into the States-it defied belief l
When Turpin had assured him that the den was clean of bugs and they could talk freely, he tried to say something of what he was feeling. But Turpin, pouring tiny goblets of Tia Maria, stared in apparently genuine incomprehension.
“Don, I don't see what you mean. Sure, the kids are a bit wild, but I meant it when I said they'd settle down. Granted, I'm sort of sorry about Peter, but it's this protracted-adolescence bit, and it's simply the-uh-the in thing to flaunt your defiance of the conventions for a few years before you straighten your head anal cool off. He has girls too, you know, now and then.”
“Nonetheless, a family like this must be-”
“My family,” Turpin cut in with an air of not wanting to be contradicted, “is my best single cover. Sophie is a first-rate company wife. If it hadn't been for her, I could never have got where I am. I have to endure her mother, of course, but we only see her during the summer; she has a winter place in Florida. I planned the family to be my cover, in fact, so if you have any quarrel with it, you go blame the census department. I have an average number of kids, I give them average allowances, they've had typical educations, typical everything. My only worry has been that sometimes I've wondered whether someone might not figure it was so close to the norm it must be planned.”
He hesitated, and then added, “My only worry, that is, until you were wished on me. Are you snaking any progress?” And added with his eyes: 1 hope!
Sheklov reached for the bowl of sugar resting on a low table between them and stirred a generous spoonful into his coffee; he liked it Turkish-style, thick and sweet. Not looking up, he said, “I'm not a miracle-worker, you know. I shall have to feel things out for a good while before I can do anything positive.”
Turpin sighed. “I don't see why someone had to be sent specially,” he grumbled. “Or why-if it was necessary-it had to be me who was used to cushion you.”
“Also,” Sheklov said delicately, “you don't like the scope of my brief.”
There was a pause. Turpin looked everywhere except at Sheklov while deciding how best to reply– He settled for candour. “No, I don't!”
“If it's any,consolation, it makes me feel awkward, too.” Sheklov raised his liqueur goblet. Barely in time he remembered to sip, not toss the contents back. While thinking as Holtzer he made no such errors, he reassured himself; it was trying to straddle his two personalities that-
But that led back to the recollection of how he had exposed himself to Danty.
Maintaining flawless outward calm, however, he said, “In fact, I was going to ask you this anyhow, and now is as good a time as any. How long would it take you to fix me a job with EG-a travelling job?”
Turpin's face went turkey-cock red. He said, “Now just a-!”
“I have the authority to insist,” Sheklov murmured.
“The hell you do! Look, they gave me to understand that your timber-salesman cover was fire-proof, that the parent firm has been used before and can prop you up as long as necessaryl”
“As long as necessary for me to devise an alternative,” Sheklov answered stonily. “You know as well as I do-I mean better than I do-that even a Canadian isn't allowed stay in this country without impeccable reasons.”
Turpin's jowls trembled. “But they told me I only had to cushion your landfall. I took it for granted that you had a closed assignments”
“Nobody said that in so many words,” Sheklov pointed out. “In fact my assignment is open-ended, category one. Anyway, why should the idea of finding me a job with EG upset you so much? You must be distributing patronage all the time.”
“Patronage!” Turpin echoed, and slapped his thigh with his open palm, like a gun-shot. “This isn't patronage-it's blackmaill Bringing you into EG would be insanely dangerous. I've sweated blood for years, for decades, to make sure there was no one in the entire corporation who had a breath of suspicion against him. I'm damned if I'm going to break a clean record a quarter-century longl”
Eventually Sheklov sighed and turned around in his chair to a more comfortable position.
“Look, Dick,” he said, “there's something that d6esn't seem to have registered with you yet. Out near Pluto something has happened that is so big that nothing else matters until it's resolved. Doesn't that get across to you? Hell, there are alien intelligences! There are portions of the universe that are contraterrene! And because one damned idiot government out of all the damned idiot governments we have on this miserable planet has signed away its responsibility to a bunch of machines, you and I and everybody, communist or capitalist, neutralist or whatever the hell, all of us, could be hurled back to the Stone Age tomorrow-if we're still alive. Think about it, Dick, for pity's sake think!”
It was getting through. He could read it in Turpin's staring eyes. He had finally managed to smash down the mental barriers in the other's head. And by doing so, inevitably, he had brought the whole affair back into focus in his own consciousness with as much force as it had possessed when he first heard of it from Bratcheslavsky in Alma-Ata.
At that moment, though, a phone shrilled. Turpin snatched at it. It was one of the old-fashioned kind that had to be held to the ear: in that case. Sheklov reasoned, it was probably a confidential line. Modern designs were easier to bug.
“Turpin here!”
There was a crackling. He nodded. “Yes, this is my quiet line. You can talk.”
