CHAPTER VI
Sprung by the Foe
John Cauldron made contact with Peter Moray shortly after Virginia had gone. Moray, busy with the details at hand, had not given much time to thinking out the course of the future. Besides, it was Moray's business to act upon orders from above. His was not the planner's lot.
"What's cooking?" he asked Cauldron.
"We're putting on a security silence on the space resonators," replied Cauldron.
"Why?"
"Whether they think Bronson insane or not, whether he lives or dies, we must see that there are as many bits of radioisotopic phosphor in Earth One as possible."
"Yes, but—"
"Bronson may be judged insane. However, give him a chance and he will demonstrate the space resonator. If he should pick up an Earth Two broadcast or even a molecular pattern it will lend weight to his tale. On the other hand, Bronson will be given credit—sane or otherwise—for the invention of a new level of communication.
"When it becomes known that gross matter can be shipped across space with the same scientific concept people will rush madly to develop and build delivery sets."
"I get it."
"Sure," replied Cauldron. "It's easy enough. Tell Virginia—"
"She's gone already. She left to take care of Bronson."
"Oh blast! Look, Moray, how are people dressed there?"
"Why—I wouldn't know. Bronson was in pajamas when I intercepted him and it's just barely morning now. I've not really been out yet."
"You should have taken time to get Virginia fixed up as close to one of the women of this world as possible."
"Why?"
"Because she'll be less conspicuous," said Bronson. "If they get to peering into Bronson's mind they'll come to the conclusion that he isn't as mad as his tale sounds. Give them one overly-conspicuous character to look at and they will definitely begin to think loud thoughts."
"Well, why shouldn't Virginia get along?" demanded Moray.
"You're a young squirt," snapped Cauldron shortly. "You weren't around before the blow-up. You haven't the vaguest idea of how much time and hard money was spent by women on the luxury of appearing beautiful. That has been curtailed on Earth Two by necessity and emergency. But I'll bet a tall hat that they are still shelling out plenty there. Is there a telephone book handy?"
"Yeah," said Moray.
"Then crack it to the classified section and tell me how many pages there are of beauty shops, beauty salons, beauticians, or whatever they're called."
Silence ensued for several minutes and then Peter Moray returned and gave Cauldron the answer.
"You see?" replied Cauldron. "You have no idea of how life is lived when there is no cause for fear."
"So—"
"So I'd feel better if Virginia were heading for that place in something better than a hand-made dress of reclaimed cloth, a self-done hairdo and flat-heeled slippers. Besides," he chuckled wryly, "it would help her morale no end."
Harry Maddox turned from the hapless spectacle of Ed Bronson and shrugged. "He's safe," he said. "Now what?..."
"They've gone into a security silence," said Kingston. "As we expected."
"Then our friend Bronson is no longer needed?"
"Nope. They'll get along without him, now. What worries me is that the psychiatrist may get to work on Bronson long enough to establish a reasonable doubt in their minds."
"Even so," said Maddox thoughtfully, "we're stuck. Supposing we were to kill him? It's obviously impossible in that room. It is equally impossible for him to escape nor can we arrange it."
"What we need is a person who might be quite willing to murder Bronson in cold blood for the sake of murder itself—or even better, for some mundane motive."
"What about the characters from Earth Two?" suggested Maddox.
"Let's find 'em," snapped Kingston, apparently struck with an idea.
Maddox had little trouble in locating Moray. He looked in on Peter Moray for a moment, and then went in search of Virginia. Virginia, apparently, had disappeared.
It was quite impossible to search every possible place in Albuquerque for a glimpse of Virginia and, after covering the pathway to and from Bronson's cottage to the police station and thence to the police hospital, Maddox gave up and returned to Moray, who had stopped speaking to Cauldron. As Moray turned away from the equipment, the telephone rang, and he went to it, wondering.
Moray lifted the phone and said, gingerly, "Yes? This is the Brons—"
"Moray! This is Virginia. I'm going to dig Bronson out of the clink and bring him home. You hide or at least lie low. Follow?"
"Where are you?"
Virginia named an address.
Kingston snapped, "Get that address—quick. Know where it is?"
"Heck," drawled Maddox insolently, "This is the same Albuquerque. Sure I know the address."
The video screen showed a blur, and settled on the showroom of a ladies' apparel shop. Virginia was just hanging up the telephone and Maddox whistled.
"Knockout," he said succinctly.
"She got the works," grinned Kingston. "Thanks to her we can watch."
"Well," said Maddox thoughtfully, "there goes your party with murderous intent, and quite worldly too."
Kingston nodded. "That automatic in her bag isn't an unaccustomed weapon," he said thoughtfully. "And she can and will claim attack. Self defense...."
Clad in a printed silk that graced her svelte body caressingly, with the sheerest of hose, the seams of which ran die-true down from the hem of her dress to her sandal-shod, tiny feet, Virginia Carlson of Earth Two was well on her way to being the most fetching woman in three worlds. Her hair had been coiffed to perfection and her face had been made up by an expert.
Virginia looked soft and sweet and perfect. She was a sight that made men turn to watch but not to whistle because she radiated some quality that rendered the wolf-whistle a definite insult.
Then, patting the automatic confidently, Virginia turned down along the street once more and headed for the police hospital. Though she could not know it, the plane of focus of the video resonator followed her. Maddox and Kingston were watching her as she went.
"Once this is finished," thought Virginia, "I shall enjoy living like this!"
Her feet, unaccustomed to dancing, did a pointless little step. Her eyes sparkled, iris wide even in the morning sunshine, for Earth One had no eternal light in the sky to keep a dazzling brightness day and night. She pirouetted once and the sleek silk frock whirled and clung to her legs. As she stopped, the weight of the automatic in her bag hit her and reminded her of a job to be done before all this could be hers.
Bronson must be stopped—somehow!
Virginia knew how.
With a fetching smile on her face Virginia entered the police hospital and asked for the police physician. Doctor Mason came and was a bit set back by the obviously high quality of his caller.
"You're—?"
"Virginia Wells. I'm a friend of Mr. Bronson."
"Indeed? A peculiar case, Miss Wells," he observed gravely.
"Not at all," she said with a smile. "Mr. Bronson, as a hobby, has been writing fiction and we got into an argument as to whether high authority could hear a rather bizarre tale without thinking the story teller was insane. I won."
"So that's it," grunted Doctor Mason. "He sounded sincere enough to me."
Virginia shrugged shapely shoulders and hurled at him the dazzle of her smile. "After all," she said in an entrancing contralto, "he is a successful author even though he doesn't work at it one hundred percent of the time. He should be able to concoct a story that would hold water, and he should be convincing. Why, that's his business!"
"Um."
Mason left the office for a moment and came back with Bronson at his heels—dressed.
Virginia gave Bronson a warning look and then laughed at him. "Like spending the night in the clink, Ed?" she asked brightly.
"No!" he snapped.
"You needn't have," she said with a smile. "All you had to do was tell them the truth. Why, they'd have thrown Orson Welles into jail for the Martian Invasion if he hadn't been famous."
Bronson started. The Orson Welles affair had taken place a long time ago—before either of them were born, in fact. This rather glorious girl was trying to tell him something.
"Yeah," he drawled, stalling for time.
"All right, so you lost," she told him. "And now, if you don't have to stay here for playing pranks, we can go on home and write it up."
Bronson looked at Mason. Mason shrugged. "What's the pitch?" he asked. "As for me, no—we don't want you though I'd like to have you reprimanded for wasting time."
"Come to think of it, Doctor Mason, how should a man try to tell high authority of some impending form of outrageous doom?" asked Virginia.
"Why—" stammered Doctor Mason, "I—"
"Yes," snapped Bronson angrily. "Tell us!"
"Why?"
"Because," said Virginia, sweetly, "some day someone is really going to come up with invaders from outer space or some other unbelievable little item and, while the big bright brass is psychoanalyzing the discoverer, the invasion or the doom will take place."
"Why—I'm—"
"Forget it, Mason," said Bronson. Then, because he was completely unaware of his visitor's name or anything else about her save that she knew something that prompted her to aid him, Bronson turned to the girl and held out an elbow.
"May I escort you home, Madame Pompadour?"
Virginia smiled at him with exaggerated enticement. "Only if you want to be Benjamin Franklin, dear."
Doctor Mason stood up and hurled the door open angrily. "Get the devil out of here!" he snapped. He was still looking for a fine vocabulary when they left. Once outside and on the street beyond, Ed Bronson paused.
"Now," he said seriously, "what in the name of eternal sin is this?"
"I had to get you out of there," she said. "I'm glad you are sharp enough to follow suit."
"You can be glad that Mason did not choose to question me about you," snapped Bronson. "I'd have denied you deeply."
"All a part of your tale to convince," she smiled. "I'd have forced it into the open—forced Mason to let us meet. Then we'd make out."
"Fine, fine," he said with a bitter grin. "Just tell me what the score is right now."
"I happen to know that you are right," she told him.
"But—"
She nodded. She explained at length that she had been tinkering in her cellar and had come in with something that had permitted her to hear his half of the initial discussion with the girl named Carlson.
She paused at that point and grinned at him. "Just to keep the record clear," she said, "I'm Virginia Wells."
"Well, Miss Wells, I'm grateful. But what does a girl like you find interesting in tinkering in the cellar?"
"You call me Virginia like everybody else," she told him. "As for tinkering in the cellars, when has a woman's appeal anything to do with the liking for science—and furthermore I might even resent the phrase 'like you' that was hurled at me. Do you think anybody that looks like this must necessarily be completely vacant above the ears?"
Bronson smiled. "Not every girl," he said with a sour smile. "But the percentage assays high."
Virginia took a deep breath. Thin though her story was, he'd accepted it for the nonce.
"Where do we go from here?" he asked. "I want to reason this thing out."
Virginia smiled tolerantly. "My equipment isn't very good," she said. "I'd like to see yours."
Bronson smiled. For hours he had been itching to show someone the equipment and this was his chance. He was going to take the opportunity regardless of where the chance came. Virginia had known that too!
The girl tucked a slender hand into the crook of his elbow. "Let's go," she said with a bright smile.
Bronson nodded and they started toward his home.
He walked easily, she thought, neither too fast nor too slowly. His stride seemed to coincide with hers so that the periods of out-of-step walking were minimized. They were not nonexistent, for Ed Bronson was a tall, long-legged man and, though Virginia's legs were long and slender, she was not so tall as Ed Bronson by seven inches.
"I might suggest," said Bronson thoughtfully, "that we can do a bit of talking while we collect us some lunch. Me—I'm hungry."
Virginia paused. Visiting a restaurant was another thing that was seldom done on Earth Two, excepting by those who found it essential. This she viewed as another luxury and she wanted to try it. On the other hand, she had too thin a story prepared regarding her 'experiments' with the space-resonant crystals of radioisotopic phosphor, of her listening to Bronson and his subsequent rescue from the asylum.
Yet—Virginia shrugged slightly—she could probably handle this. Besides, she could learn more of Earth One were she to visit with Bronson.
Virginia nodded and smiled at him. Bronson paused in mid-stride and turned toward a small restaurant he knew. Inwardly he chuckled to himself. It was not always that a woman rescuer, fellow scientist and friend-indeed was so very delectable. Bronson was proud to have such a woman in his company.
CHAPTER VII
Transfer Arranged
The automatic computer in the laboratory of atomic physics at the New Mexico University on Earth Three was a vast thing that encompassed many acres of wiring, tubes and memory-storage circuits.
It had been working silently—save for an occasional click—for an hour, which was a pointed commentary on the depth of the problem presented to it, since its usual time of operation was startling in its brevity. It was, without a doubt, the great-great-grandfather of all automatic computers and even it was forced to mull over the problem.
Leader Kingston and Harry Maddox lounged before the massive control board, smoking and watching Virginia and Bronson on a small remote-presentation kinescope.
Finally the machine emitted a series of typewriter-like clicks and a sheet of paper emerged from the slot. It bore a complex equation that Maddox took and pored over.
Kingston waited quietly, for he knew that Maddox was far more capable than he at interpreting the equations. Any interference would interrupt Maddox, ruin his train of thought and require more time in the long run.
Finally Maddox looked up and smiled.
"It seems so," he said.
"There is no definite proof?" demanded Kingston.
"Time and the future are both based upon the laws of probability," replied Maddox. "That these three worlds do exist side by side by side in time is certain—that they might have existed at any time before they did start was a matter of probability. Anything is probable, you know. That we live is a most certain probability, yet that we will continue to live is less certain."
"You're talking in circles," snapped Kingston. "Get to the point!"
"Sorry, I must sound vague. You see, Leader, I've been thinking about this for some time and therefore I am inclined to think over the well-worn thought-trails swiftly and in considerable elision. However, according to this equation, the fact is this. The spatial continuum is strained by the unnatural presence of three congruent pathways through the present time.
"As we know, only the most probable of these will continue to exist. That—unfortunately—is Earth One. The Alamogordo experiment on Earth One was the most probable, of course. Obviously Earth Two is destined to die soon, leaving but Earths One and Three.
"But," continued Maddox thoughtfully, "we have posed the problem and the machine here reasons that we are correct."
"Then we need not undergo all the strife in order to survive!"
"Obviously not. Once the pathways through time are no longer strained by multiple existences the strain will cease. In other words, once we—Earth Three—are the only true survivor the strain will cease and there will be no fear of our demise."
"Then all we need do is to eliminate One and Two—and then," Kingston grinned, "Earth Three becomes the only one?"
"Three becomes One," nodded Maddox. "Now—"
"Now we figure out a means of destroying Earth One utterly."
"Simple," said Maddox. "All we need do is to rotate a bit of the core of the Alamogordo Blow-up from Earth Two to Earth One."
"Might be less simple than we think," said Kingston. "Remember that the fission train in the earth itself is indigenous to Earth Two. Since it did not happen on Earth One is there any reason to suppose that the earth of Earth One will support an atomic fire?"
Maddox shook his head. "When the bomb was tried—I nearly said 'went off' but it didn't here—the temporal strain broke into three paths," said Maddox. "The three important possibilities took place—obviously because there was a huge question as to which of the three possibilities would emerge as the successful outcome of the affair."
"I'm no believer in the Great Destiny," said Kingston.
"Nor am I," said Maddox. "Yet it is true that the most fit do survive. Obviously, Earth Two and its atomic fire is far from the most fit. Earth One has dropped into a lulled luxury-loving place where the serious facets of life are ignored. They are unprepared to enter any form of strife to survive. We—Earth Three—have developed ourselves and our science greatly and in any strife we are best fitted to survive!"
"All right, it sounds logical," snapped Kingston. "But how do we prove it without arousing suspicion?"
"We can rotate a bit of the core of the Earth Two atomic fire to this earth," said Maddox. "Once we establish the atomically-inflammable qualities of Earth Three, we can safely assume that Earth One will be the same. Remember," said Maddox with a grin, "on Earth Three the Alamogordo Bomb was a dud—it didn't even fire!"
"And then what?" sneered Kingston. "It seems to me that your suggestion is the beginning of the end."
"Not at all. Once we establish the possibility beyond a doubt, we can so very easily rotate the hunk of atomic fire back into Earth Two again."
Kingston thought for a moment. Then he nodded. "We must move lightning fast," he said sharply. "Because I will hazard a bet that Earth Two considered the idea of getting rid of their atomic fire by sending it through the space resonator. And rejected it because their own Earth Two was badly treated by the original fire. After all, there's no use in staying with a partly ruined, semi-radioactive Earth Two when Earth One, complete and unharmed, lies like a ripe apple for them to pluck."
Maddox nodded. "It will have to be quick," he said. "For either one of them is quite capable of turning the stuff this way once they suspect."
Kingston turned to the kinescope screen and scowled at Virginia and Bronson.
"There," he said, "are two of the four or five people who have within their grasp the truth of the matter—and they are the two who have sufficient imagination to reason it out!"
"And once she kills him that will leave only her!"
Maddox nodded idly and began to set up equipment, saying, "No time like the present."
"For what?"
"I'm interested in knowing whether the atomic fire will burn Earth Three as well as Earth Two."
Kingston shrugged. "Y'know," he said quietly, "if it does ruin Earth Three nothing says that you and I can't pass over ourselves anyway."
Maddox smiled. "Indubitably," he agreed dryly. It was quite obvious that Leader Kingston had given him nothing new in ideas.
Unlike the slow space resonator of Earth Two, the ones used on Earth Three went with lightning swiftness. They were smaller, more efficient, showed a deeper grasp of the art and the principles involved. Maddox picked his collection of equipment up and headed for the door.
"What are you going to use for a focal volume?" demanded Kingston. "You have no focal point."
"Won't need one," smiled Maddox. "That's a true atomic flame. As in the sun there will be minute traces of all elements contained therein and all we need is a trace. For like the sun, Earth Two's atomic flame is both building up and tearing down all elements possible. Come on—I'll prove my point."
For a brief time, Harry Maddox drove like a maniac through the air in his atom-powered speedster. Leaving behind it the whistling scream of its supersonic passage from Albuquerque to Alamogordo, the fleet craft made the passage in minutes. At the site of the original, Maddox landed.
There on the desert was the steel tower that had held the Alamogordo Bomb before its trial. On Earth One there was but a shallow depression of broken green—glazed sand. On Earth Two there burned a pillar of atomic fire for miles in radius from this very spot. Here Maddox set up his space resonator.
Then, sensibly, he urged Kingston back into the speedster and raced away, ten, fifteen miles. Then in his speedster Maddox pressed a button.
Behind them on the desert a burst of intolerable light, like a million suns compressed into a minute sphere, cast its instantaneous glare across the face of the earth. Like an expanding hemisphere of pure sun-flame, it dinned against the very substance of space and hurled its terrible energy outward.
Thunder came then and the still-intolerably bright explosion flashed in multicolored bursts as the shock wave started to rise. Up and up and up into the stratosphere rose the towering ice-cap to roll into a cauliflower shape.
And then up through this bursting-white cloud there darted another pillar of sheer flame-energy, to rise above the first and to go on up into the very upper reaches of the atmosphere.
Standing aghast, Kingston and Maddox watched the scene with horror. Minutes passed before they could speak, and then it was with bitter fear.
Maddox pointed to the ground below the towering pillar of cooling hell. There was a sunlike flame there, burning more brightly by the second. The ground rumbled faintly and, upon the ground at their feet, two shadows were cast which added to the complete unearthliness of the scene.
"Now?" demanded Kingston.
"Not now," growled Maddox angrily. "Our equipment was utterly destroyed in that blast."
"Then we lost?"
"No. All we need do is to return and prepare a radio-controlled speedster to carry another space resonator into the near-scene. Then we can send that pillar of hell back where it came from."
"Think you'll have any trouble?" worried Kingston.
"Nope," said Maddox. "I've been thinking about this for some time. We can do it!"
"Then how are we going to transfer a good bit of that flame to Earth One?"
"I won't mind going over," said Maddox. "I'll see to it that Earth One gets a goodly dose. In fact, I think it might be a good idea to set up a relay system to bring bits of it through and send to other parts of the earth at one time. We can set atomic fires all over Earth One within a matter of seconds."
"Might restart several on Earth Two also," suggested Kingston. "Nothing like speeding things up a bit."
Maddox nodded, but there was a worried frown on his face. "There's one thing I don't relish," he said. "So far as we know, the only bit of radioisotopic phosphor containing the resonant element lies in the laboratory of Ed Bronson on Earth One."
"That's your only doorway?"
"To Earth One, yes."
"Then—"
"Then we return to our vantage point and watch. Sooner or later they will leave that set-up unguarded and we can get through to place other focal elements at a safer place on Earth One."
"Well," smiled Kingston, "once Virginia Carlson gets rid of Ed Bronson they must sooner or later leave that place unguarded and we can break in. Let's go and wait."
"And also prepare the drone to return that pillar of hell back to Earth Two," said Maddox with a bit of mild concern.
CHAPTER VIII
Halfway Mark
Unmindful of his danger—both immediate and future—Ed Bronson sat and watched Virginia with admiration. Their initial talk had been sketchy. All Virginia knew was that she had been working on equipment similar to his and had heard the same things he had—including him.
Her information was less complete than his, for Virginia was not equipped to tinker up a complete set of filters to tune out the interferences, so she said. Only Bronson's voice came through clearly enough to be understood. Yet she was aware of the danger and felt that she must help.
And that was that so far as she was concerned. As to what track to follow, Virginia professed ignorance. She suggested that they eat and then go to Bronson's laboratory and work on the stuff.
"And what do we do about them?" he asked.
Virginia blinked. "You're certain it was they?"
"He told me so."
"Then there's just one."
"There may be more," objected Bronson. "Perhaps we should forget my place and go to work on yours."
Virginia blinked inwardly at that one. Naturally, Virginia could not take him to her place for she had none. There had to be some way.
"I suggest that you and I go in very quietly," she said. "If the house is infested we'll go to my place. If it is clear, even temporarily, we can go in and steal the phosphor."
"Better," grinned Bronson. "We can conceal it in a steel safe. I have a hunch they can't get through it then."
"I wouldn't know," said Virginia. She did know, however, that Peter Moray would not be in evidence since she was bringing Bronson back with her. "But you have a good idea. It'll do them a lot of good to try coming through if they end up in a steel box.
"Besides," she said thoughtfully, "it is better to try. I'd hate to think of them coming through unguarded. We owe it to the earth to try and stop them."
"That we do," nodded Bronson. Then he ceased to think about it since it had been settled. He preferred to watch Virginia.
She was a beautiful girl—one of the most beautiful women that Bronson had ever seen. That alone won his admiration. But what brought his real commendation was her attitude. Bronson had known other beautiful women before and most of them were inclined towards a selfish narcissism because of the round of admiration they got from every male.
This gave them an egotistical attitude that repelled Bronson, for he knew with some disdain that their attitude was born of the actions of his own sex.
Virginia had none of this false sophistication. She was readily and honestly pleased with things as they were and with Bronson's offerings. To add to that Virginia was clever and intelligent and could, without straining, discuss several subjects that the average beauty wouldn't bother to strain her vapid mind on.
Bronson could not know it, of course, but Virginia's attitude was mostly naiveté. Seldom before had she spent an hour in luxurious surroundings with nothing to think about or to do but relax and enjoy herself. Not that Virginia had forgotten her basic job—but at least here was the offering of relaxation in an atmosphere completely devoid of the constant gnawing fear.
The light in the sky was not there.
Then, too, Virginia was capable of pigeon-holing her mind. Though she intended to eliminate this man as a factor in the safety of her world's people she saw no reason why she should not enjoy herself first. Looking about her in the restaurant she saw many other people enjoying life. This itself was unlike Earth Two and it offered Virginia a point for jealous desire. She wanted this kind of life-without-fear. And it was within her grasp!
In her world many were mutants that repelled the mind. Here there were none. The man opposite her, who toyed with the silverware idly was a fine specimen of humanity. The waiter, the cashier, the hat-check girl, the major-domo, the customers—all were whole and healthy.
Virginia looked about her at the thickly peopled restaurant and mentally compared it with a place in her own world. Idly she replaced the elderly gentleman at the table opposite with a gnarled, seven fingered monster—and the boy-girl couple beyond with a pair of uglinesses.
The waiter instead of being well-dressed and polite was misshapen and clad in remnants of a once-great civilization. Starch wasted on a shirt, as well as the time wasted in preparing it, was unthought-of in Earth Two. Few of the men in Earth Two would look so polished and at ease in the formal trappings.
Bronson made motions to leave and Virginia arose to follow. From his pocket he took money instead of a ration card and he left a generous tip for the waiter. A smiling doorman opened the portal for them.
Once on the street Virginia was again impressed by the people. Then there were the theatre on the corner, the stores and the shops selling anything and everything that men and women would buy.
The automatic bumped Virginia's hip as her bag swung, and the contact hurt—more than physically.
Walking beside this tall man Virginia considered the situation. In her bag was the means of replacing the people she saw in this street with a high percentage of misshapen bodies of her own world. To—eliminate this scene of physical health and mental good-will with the warped bodies and minds of her own world.
Virginia saw her own reflection in a shop window. She was shapely and well-dressed. She knew that without egotism—it was obvious fact. She was more like this world—fitted better into this scene than into the world on which she had been born.
An age-old urge rose in her. She had shied away from marriage because of fear and distaste. Too many of her friends she had seen in mental agony because of mutant offspring. Now she was presented with at least an opportunity of a life that would be normal. What had she on Earth Two but unpleasant memories for all of her life?
Perhaps it seems a sudden change. Yet a mind suddenly shown a way toward happiness will often swing as swift as a pendulum from one attitude to the opposite. Perhaps the only reason that Virginia had not followed many of Earth Two's people into the madness of fear was because she had been born to the insoluble threat of the Alamogordo Blow-up and had never been forced to change from freedom to fear.
Many another on Earth Two had seen the eternal flame and had gone mad, knowing its threat. Virginia, born after it started, had never known anything else. So now Virginia viewed a world built like her own, but one devoid of fear and populated heavily with healthy, happy people.
Why go back? Why change this? She could blend very well with this environment. Her woman's instinct told her that she could and by very little trying.
There was but one great fear. This man who walked beside her knew the facts of Earth Two. He also stood to learn about her. It presented her with a quandary. To make her future secure he must be placed in a position never to learn the truth. On the other hand she needed his aid to forestall the invasion from Earth Two if she were to enjoy the future of Earth One as she now saw it.
Virginia wondered whether she could work with Ed Bronson long enough to give him the particulars of the space-resonant techniques—and still keep him in the dark regarding her own part in it. Once the threat of invasion was gone there was no doubt in Virginia's mind that she could lose herself here on Earth One.
In fact, the proper thing to do was just that—tell him the truth and she would be forever suspect.
Then there was the other problem. She was supposed to have an apartment, a house or something equipped with a basement in which to work. He'd be wanting to see that sooner or later. How to forestall him on that required thinking.
Once he knew that it required the presence of the proper elements in the space-resonant series to effect the transfer of material, he would demand the opportunity of sealing up her bit of the stuff in order to forestall the invasion of the vanguard from Earth Two.
From a technical standpoint, Virginia knew that the operation of the space-resonant science required the presence of the space-resonant elements. Even though she knew nothing of Earth Three and its highly advanced techniques which permitted the operation of a view-and-voice-operated mechanism without the presence of the elements in the area of transmission, Virginia was correct in her assumption that no passage from one time-zone to the other was possible without a critical mass of the ultra-rare transuranic elements in the receptor-zone.
Having used the technique for many years Virginia and the rest in Earth Two could be certain that the only critical mass of these rare elements on Earth One was in Ed Bronson's laboratory.
So, the first thing was to protect herself, to isolate herself on Earth One and to seal up forever the passageway. All Virginia had to do was to break up Ed Bronson's mass into subcritical sizes—and then to keep all other discrete bits of the space-resonant elements from being collected for a period that surpassed the possible time required for the final death of the ill-fated temporal division—the end of Earth Two.
Impulsively, Virginia opened her bag and handed the automatic to Bronson.
"Here," she whispered, "this may help—if they're still here!"
It was hours later. Bronson's re-entry into his home was careful and stealthy but unproductive, for Peter Moray had gone back to Earth Two to await developments. Virginia knew this and was prepared for the lack of population in the Bronson home. Once the place was known to be free of invaders Bronson relaxed.
"Me," he said with a yawn, "I'm tired."
"I don't suppose you got much sleep last night," smiled Virginia.
"Darned little," he agreed. "And I'll get less until we figure out something to do with this equipment of mine. Obviously it does not require energization to permit the effect."
"Why not seal the thing in a metal case of some sort?" suggested Virginia.
"Think it might work?"
"Maybe. At best, if you shield it well and keep it canned up, you can be certain that anybody that comes through will emerge in a dark, confined place."
"Not necessarily," said Bronson. "Radio waves often disregard things like shields and closed rooms. And, if I recall correctly, that feller who came through and clipped me was parked out on the middle of the floor some ten feet from the crystal."
"If you're tired," suggested Virginia, "why not take it easy? You take a snooze and I'll keep watch. You'll think better once you've had a bit of rest."
"But what will you do if—"
Virginia smiled. She went to Bronson and touched his hip pocket with the back of her hand. Ed nodded and took the automatic out of the hip pocket and handed it to her.
"I can't cover eight shots with the ace of spades," she said, hefting the gun, "but I'd not miss an invader."
"I'd like to clip a few of them myself," grunted Bronson. "First I'm up all night. Then I'm clipped by one of them after only a short few hours sleep; then the trip to the asylum, and now home. Yes, Virginia, I've had all too little sleep. You'll be all right?"
"Definitely," she told him. "From here on in, I'm unafraid—and in high confidence."
"Wake me in three hours," he told her. She nodded.
He left, heading toward the bedroom. Virginia found a book and read it quietly, keeping a weather eye on the space-resonant crystal in the experimental kinescope set-up. A half hour later, Virginia put down her book and tiptoed into Bronson's bedroom. He was sprawled on his back in the deepest of slumber.
Virginia went back to his laboratory and began to work on his gear. It was late afternoon when she finished, which was quick enough considering what Virginia had accomplished. It was her field of science, this space-resonant technique, and Ed Bronson's laboratory was rather complete.
So simple, Virginia's plan. Setting a timer to reverse the equipment after a pre-calculated time, Virginia composed herself on a chair and waited. Again, her body faded bit by bit as she passed, molecule by molecule, from Ed Bronson's laboratory. At a short interval beyond the halfway point where Virginia's body sank into the floor, the machine ceased its operation.
Wraithlike, half of her in each world, Virginia was physically powerless. But she knew that her equipment was working. The window of Ed Bronson's laboratory had a strange appearance.
It was not quite like the mixed-image impression received when viewing different scenes simultaneously with the separate eyes. It was more like viewing through a stereoscope, with one side taken in bright sunlight and highly illuminated while the other photo had been taken by moonlight. Also there had been years between the taking of the two because things were not exactly the same.
Of course, Virginia was not viewing one scene with each eye. The process of transmission was not a passage similar to walking through the door. The molecular transfer took place at random, a molecule from here, a molecule from there.
So Virginia viewed the scene in a truly indescribable state. Each eye saw the same scenes—a mixed, foggy montage in poor register.
But the illumination in the afternoon sky was unmistakable as Virginia looked at the window that existed simultaneously in two worlds. She smiled to herself as the equipment in Ed Bronson's laboratory reversed automatically and started to return her to Earth One.
Virginia had been halfway home. And her plan was halfway complete!
CHAPTER IX
Ill Wind
In the sky, high, high up—a stubby-winged drone circled above Albuquerque thrice. Then it streaked away from the city and headed toward Alamogordo. The pillar of fire was vicious and intolerably bright and it silhouetted the fleet drone—though no one could stand to watch the scene, regardless of the thickness of his eye-glasses.
To all intents and purposes the drone vanished.
But on the viewscreen in Harry Maddox's laboratory the pillar of fire grew, expanded into the entire screen, covered it and made steering ambiguous until Maddox dropped the nose of the fleet little craft so that the field of view included the base of the atomic flame.
The drone arrowed on and on and then came to a machine-made landing a few thousand feet from the base of the flame. Maddox worked swiftly now, for the heat of that devilish fire would ruin the equipment in all too short a time. The equipment went to work.
Then, like the snuffing of a candle flame, the scene went dark. The pillar of fire disappeared and there was a thunderous roar as miles of tortured air raced in to fill the vacuum created by the sudden absence of intolerable heat.
The thunderings shook the city of Albuquerque and the buildings rattled.
In one of the homes Ed Bronson was shaken into wakefulness. He was lying on the floor which was hard though not cold.
He awoke dully. He felt the floor and had a quick impression of having fallen from bed. Grinning sheepishly, Ed Bronson stood up and turned. There was no bed!
The thunderings diminished slowly and Bronson shook his head in wonder. It had not been thunderstorm weather earlier this afternoon. But there was no bed!
"Virginia!" he called, running from the room.
His house was empty of people. In fact his house was refurnished completely. That fact he accepted dully, wondering what had happened and why. It was too great a concept for him to grasp at once. He stared dully at the strange rugs, chairs, appointments. He went into his laboratory—
And found a complete nursery. In one corner was a crib but the infant was missing. It had been used recently, for the bedding was warm—and a bit damp.
Bronson's mind whirled. Strange—strange. But not too strange, considering. Iftheywere capable of sending some of their cohorts through the veil that separated the two worlds, it was equally possible for them to reach forth and grab someone from the other world.
Bronson cursed angrily.
He left the house quickly because he knew that, regardless of how he had come here, he was an interloper. Bronson assumed that any of the enemy who might be reaching for him—probably to prevent his forestalling of their efforts—would not merely slip him through the barrier and let him run loose.
Whether something had gone awry in their transmission plans he did not know, but he guessed that something had interfered because no man attempting to grab an enemy would do other than to grab quickly and keep him under supervision.
So Bronson left the house quickly.
He was an interloper—and, though helpless to do anything but run, he was infinitely better off with his freedom than in capture, jail or, more probably, death.
Killing him on his own world would bring about the rather complex problem of disposing of the corpse. While this is possible, it is difficult to dispose of such a high degree of absolute contraband in a civilization with which you are not over-familiar. So some lucky accident had brought Bronson into this ill-fated Earth Two in a residence instead of the laboratory or military establishments of the imminent invaders.
Outside, Bronson knew that something was wrong. He wondered what it was. It was vague, something that was missing from a mere sketchy description but something rather important from a secondary—or was it primary—viewpoint, something that did not jell.
It was late afternoon. The sun was setting in the west. But there was no pillar of atomic fire in the sky!
The Miss Carlson of Earth Two had said that all of Albuquerque was illuminated by the vastness of the pillar of incandescent flame that reached from horizon to the sky. Where in the name of thunder—
The whirling madness spiraled in Bronson's mind with the never-ending round of who, what, why, when and where. And driving that engine of madness was the ever-present and ever-growing fear that the earth he knew was threatened with death—while he could do nothing but stand by and watch it die.
And join it....
The light disappeared like the snuffing of a candle, and Maddox turned to Kingston with a grim smile. "That's that," he said.
Kingston nodded affably. "Now all we have to do is to complete our plans."
Maddox shook his head. "Remember that the stuff in Bronson's laboratory is the only supercritical mass on Earth One. We can see through, of course, but without that focal point we cannot cross over." He turned and left the drone-control room, walking down the corridor towards the other laboratory with Kingston beside him. Kingston was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded in self-satisfaction. "I'll send through a corps of guards to protect it until we need it."
"Better yet," said Maddox, "send through a couple of technicians to separate it into subcritical masses until we need it. Then we can prevent Earth Two from crossing."
They turned the corner of the hallway and entered the original laboratory. As they did so, Kingston caught the sight of the viewscreen and stopped short, his jaw dropping. On the screen was the view of Bronson's laboratory. Virginia was sitting idly in a chair watching the equipment.
Her attitude was not one of complete relaxation, nor was it one of deep intent. Maddox and Kingston knew at once that Virginia was waiting while the equipment ran automatically.
Maddox leaped to the controls of his viewer and followed the cone of energy from the crystal to Ed Bronson's bedroom. There he saw the reason for the work. Ed Bronson's wraithlike body was in the last stages of its disappearance from Earth One.
"So," snapped Maddox. "That takes care of him!"
"Rather clever, too," said Kingston, admiringly. "That's getting rid of a body without fuss or bother or corpus delicti arising somewhere to confront—My Lord! What's she doing?"
Virginia, having seen the equipment come to its end of operation, had run into the bedroom to check on whether Bronson had been transmitted. Maddox had followed her back to Bronson's laboratory and Virginia was opening the tube. She removed the crystalline mass and carried it to the toolbench. Here she placed it on a two-foot slab of mild steel used as a surface plate and was reaching for a hammer with her right hand while her left hand groped for the cold chisel.
Kingston's question was hypothetical. Both men knew what Virginia was about to do.
"Quick!" snapped Kingston. "Stop her!"
"Check!" grunted Maddox, his hands leaping across the control panel.
From the crystal between chisel and surface plate came the beam of invisible energy that enfolded Virginia in its grasp. Unlike the slow process of her own machines, the highly efficient techniques of Earth Three effected the transfer in a matter of milliseconds.
Virginia felt the wrench of a twisted spatial continuum, felt the change as her body adjusted in level and knew briefly that somehow something had gone terribly wrong. The scene before her eyes changed like a flash-over in a moving picture and she faced Maddox and Kingston.
"No you don't," said Kingston roughly.
It was quite wrong. Her trained mind told her that in an instant. Her first brief fear had been that someone from her own world had interrupted her machinations and had grabbed her to prevent the completion of her plans. That would have been quite logical.
But the time interval had been too short. That proved to Virginia that it was not of her own world, for had there been any acceleration in the transfer process, she would have been notified. It was—to her logical mind—quite improbable that such an advance could have been made in the space-resonant techniques in the course of the few short hours during which she had been absent from her own laboratory.
Therefore, she reasoned, there was more to this than met the eye.
She recoiled before the men. Maddox smiled sourly at her and Kingston gloated. "Going to reduce that crystal so that no one could follow you," said Kingston.
"Where—"
Kingston smiled with self-gratification. He felt grandiose enough to gloat a bit more. "This," he said expansively, "is what we term Earth Three."
"Three?" she echoed hollowly.
"Some very brilliant people," chuckled Kingston, "reasoned that there was the possibility of two outcomes to Alamogordo. But they never even considered the possibility of the bomb failing completely. This is the world where the bomb failed."
"Failed!" said Virginia, completely overwhelmed with the implications. Her tone was hollow, almost a psychopathic parroting of Kingston's words. "Failed but...." she was incoherent.
Kingston smiled again. "After all," he said, "the Alamogordo Test was made to determine whether or not the bomb would actually work. Even the finest brains of the day were not certain—and there was the possibility of failure."
"But—"
"Here we are," said Kingston simply.
"But if there was failure?" said Virginia falteringly, but with gaining confidence, "how is it that you are so very well advanced?"
"The failure of the bomb was temporary. A later model worked. But in our world science is completely free and untrammeled. Unlike your world, Virginia Carlson, where science is deeply regulated and directed at one and only one idea, our science knows neither bonds nor interference.
"If you ever get outside in our world you will see atomic power in its fullest use. You will see advances made that are and will always be impossible in any system where a man or a group of men can direct in any way the course of science."
Virginia nodded glumly. "I know," she said. "I've always known of the openings into fields of science that might lead to great things but they were closed because of the necessity of pursuing the one idea toward our future."
Kingston nodded. He admitted the unhappy fact but his own position was none too certain—or had not been until recently.
"If your world is so excellent," asked Virginia bitterly, "why...?"
"The time is approaching when only one future can remain," said Kingston. "No one but an utter egomaniac would consider that the entire universe is regulated for the benefit of mankind. We have yet to make a real attempt to reach the other planets. Have you ever considered the rather impossible proportions of this temporal fission? I doubt it.
"Is, for instance, there a complete universe for each of the time-trails? Or if Earth One and Earth Three both sent rockets to Venus would they meet because Venus was common to both time streams? Think of the energy required to separate a complete universe and ask yourself whether you think it possible."
"Energy has little to do with it," replied Virginia. "Who knows the functioning of the thing we call time—possibly for the want of a better word. Who knows why we have trepidation? Certainly the energy required to cause a planet to falter in its orbit is not truly expended but trepidation is caused by something that seems to require little or no energy."
"We're far from the original premise," said Kingston. "We may never know whether or not the temporal paths are merely local or widespread. It is not a matter of organic versus inorganic matter, for neither is controlled nor directed from any of the other streams of time.
"Were this not so, every time a workman lays a brick on Earth One the same brick would move and be cemented in situ on the other two worlds. And a car on the street might have an accident with a car common to all three worlds but driven only by a driver on Earth One.
"The point is," continued Kingston, "that the time is coming when this triple existence must cease. Again it is the old principle of the survival of the fittest. I am not a firm believer in a god, either benevolent or vicious. Yet there is—or was—some agency that effected this split because it was uncertain as to outcome."
"What hope could there have been for Earth Two?" complained Virginia bitterly.
"Who knows?" replied Kingston. "There might have emerged from her bitter necessity a solution of a lot of ills. Certainly I know that, with the entire world working against that fatal menace, few differences of ideology remain. In Earth Two, Virginia, the lion and the lamb have lain together.
"In fact," grinned Kingston, "you might be closer to allegory to state that the eagle and the bear have a lot in common with lions, dragons and others. It is," he admitted rather unhappily, "a factor that we, here, have not been able to accomplish."
"An ill wind—" said Virginia bitterly.
"True," nodded Kingston. "But the fact remains that the three time paths diverged because of some uncertainty. These same time paths must ultimately come to one ending. We do not know the future—no one does—but this we do know—That world which has the best factor of survival will emerge as the one and only Earth.
"We," said Kingston proudly, "have the best technical perfection, so in any strife we must win. Therefore we are the ones to survive and we are working toward that end. That is why we grabbed you. Your world is doomed. We must ensure the doom of Earth One so that Earth Three is the only one left."
Kingston turned to Maddox. "I think we might be wise to collect Ed Bronson too," he said. "No use letting him run free. Find him and bring him through too."
Maddox nodded and went to work on the controls, setting the dial that determined the depth of penetration to Earth Two. He worked rapidly, sweeping the house that was cojacent with the house on Earth One.
"Heck!" snapped Kingston. "He can't have gone very far. Of course she sent him to her chums. Find them!"
Maddox nodded and located Virginia's laboratory with ease. Moray and Cauldron were there, working on the gear, but obviously getting nowhere. Kingston shrugged. "Cover every place they might conceal Bronson," he directed.
To Virginia, he added, "It is most convenient that Earth Three lies on the other side of Earth One from Earth Two. Were this not so, the fumbling of your friends to penetrate the barrier between the streams of time might cause them to stumble on us."
"Why can't they get through to One?" asked the girl.
Kingston smiled. "Within the hour," he said, "four keys will unlock four safety deposit boxes in four different banks in Albuquerque. Each box contains one subcritical mass of space-resonant elements. My men are finishing the job you started, but this time the key to invasion lies in my hands!" He turned to Maddox, who was fumbling with the controls. "Find him yet?" he demanded.
"No," grumbled Maddox.
Kingston turned to Virginia. "You want to live," he told her in a very matter-of-fact voice, "and therefore it is to your interest to see that we do not permit Bronson to harm our plans. Where is he?"
"I don't know," said the girl. "I merely sent him through."
"You are a brazen little traitor," snapped Kingston. "I believe you! You merely sent him through, you cared not where."
Maddox spoke up. "That equipment she flanged up isn't the most accurate," he said. "But I've covered the entire neighborhood. You know, the closest mass of focal elements lies across the street, in Earth Two, in the laboratory of Virginia Carlson. Therefore, lacking direction and precision, she'd have sent him through to the focal zone of her own gear."
Virginia gasped. Partially blinded as she had been, half-aware of the duplicity of her surroundings, close in the near-paralytic grip of the transmission equipment, Virginia had retained sufficient cognizance to know most definitely that when she looked through the veil, she had been looking into a room that parallelled Bronson's laboratory in shape, size and window-placement.
It was not similar to her own. In her haste she had paid it little attention. Her only thought had been to dispose of the man. Knowing that there were no other critical masses on Earth One, she had felt that anywhere he went was elsewhere.
The implication was clear enough. She had sent Ed Bronson into Earth Three, a simple mistake due to the fact that Two and Three were situated almost equally distant and on opposite sides of Earth One. Obviously, the crude equipment had selected the nearer critical mass—which had been on Earth Three in a cojacent house and not through to Earth Two and across the street to Virginia's own laboratory.
Bronson, then, was on Earth Three, somewhere.
CHAPTER X
Counterfeit
Bronson found that the streets of the city were teeming with people which was not what he had expected from his brief talk with Miss Carlson of Earth Two. Bronson was absolutely certain that this was not Earth Two at all, for it seemed unlike a world teetering on the brink of death—even ignoring the main clincher of the pillar of atomic fire mentioned by La Carlson, there was that vast and more-than-obvious difference.
Bronson shook his head in wonder. This was not unlike his own world, yet there were subtle differences—subtle differences observable at first glance, but becoming bold and glaring differences as Bronson became more familiar with the street down which he walked.
A bus went past—and did not leave a wake of evil-smelling pale blue exhaust. A store on the corner advertised cigarette lighters which bore the nameIrhinium. Bronson knew of most of the cigarette lighter companies by name and none of them bore such a name. He looked more carefully and noted that certain vague references toIrhiniumindicated that it was a trade name based upon the motive power of the things.
In this strange world to which he had been hurled, did they—by the Great Harry—use atomic power to light their cigarettes?
Bronson's mind, of course, was overwhelmed by the suddenness of events and its natural inability to accept such a vast conglomeration of new concepts at the same time. It merely watched, saw, cataloged. Anything outrageous would be given the same consideration as something quite normal in Bronson's nervous state of complete wonder. His mental state bordered on shock.
Noiselessly the traffic moved, noiselessly and without odor. Dress and appointment were brilliant and entirely new. The overhead wires of Ed Bronson's world were gone, as were the poles that bore them. Nor were there street lights. Streetcars plied their routes with a minimum of thundering racket but there was neither trolley above nor slot in the street below.
Bronson paused before a large toy shop and watched a man manipulating an electric train. The miniature train had all the maneuverability of a real train because of the multiplicity of controls under the fingers of the man in the window. Beside the train was a large box containing cubic bits of metal and non-metal.
The explanation on the box said that the contents would build a miniature fission-reacting pile that worked but which employed Kenium metal instead of uranium since the use of the latter was dangerous, requiring ton upon ton of fissionable material as well as a moderator.
That was the clincher.
Bronson's mind cleared once the facts were driven home. He was not on Earth Two. He was most certainly not on Earth One.
But Ed Bronson's mind leaped to the foregone conclusion with simple reasoning. Earth One, Earth Two—and Earth Three, where the third possibility had taken place at Alamogordo, on July sixteenth, 1945. This was where the bomb had fizzled—and where, because of that, all forms of atomic research went on without regulation.
Not one world, not two worlds,but three!
Well, there was a perfect way to check this. Bronson knew where the library was, had used it often. It might still be there, for the one in Earth One had been erected in—ah—he did not recall the date but it was something like MDCCCLXXXVI.
He turned the corner and walked down the proper street and, after turning the second corner, Bronson saw it—in the same address and in the same building. He wasted no time in finding the newspaper files.
July sixteenth, 1945, was uninformative. Bronson wondered what the same paper printed in his own world said on that date but guessed that this paper, a morning daily, might have been composed and on the press at the time of the affair—if it had not been already printed.
Of security angles for the era he studied, Bronson knew only the mention made in history and tales spun by his father and cronies, who had lived and worked at that time. So Bronson accepted the fact that security might well have suppressed in both worlds—or even all three—any traces of the Alamogordo Experiment for some time to come.
He turned to the following day, July seventeen, 1945, and found nothing. On the eighteenth, Bronson saw nothing truly informative but there was an item printed as recorded from Radio Tokyo in which it was claimed that the United States had asked for representatives of the Japanese Government to come to America under a flag of truce. This was construed to mean that the United States was considering surrender.
Nothing was visible for several issues after that. Then a vast headline—PEACE—shouted across the page and on page two of the paper, was a brief explanation that the representatives had returned to Japan. A columnist was demanding an answer to what and why the mystery.
Another account from Radio Tokyo mentioned that, in a spirit of humanity, Japan had surrendered rather than loose upon the entire world a weapon so terrible as the representatives had been shown.
Bronson nodded vaguely. The trail was getting intelligible. He at least knew nothing of this latter fact. He thumbed his way through the paper to the date of the Hiroshima Bomb and found nothing worthy of mention. Nagasaki was not mentioned a week or so later and Bronson, none too clear of his dates, covered days before and after his approximation just to be certain.
He pored through the paper and found many references to the Manhattan Project, including one full newspaper, on the general lines of what he recalled of the Smyth Report.
A month later a Washington columnist printed a scoop. There had been a test of an atom bomb at Alamogordo, he claimed, and the bomb had failed to function.
"Ah," said Bronson aloud.
What came next? How the two worlds had become so socially and technically different was something to be studied at a later date. For the present Bronson felt that it was the time to start thinking about action.
He left the library and walked down the street thoughtfully. Here the bomb had failed, here—and automatically Ed Bronson cataloged the place as Earth Three—science was unfettered.
So, he reasoned along two lines simultaneously, the transmission of things from one plane to the other required the use of the radioisotopic phosphor—Bronson did not know the conglomeration of transuranic elements comprised an entire rare element group known as the space-resonant series and so called them by the name he had known them—and since this was so, he would be forced to investigate.
Also, since Earth Three had no apparent regulation on scientific research, it would probably be easy to obtain enough to go to work. The unfortunate part of it was that his rather extensive bank account was deposited in the First National Bank. Though it was situated within three blocks of this very spot, its officers would view his very solid checks as so much illegal paper.
He smiled wryly.
So here he was, isolated on an obviously alien world, with the weight of his own earth on his shoulders, quite incapable of more than scratching the surface.
Lost—completely lost—in the troubled thought, Ed Bronson's trained hands, by sheer reflex, dipped into his pocket for a cigarette. The hands, finding none, notified the locomotor areas of his brain, which, operating on sheer habit and reflex, sent a message to the eyes.
The eyes looked around, though what they scanned made no impression on the more conscious sections of Bronson's mind. They caught what was wanted and the automatic process went on—the information went back to the habit-section, directions went to the muscles and Bronson walked towards the drug-store in absolutely the same state of coma as the proverbial absent-minded professor.
Too deeply engrossed in his thoughts to pay attention to the automatic items, Ed Bronson's brain caused his voice to murmur a cigarette-brand name. The cigarette came, and Bronson's right hand dipped into his pocket and dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.
The clerk looked at it and mumbled, "Have to get change, mister."
Again unconsciously, Bronson's head nodded.
Had anything evolved that was out of the normal routine, Bronson would have been forced to take notice. But this was like driving an automobile or riding a bicycle. It required no conscious effort so long as nothing demanded decision.
Nothing demanded decision. The decision was made for him. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and felt it turn him so that he faced—His mind came back to his surroundings like a snapped rubber band. A policeman!
"What's the idea?" demanded the latter.
"What idea?" asked Bronson.
"Counterfeit money."
"That isn't it—"
The policeman laughed nastily. "Looks perfect," he admitted. "But I might point out that E. Thomas Froman is not the secretary of the United States Treasury."
"Huh?" grunted Bronson.
"A perfect counterfeit excepting that the wrong fellow signed it," snapped the policeman. "What's the idea, fellow? I take it you don't mind counterfeiting but dislike being jailed for forgery?"
"I don't get it."
"You will," smiled the policeman with great self-satisfaction. "Come along. Counterfeit money is a bad thing to have in your possession."
Bronson cursed himself. He had even more.
Anticipating distastefully his second visit to the police station in as many days, Ed Bronson emerged from the squad car behind the policeman. This was one of the basic differences. This was not by far the same place he had been in before and the seriousness of his position made Ed Bronson smile whimsically.
If not the only one ever to do it, he believed himself at least the first man ever to be jailed in two jails on two worlds—or on one world separated by only time. It was "doing time" with a vengeance!
With the policeman following him, Bronson went into the building, upstairs and into a room filled with scientific equipment. His quick mind decided that, on this world, advances had also been made in criminology. But he was forced to wait and see, for none of the equipment made sense to Bronson. What the police did with it, how it separated criminal from citizen, Bronson had no idea.
"—passed a twenty dollar bill signed by E. Thomas Froman as Secretary of the United States Treasury," said the policeman.
"Clever of you, officer."
"Thank you. The shopkeeper merely assumed it to be counterfeit. I knew better."
"This, officer, is Ed Bronson—of Earth One," said Kingston.
Bronson jumped visibly. They knew him! Then he realized that they must certainly know him because they had kidnaped him through the barrier in time. This, of course, was erroneous, for it had been Virginia's machinations that had brought him here. On the other hand, the error made little difference so far as its end-result went, for it was true that they knew him and also that they were quite glad to have him under their thumbs.