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half inches long? Do you remember, Pola? And wisdom teeth. And hair on his face."
"Yes, yes," shouted Schwartz defiantly. "And I wish I had a tail I could show you. I'm from the past. I
traveled through time. Only I don't know how, and I don't know why. Now leave me alone." He added
suddenly, "They will soon be here for us. This wait is just to break us."
Arvardan said suddenly, "Do you know that? Who told you?"
Schwartz did not answer.
"Was it the Secretary? Stocky man with a pug nose?"
Schwartz had no way of telling the physical appearance of those he Touched only by mind,
but-secretary? There had been just a glimpse of a Touch, a powerful one of a man of power, and it
seemed he had been a secretary.
"Balkis?" he asked in curiosity.
"What?" said Arvardan, but Shekt interrupted. "That's the name of the Secretary."
"Oh- What did he say?"
"He didn't say anything," said Schwartz. "I know. It's death for all of us, and there's no way out."
Arvardan lowered his voice. "He's mad, wouldn't you say?"
"I wonder. His skull sutures, now. They were primitive, very primitive."
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Arvardan was amazed. "You mean- Oh, come, it's Impossible."
"I've always supposed so." For the moment Shekt's voice was a feeble imitation of normality, as though
the presence of a scientific problem had switched his mind to that detached and objective groove in
which personal matters disappeared. "They've calculated the energy required to displace matter along the
time axis and a value greater than infinity was arrived at, so the project has always been looked upon as
impossible. But others, have talked of the possibility of 'time faults,' analogous to geological faults, you
know. Space ships have disappeared, for one thing, almost in full view. There's the famous case of Hor
Devallow in ancient times, who stepped into his house one day and never came out, and wasn't inside,
either. . . . And then there's the planet, which you'll find in the Galactography books of the last century,
which was visited by three expeditions that brought back full descriptions and then was never seen again.
"Then there are certain developments in nuclear chemistry that seem to, deny the law of conservation of
mass energy. They've tried to explain that by postulating the escape of some mass along the time axis.
Uranium nuclei, for instance, when mixed with copper and barium in minute but definite proportions,
under the influence of light gamma -irradiation, set up a resonating system-"
"Father," said Pola, "don't! There's no use-"
But Arvardan's interruption was peremptory. "Wait, now. Let me think. I'm the one who can settle this.
Who better? Let me ask him a few questions. Look,
Schwartz."
Schwartz looked up again.
"Yours was the only world in the Galaxy?"
Schwartz nodded, then said dully, "Yes."
"But you only thought that. I mean you didn't have space travel, so you couldn't check up. There might
have been many other inhabited worlds."
"I have no way of telling that."
"Yes, of course. A pity. What about atomic power?"
"We had an atomic bomb. Uranium-and plutonium I guess that's what made this world radioactive.
There must have been another war after all-after I left. . . . Atomic bombs." Somehow Schwartz was
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back in Chicago, back in his old world, before the bombs. And he was sorry. Not for himself, but for
that beautiful world....
But Arvardan was muttering to himself . Then, "All right. You had a language, of course."
"Earth? Lots of them."
"How about you?"
"English-after I was, a grown man."
"Well, say something in it."
For two months or more Schwartz had said nothing in English. But now, with lovingness, he said slowly,
"I want to go home, and be with my own people."
Arvardan spoke to Shekt. "Is that the language he used when he was Synapsified, Shekt?"
"I can't tell," said Shekt, in mystification. "Oueer sounds then and queer sounds now. How can I relate
them?"
"Well, never mind. What's your word for 'mother' in your language, Schwartz?"
Schwartz told him.
"Uh-huh. How about 'father' 'brother' 'one-the numeral, that is 'two' 'three' 'house' 'man' . . . 'wife' . . ."
This went on and on, and when Arvardan paused for breath his expression was one of awed
bewilderment.
"Shekt," he said, "either this man is genuine or I'm the victim of as wild a nightmare as can be conceived.
He's speaking a language practically equivalent to the inscriptions found in the fifty-thousand-year old
strata on Sirius, Arcturus, Alpha Centauri, and twenty others. He speaks it. The language has only been
deciphered in the last generation, and there aren't a dozen men in the Galaxy besides myself who can
understand it."
"Are you sure of this?"
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"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure. I'm an archaeologist. It's my business to know."
For an instant Schwartz felt his armor of aloofness, cracking. For the first time he felt himself regaining [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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