It sort of sounded like fun, and it was incredibly mysterious. Caxton dressed hurriedly and made his way outside. He came upon an unexpected sight.

  Johns, stripped to the waist, was running slowly past the door of the trailer. The girl ran beside him, and once, when he faltered, she caught him and pulled him along. The two disappeared around the front of the trailer and Caxton could hear their feet thudding down the other side. They presently reappeared around the rear. The girl saw Caxton and called out cheerfully, ‘Join us, Mr Caxton!’

  The idea was too ludicrous for Caxton, who had almost literally never exercised in his life. He shook his head.

  Father and daughter ran around the trailer twice as he stood there. I suppose I ought to go and shave and make myself presentable, Caxton thought. But he glanced speculatively at the sun, which was surprisingly high in the heavens. About nine o’clock, he guessed, or even later.

  He climbed the hill and looked out over the same empty miles that he remembered from the other probability. This is real, he thought. Because I’m here without knowing how I came, or who that person was at the door, in the Magoelson house. He looked down at the trailer, and at the two people who were slowly - the man awkwardly - running around it still. And then once more he surveyed the distant horizons of the timeless day; and the reality grew grimmer.

  These probabilities are really solid, he thought.

  He walked down the hill, uncertain. The other mergings had seemed as if they were under the control of a Peter Caxton somewhere. But this one was a mystery.

  He did notice that he had no impulse toward his nervous breakdown response to anxiety. So that was a change.

  Ignoring the father and daughter, he entered the trailer, located the toilet, relieved himself, and then searched for and found the same kind of shave salve as he had used on his first visit to the Palace of Immortality. As then, it was a case of rub on the salve, then rub off the beard. Next he used his pocket comb to straighten his hair. Feeling fairly presentable, he went outdoors a second time and sat down to wait out the jogging session.

  Caxton watched the two people with narrowed, appraising eyes. He realised that his evaluation of the girl could not avoid awareness of her attractiveness as a sexual being; yet he now saw that her face, though that of a nineteen-year-old in many respects - the clearness of the skin, the youthfulness of it - still had other, more mature characteristics. Without fixing on any number, he wondered how old she was in terms of years. Several times, as she ran past, she glanced at him with eyes that appraised him in a totally ungirlish fashion. And when the morning’s run was finally over, the father and daughter came to where he sat and the daughter said:

  ‘I discovered last night that the glove damaged Father more than I had at first realised. His whole body suffered an energy loss; suddenly he was maintaining his self-esteem with the peculiar mystical idea that he was a person especially loved by God.’

  From somewhere, Caxton had an instant understanding of the condition. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Oh, that.’ Even as he spoke, he dismissed his interest in the matter, unwilling to probe into the dream-like world of merging memories. Why had he been merged back here without warning? That was what he had to put his attention on.

  The girl was looking at him with an odd expression. ‘Mr Caxton, Father and I have been discussing this situation, and since he seems to be in a weakened condition - though he’s already better - it looks like you’re going to have to be the man of this expedition. If you’re willing, I’m prepared to play my role’ - she smiled in a friendly fashion - ‘a sort of man and wife relation, wouldn’t you say?’

  Afterward, Caxton could never quite remember all the emotions that moved through him as he realised the meaning of Selanie’s words. There was outrage that in this second probability the relationship which he had craved in the first one would be easy. And her suggestion, if you please.

  Part of the outrage came from the realisation that apparently his degraded cells meant nothing under these circumstances. The time odor was dismissed this time as if it was of no importance. The reason for it was an angle he had not realised on the first go-round: a woman’s need for security, satisfied then, of course, by the real father. And so no substitutes had been needed, thank you. By God!

  The passion of that faded also. A faint regret remained that he would probably not be able to remain and take advantage of the offer.

  She must have noticed his hesitation, for she said, ‘Of course, if you’re not interested…’ She turned away.

  ‘Wait!’ Caxton said urgently. ‘I want to tell you both the truth of this situation.’

  The girl faced him again. The old man stared at Caxton with interest.

  Caxton told them what had happened to him.

  He did not mention how they had escaped from the other probability. That had to be his hold on them, in case he needed leverage.

  Claudan Johns said, ‘I deduce now that the glove Bustaman gave you was more heavily charged than was necessary for what he wanted. As a result, interacted to produce two, perhaps even many, probabilities.’ His own words seemed to stimulate him. Something of the Johns that Caxton remembered was suddenly visible. ‘What do you need from us?’ he asked shrewdly.

  Caxton hesitated, startled by the implication of the question.

  What bothered Caxton was the idea that he might still need something. And that this was why he was here. He said slowly, ‘I think everything necessary is done. I accumulated the time energy. That absolutely had to be the preliminary. Next, I gained access to the Palace. That was necessary. I have now merged with thirty-nine of a hundred postulated Peter Caxtons. The others are out there still, presumably aware right now of what they should be doing, and guarding this whole condition. ‘So’ - he shrugged - ‘I think I’m just collecting the body in this probability.’ He glanced at the girl. ‘What do you think? he said.

  There had been a developing troubled expression on her face. At his question, she cheered up. ‘I think we ought to have breakfast,’ she said in her brilliant voice. ‘And if you’re still here afterward, we can then discuss your future, and ours.’

  He was still… here… afterward.

  It had been a silent breakfast. But as they came out of the trailer after eating, Claudan Johns said that he believed he had analysed the most likely reason for Caxton’s return to this seventeenth century probability. ‘You’re here,’ he said, ‘to learn my method of going at will earlier than 1977.’

  Caxton parted his lips to deny the analysis. But he closed them together again without speaking. He would let them believe, he decided, that they had some power in this situation.

  What he did finally say aloud was, ‘What is your price for the method?’

  The man and the girl did an astonishingly naive thing. They looked at each other. Then, as if by mutual consent, Selanie said ‘Mr Caxton, tell us again exactly what you propose to do.’

  Caxton did not reply immediately.

  As he stood there, a squawking bird flew over his head. A breeze blew gently into his face, bringing the scent of greenery and grass and the odor of marsh water. Above was blueness, a whole vast skyfull of it, with only here and there a trace of cloud. Wonderful, incredible universe, apparently complete in every detail.

  Involuntarily, he found himself staring at the stupendous outer scene of innumerable probability worlds like this. And of the Possessor plan to transform every person who had ever lived into a peaceful type, who would then merge with all other probabilities of himself. And so every human being from the dawn of man would one day be alive forever.

  Once more, as he had in the wee hours in the Magoelson house, he thought of it as the most colossally wonderful idea ever conceived.

  And he reaffirmed it to be his ideal also. As it was theirs.

  His face hardened,

  Regardless of consequences, he thought grimly. No one can be allowed to get in the way of such a desirable purpose.

  All opposition must be suppressed or brushed forcibly aside.

  Stupid people cannot be permitted to interfere.

  Those who resist, or seriously hinder, the grand goal will be the only ones who are not recreated into a future probability world. Bustaman, as a starter.

  Standing there, he explained to Selanie and her father the beautiful perfection of his ideal. And was startled when the girl shook her head, and said, ‘Dad, don’t give him the secret.’

  ‘Huh!’ said Caxton. He glared at her. ‘Are you out of your mind? This is what you want, isn’t it?’

  She gazed at him earnestly. ‘No, Mr Caxton, this is not what we want. You have just done the paranoid perversion of a good idea. And we don’t want any part of it.’

  Even as she spoke, Caxton was recovering. He didn’t need their help. Because his theory included the method of going earlier than 1977. So he could afford to be tolerant of the young woman’s opposition.

  Nonetheless, he felt innocent. For God’s sake, he thought, I didn’t ask to be a paranoid. It was all automatic. I feel as if I can be reasoned with.

  He said as much to Johns, continuing, ‘We seem to be divided on the fine point of how the deed shall be done. Millions of paranoids have learned to control their unconscious drive to kill. How can we make certain that I will not revert at some future moment of stress? That would be the problem, would it not, with every paranoid who attains a position of power?’

  ‘No question,’ replied Johns, ‘you have stated the problem.’ He was smiling. ‘However, since you obviously did create all this, and did build the Palace -’

  ‘Will,’ corrected Caxton.

  There was a look, suddenly, in the older man’s eyes. Somehow, he must have missed that thought in what Caxton had previously described to him. ‘My God’ - he almost breathed the words rather than spoke them - ‘you mean, you haven’t done it yet?’

  It was the great moment. For this was his magnificent idea. ‘I haven’t done anything’ said Caxton. He added casually, ‘Someday, I’ll take the time necessary to set up those hundred Peter Caxtons.’ He broke off. ‘Meanwhile, I must keep exact records.’

  Claudan Johns said after a long pause. ‘Obviously, I must give my secret to the man who solved that problem.’

  Caxton glanced at the girl. She was pale but resigned. She caught his look. ‘I trust Dad’s reasoning,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘On some things he’s never wrong.’

  Just like that, her words brought the dazzling insight. ‘I’ve become aware,’ Caxton said, ‘of why I’m really here.’

  ‘You’re here to get my father’s secret,’ she replied.

  ‘No, no. I know it.’ He was impatient. He snatched a notebook from his inside breast pocket, wrote something, tore off the sheet and handed it, folded, to the girl.

  To Johns, he said, ‘What’s the secret?’

  The old man did not hesitate. ‘I reasoned that whoever had built this whole time container had left at least one probability way open to the past. It took me a while to find it, but there it eventually was.’

  Caxton turned to the girl. ‘Read the note,’ he said.

  She unfolded the paper he had given her and read aloud, ‘Since I shall sooner or later get around to building all this, I will leave a way open to the past.’

  ‘Why not the future, also?’ asked Johns, curious.

  ‘That’s already done,’ said Caxton. He explained, ‘My dream … after Bustaman captured me, and we went over the edge of time. There I suddenly was, back at the airport. My guess is that I could merge at any time with the self that went beyond the barrier. But I feel reluctant, cautious. Maybe we all have a dream of what it will be like beyond the barrier. Yet most of us are in no hurry to go.’ He shrugged. ‘The job to be done here is big enough.’

  ‘You said,’ prompted Johns, ‘that you had just realised why you were here.’

  Caxton smiled. He felt strangely relaxed. He did not look at the girl as he spoke. ‘What your daughter just said, that in some things you are never wrong, reminded me that your vast experience as the observer and the experimenter makes you in a manner of speaking the king of the Possessors. The thought has many times been in my mind that sooner or later I must make my peace with you and ensure that I have the benefit of your knowledge. So my purpose to that extent is in character - that is, selfish. But it is a traditional type of selfishness, which I feel may solve all the problems we have discussed.’

  He finished, simply, ‘Clearly, I’m here to marry the king’s daughter while she is in a predicament where she cannot turn me down.’

  Having spoken, he glanced at the girl. There was sudden color in her cheeks. So the hormones were still dancing somewhere inside her, he thought happily, despite her real age.

  The woman was shaking her head. ‘What I offered you earlier, Mr Caxton, was a temporary expedient. But before I make a decision about marriage, I must be in a free condition.’ She broke off. ‘How did Dad and I escape from the other seventeenth century probability world?’

  The crisis came upon him as swiftly - and naturally - as that. This had to happen without enforcement. Caxton stood there on the grass, blank. Then he gazed uneasily up at that perfect sky. Finally he said, ‘I guess I’ll have to take that chance, also, won’t I?’ He sighed. ‘All right…’

  He told them what had happened. Described how that Selanie had merged with the slightly older Selanie that Price had created in the Palace of Immortality.

  For a prolonged moment after he finished, the girl stood with a faint smile on her face. Then she said, ‘Under the circumstances, it would be a little difficult for me to marry you.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked the instantly disappointed Caxton.

  ‘Dad,’ said the girl, with a quick look at her father, where he stood beside Caxton, ‘are you doing what you should be doing?’

  ‘I’m doing it,’ was the enigmatic reply.

  She vanished.

  Caxton blinked. And she was gone, during that instant.

  Caxton swallowed. Then he turned and stared at the old man. There was an edge of bitterness in his voice, as he asked, ‘Same merge?’

  ‘Same.’ Laconically. ‘And now,’ continued Claudan Johns, ‘I’d like to merge you with the Peter Caxton up in the Magoelson kitchen.’

  ‘But that one merged here,’ Caxton pointed out.

  ‘Well’ - the old man was smiling - ‘these probability things are a little confusing sometimes. My guess is that, since you believed it was me standing there at the door, in another probability of that scene it was me -’

  Caxton said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’

  The rugged face, which seemed to be completely back to normal, was smiling still. The eyes were bright. ‘People who had done this merging a lot tend to protect themselves by utilising several probabilities. Or else it just happens automatically.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘That the you that came down here was undoubtedly the one in the probability where I will be the person at the door. Clearly, you had to come back here first. I was the one who probably merged you back here. And so -’

  A great light was dawning. ‘So that other me is still sitting in the kitchen, still in the act of turning to see who’s at the door.’

  ‘Correct. And as you turn, I merge this Peter Caxton’ - he took his hand out of his pocket, and there was a tiny instrument in it, which he pointed at Caxton - ‘with that one. And so now, as you turn, you’ll suddenly have the memory of this experience. …’

  … Sitting there in the kitchen on that August day in 1981, Caxton looked around. As he saw who was standing at the door, he jumped to his feet.

  Selanie walked slowly toward him. She was somewhat older than the girl he had left minutes ago. But it was her great smile that she gave him.

  She seemed so friendly, so warm, that Caxton said uncertainly, ‘Your final words were that it would be difficult for you to marry me. I’d like to know why.’

  She paused. ‘Thinking, now,’ she said.

  He didn’t know what to think. But again her manner was sensationally … open. Something inside Caxton, an almost forgotten something, began to expand.

  Selanie said airily, ‘I can’t marry you because the me that I merged with, is already married to you, remember?’

  The feeling of something expanding inside him was growing more specific. The actual sensation was as if that other, younger Peter Caxton, the one Price had merged with him long ago (and it didn’t take), was suddenly able to move up out of the dark psychic hole where he had been kept until this moment. Able to actually merge with what, until this instant, had been the unremittingly alienated personality of the original Caxton.

  The woman concluded, somewhat needlessly, ‘I’ll be living with you here… from now on.’

  EPILOGUE

  Señor Pedro del Corteya packed away his projector. He was vaguely unhappy. Poor audience response always affected him that way. It was late when he got outside, but he stood for a moment beside his car looking thoughtfully up at the star-filled night. Blue was that sky above, alive with the mystery of the immense universe. Corteya scarcely noticed. He was thinking: It’s those novelty films that bored them. I have shown too many in this town. No more.

  He began to feel better, as if a weight had lifted from his spirit. He climbed into his car and headed home. As he drove, a voice in his mind said, ‘All right, tuners, the job is done. Only person we couldn’t save was Bustaman. But the barrier held.’

  The voice ceased, having impressed del Corteya not at all. He was an utterly practical being who paid no attention to the stray thoughts that incessantly muttered their way through his brain.

 

 

  Quest for the Future, A. E. van Vogt

 

 

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