Dr. Futurity (1960) (11 page)

The man stirred. His eyelids fluttered.

A gasp came from the watchers. A simultaneous expression of amazement and joy.

"He is living by use of the mechanical pump," Parsons said to Loris. "Of course, if everything goes well--"

"Ultimately you will stitch the heart fiber and attempt to remove the pump," Loris finished.

"Yes," he said.

Loris said, "Doctor, would you please do that now? There are conditions that you know nothing about; please believe me when I say that if there's any possibility that you could perform the surgery on the heart at this time . . ." Pleadingly, she caught hold of his hands; he felt her strong fingers dig into his flesh. Gazing up at him she said, "For my sake. Even if there's more risk this way, I feel convinced that you should go ahead. I have good reasons. Please, Dr. Parsons."

Reluctantly, studying the pulse and respiration of the patient, he said, "He would have to mend over a period of weeks. You understand that. He can't take any strain, of any sort, until the fiber--"

"You'll do it?" she said, her eyes shining.

Assembling his instruments, he began the grueling task of repairing the ruptured heart.

When he had finished, he discovered that only Loris remained in the chamber; the others had been sent out, undoubtedly on her order. She sat silently across from him, her arms folded. Now she seemed more composed. But her face still had the rigidity, the fear.

"All right?" she said with a tremor.

"Evidently," he said. Exhausted, he started putting away his instruments.

"Doctor," she breathed, rising and approaching him, "you have done a profound thing. Not only for us, but for the world."

Too worn-out to pay much attention to her, he stripped off his gloves. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm too tired to talk. I'd like to go up to my apartment and go to bed."

"You'll be on call? If anything goes wrong?" As he started from the chamber, Loris hurried after him. "What should we watch for? We'll have attendants on hand at all times, of course . . . I realize that he's quite feeble, and will be for some time." Now she made him halt. "When will he be conscious?"

"Probably in an hour," he said, at the door.

That apparently satisfied her. Nodding in a preoccupied fashion, she started back to the patient.

By himself, he ascended the stairs, and, after getting the wrong room several times, at last managed to find his own apartment. Inside, he shut and locked the door and sank down on the bed to rest. He felt too weary to undress or get under the covers.

The next he knew, the door was open. Loris stood in the entrance, gazing down at him. The room had become dark-- or had he lain down with the light off? Groggily, he started to sit up.

"I thought you might want something to eat," she said. "It's after midnight." As she switched on a lamp and went over to pull the drapes, he saw that a servant had followed her into the apartment.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing his eyes.

Loris dismissed the servant and began lifting the pewter covers from the dishes. He could smell the warm, rich odors of food.

"Any change in your father?" he asked.

Loris said, "He became conscious for a moment. At least, he opened his eyes. And I had a distinct impression that he was aware of me. And then he went to sleep; he's sleeping now."

"He'll sleep a lot," Parsons said. But he thought,
That may
indicate possible brain damage.

She had arranged two chairs at a small table, and now she let him seat her. "Thank you," she said. "You put everything you had into what you did. Such an impressive spectacle for us to see--a doctor and his devotion to healing." She smiled at him; in the half-light of the room her lips were full and moist. Since he had last seen her she had changed to a different dress, and her hair, now, was tied back, held in place by a clasp. "You're a very good man," she said. "A very kind and worthy man. We're ennobled by your presence."

Embarrassed, he shrugged, not knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable," she said. She began to eat, and he did so too. But after a few bites he realized that he was not hungry. Walking to the veranda of the apartment he opened the glass door and stepped outside, into the cold night air.

Luminous night moths fluttered beyond the railing, among the trees and moist branches. Somewhere in the forest small animals crashed about, growled, moved sullenly off. Sounds of breaking twigs, stealthy footpads. Hissing.

"Cats," Loris whispered. "Domestic cats." She had come out, too, to stand beside him in the darkness.

"Gone wild?"

She turned toward him. "You know, Doctor, there is a basic fallacy in their thinking."

"Who do you mean by 'they'?"

Waving her hand vaguely she said, "The government. The whole system, here. The Soul Cube, the Lists. That girl, Icara. The one you saved." Her voice became firm. "She killed herself because she had been disfigured. She knew she'd drag down the tribe when List time came. She knew she'd score badly because of her physical appearance.
But such things
aren't inherited!
" Bitterness swept through her voice. "She sacrificed herself for nothing. Who gained? What good did her death do? She was certain it was for the benefit of the tribe--for the race. I've seen enough of death."

He knew, hearing her, that she was thinking about her father. "Loris," he said. "If you can go back into the past, why didn't you try to change it? Prevent his death?"

"You don't know what we know," she said. "The possibility of changing the past is limited. It's very hard." She sighed. "Don't you suppose we tried?" Her voice rose now. "Don't you think we went back again and again, trying to make it come out differently? And it never did."

"The past is immutable?" he said.

"We don't understand it, quite. Some things can be changed. But not this. Not the thing that matters! There's some kind of central force that eludes us. Some power working . . ."

"You really love him," he said, moved by her emotion.

She nodded faintly. Now he saw her hand lift; she wiped at her eyes. Dimly, he could make out her face, her trembling lips, long lashes, the great black eyes sparkling with tears.

"I'm sorry," Parsons said. "I didn't mean to--"

"It's all right. We've been under so much strain. For so long. You understand, I've never seen him alive. And, to look at him day after day, suspended in there, beyond reach--utterly remote from us. All the time, when I was a child, growing up, I thought of nothing else. To bring him back. To have him again, to possess him. If he could be made to live again--" Her hands opened, reached out, yearning, groping, closing again on nothing. "And now that we do have him back--" Abruptly, she broke off.

"Go on," Parsons prompted.

Loris shook her head and turned away. Parsons touched her soft black hair, moist with the night mist. She did not protest. He drew her close to him; still she did not protest. Her warm breath drifted up in a cloud, rising around him, mixing with the sweet scent of her hair. Against him her body vibrated, intense and burning with suppressed emotion. Her bosom rose and fell, outlined against the starlight, her body trembling under the silk of her robe.

His hand touched her cheek, then her throat. Her full lips were close to his. Her eyes were half-closed, head bent back, breath coming rapidly. "Loris," he said softly.

She shook her head. "No. Please, no."

"Why don't you trust me? Why don't you want to tell me? What is there you can't--"

With a convulsive moan she broke away and ran toward the doorway, robes fluttering after her.

Catching up with her, he put his arms around her, holding her from escaping. "What's the matter?" he said, trying to see her, trying to read the expression on her face. Wanting to make her look at him.

"I--" she began.

The door to the apartment flew open. Helmar, his face distorted, said, "Loris. He--" Seeing Parsons he said, "Doctor. Come."

They ran, the three of them, down the corridor to the stairs, down the stairs; gasping, they reached the room in which Loris' father lay. Attendants ushered them in. Parsons caught sight of elaborate equipment, unfamiliar to him, in the process of being assembled.

On the bed lay Loris' father, his lips parted, his eyes glazed. His eyes, sightless in death, stared up at the ceiling.

"Cold-pack," Loris was saying, somewhere in the background, as Parsons grabbed out his instruments.

Lifting aside the sheet, Parsons saw the feathered, notched end of an arrow protruding from the dead man's chest.

"Again," Helmar said, in a tone of absolute hopelessness. "We thought . . ." His voice trailed off, baffled and wretched. "Get the pack around him!" he shouted suddenly, and attendants pushed between Parsons and the bed. He saw them expertly lift the corpse and slide it into the vacant cube; cold-pack poured in and surrounded the form until it became blurred and obscured.

After a time Loris said bitterly, "Well, we were right." The fury in her voice shocked Parsons; he turned involuntarily, and saw an expression he had never before witnessed on a woman's face. A complete and absolute hate.

"Right about what?" he managed to ask.

Lifting her head, she gazed at him; her eyes seemed to have shrunk so that the pupils gleamed like tiny, burning points, no longer located in space but somehow hovering before him, blinding him almost. "Someone is working against us," she said. "They have it, too. Control of time. Thwarting us, enjoying it . . ." She laughed. "Yes,
enjoying
it. Mocking us." Abruptly, with a swing of her robes, she turned away from Parsons and disappeared past the ring of attendants.

Parsons, stepping back, saw the final surface of the Soul Cube slide into place. Once again the figure floated in eternal stasis. Dead and silent. Beyond the reach of the living.

ELEVEN

Standing beside Parsons, Helmar muttered, "It's not your fault." Together, they watched the cube lifted upright. "We have enemies," Helmar said. "This happened before, when we went back into time and tried to recreate the situation. But we thought it was a natural force, a phenomenon of time. Now we know better. Our worst fears are justified. This did not happen through an impersonal force."

"Perhaps not," Parsons said. "But don't see motive where there is none." They are a little paranoid, he decided. Possibly rightly so. "As Loris told me," he continued, "none of you fully comprehend the principles that lie behind time. Isn't it still possible that--"

"No," Helmar said flatly. "I know. We all know." He started to speak further, and then, seeing something, he stopped.

Parsons turned. He, too, had meant to go on. But his words choked off.

For the first time he had noticed her.

She had entered silently, a few moments ago. Two armed guards stood on each side of her. A stir went through the room, among the people present.

She was old. The first old person that Parsons had seen in this world.

Approaching the old woman, Loris said, "He is dead again. They managed to destroy him once again."

The old woman advanced silently toward the cube, toward the dead man who lay within. She was, even at her age, strikingly handsome. Tall and dignified. A mane of white hair down the back of her neck . . . the same broad forehead. Heavy brows. Strong nose and chin. Stern, powerful face.

The same as the others. This old woman, the man in the cube, everybody at the Lodge--all partook of the same physical characteristics.

The stately old woman had reached the rim of the cube. She gazed at it, unspeaking.

Loris took her arm. "Mother--"

There it was. The old woman was Loris' mother. The wife of the man in the cube.

It fitted. He had been in the cube thirty-five years. The old woman was probably seventy.
His wife!
This pair, this couple, had spawned the powerful, full-breasted creature who ruled the Wolf Tribe, the most potent human being alive.

"Mother," Loris said. "We'll try once more. I promise."

Now the old woman had noticed Parsons. Instantly, her face became fierce. "Who are you?" she asked in a deep, vibrant voice.

Loris said, "He's the doctor who tried to bring Corith back."

The old woman was still looking frigidly at Parsons. Gradually her features softened. "It's not your fault," she said at last. For a moment she lingered by the cube. "Later," she said. "Once more." She turned for a last look at Parsons, then at the man in the cube. And then the old woman and her attendants moved away, back toward the lift from which they had emerged. She had come up from the subsurface levels that honeycombed the ground beneath their feet--unguessed regions that he had never seen and probably would never see. The guarded, secret core of the Lodge.

All the men and women stood silently as the old woman passed among them. Heads bowed slightly. Reverence. They were all acknowledging her, Loris' mother. The regal, white-haired old woman who moved slowly and calmly across the room, away from the cube. Her face creased and frozen in grief. The mother of the Mother Superior--

The mother of them all!

At the lift she halted and half-turned. She made a faint motion with her hand, a motion that took them all in. She was recognizing them. Her children.

It was clear. Helmar, Loris, all the rest of them, all seventy or so, were descended from this old lady, and from the man who lay in the cube. Yet one thing did not fit.

The man in the cube and this old woman. If they were man and wife--

"I'm glad you saw her," Loris said, from beside him.

"Yes," he said.

"Did you see how she took it? She was an inspiration to us, in our deprivation. A model for us to follow." Now Loris, too, seemed to have regained her poise.

"Good," Parsons murmured. His mind was racing.
The old
woman and the man in the cube.
Corith, she had called him. Corith--their father. That made sense. Everything made sense but one thing. And that one thing was a little difficult to get past.

Both Corith and the old woman, his wife, showed identical physical characteristics.