Mastodonia (29 page)

“But headquarters took you,” I said. “Perhaps that's why they took you. They were on the lookout, probably, for people just like you—people who could change.”

“I'm sure of it,” said Catface.

“You say you are immortal. Were the other people of your home planet immortal as well?”

“No, they were not. That is one of the measures of the differentness in me.”

“Tell me, Catface, how do you know? How can you be sure that you are immortal?”

“I know, that's all,” said Catface. “I know inside of me.”

Which was good enough, I thought. If he knew inside of him, he probably was right.

I left him more puzzled than I had ever been before. Each time I talked with him, it seemed I grew more puzzled. For while I felt, for some strange reason, that I knew him more thoroughly than I'd ever known any other being, increasingly I sensed depths in him that seemed forever out of reach. I was puzzled, too, by the illogical feeling that I knew him well. I had talked with him, really talked with him, not more than a dozen' times, and yet I had the impression that he was a lifelong friend. I knew things about him, I felt sure, that we had never talked about. I wondered if this could be attributed to the fact that on many occasions he had taken me inside of him, had made me, for a moment, one with him, in order that I might see with him certain concepts that he could not put in words I would understand. Was it possible that in these times of oneness with him I had absorbed some of his personality, becoming privy to thoughts and purposes that he may not have intended to convey?

By now, most of the newspapermen and camera crews had deserted Willow Bend. Some days, there were none at all, then at times a few would show up and stay for a day or two. We were still occasionally in the news, but the magic had left us. Our story had run out.

The tourists fell off. Usually, there were a few cars in Ben's parking lot, but nothing like the number that once had been there. Ben's motel now had vacancies—at times, a number of vacancies. Unless there was a turn in events, Ben stood to lose a lot of money. We still maintained the guards and turned on the floodlights at night, but this began to seem a little foolish. We were guarding something that perhaps no longer needed guarding. It was costing us a pile of money and we talked, off and on, of dismissing the guards and not turning on the lights. But we hesitated to do it—principally, I think, because doing it would seem an admission of defeat. As yet, we were not ready to give up.

The debate on the emigration issue raged on in Congress. One side charged the proposal meant abandonment of the disadvantaged; the other side claimed it was a move to offer them the advantages of a fresh start in a new environment not subject to all the stresses of their present one. Arguments thundered over the economics of the issue—the cost of giving the emigrants a fresh start in a new and virgin land as opposed to the yearly cost of welfare. Welfare recipients now and then raised voices that were submerged in the din; no one listened to them. Newspapers published Sunday features and TV networks staged specials explaining and illustrating the situation that would be found in the Miocene. The capitol was picketed by contending groups of citizens.

At Willow Bend, a few bands of cultists showed up. They carried banners and made speeches that favored abandonment of the present society and a retreat into the Miocene, or if not into the Miocene, into any place at all to get away from the callous injustices and inequities of the present system. They paraded back and forth in front of the gate and set up camp in Ben's parking lot. Herb went out to talk with them. They didn't stay long. There were no newspapermen to interview them, no photographers to take their pictures, no crowds to jeer them, no police to hassle them. So they went away.

The two houses of Congress passed the emigration bill. The president vetoed it; it was passed over his veto. But the State Department ban still held.

Then, the next day, the court made its decision. The ruling went against us. The injunction was denied; the ban on travel to Mastodonia stood and we were out of business.

THIRTY-TWO

A day later, the riots broke out. As if on signal (and perhaps on signal, for we never knew how they came about), the ghettos flared—in Washington, New York, Baltimore, Chicago, Minneapolis, St. Louis, the West Coast, everywhere. Mobs invaded the glittering downtown business areas and now, unlike the situation in 1968, it was not the ghettos that burned. The great plate-glass windows of the downtown stores were shattered, the stores were looted and fires were set. Police and, in some cases, the National Guard, fired on the rioters; the rioters fired back. The placards that said:
GIVE US THE MIOCENE;
that said:
LET US GO
; that said:
WE WANT ANOTHER CHANCE,
lay scattered in the streets, soaked in rain and, at times, stained with blood.

It went on for five days. The dead, on both sides, ran into the thousands, and business came to a standstill. Then, at the end of the fifth day, the violence dwindled to a halt. The two sides, the side of law and order and the side of outraged protest, drew apart. Slowly, haltingly, fumblingly, the talks began.

At Willow Bend, we were isolated. For the most part, intercontinental phone lines were out of order. The television stations, as a rule, continued in operation, although in a few instances, they, too, were silenced. We had one phone call from Courtney, but after that we heard nothing more from him. Attempts to reach him failed. In his one call, he had said that he was considering the possibility of appealing the court's action, but there were some situations he would have to study first.

Night after night, sometimes during the day, we gathered in Ben's office and watched the television screen. At all times of the day or night, whenever there was a new bit of news about the riots, reports were put out, so that, in effect, television became an almost continuous news program.

It was a numbing thing to watch. In 1968 we had sometimes wondered if the republic would stand; now there were times when we were sure it wouldn't. Personally, and I suppose this also applied to the rest of us, I felt a sense of guilt, although we never talked about it. The thought kept hammering through my head: If we had not developed time travel, none of this would have come to pass.

We did talk about how we could have been so blind, so complacent in believing that the emigration law was simply an empty political gesture, that few of the underprivileged to whom it would apply had any wish to become pioneers in an unknown land. I felt especially remiss on this, for I had been the one, from the very first, who had said the entire proposal was senseless. The fury of the riots seemed to demonstrate that the ghettos did want the second chance the legislation offered. But it was difficult to judge how much of the violence was keyed to a desire for this second chance, and how much might have been caused by ancient, suppressed hatred and bitterness, cleverly touched off by those who led and directed the rioting.

There was a rumor that an army of rioters from the Twin Cities was moving on Willow Bend, perhaps with a view to taking over the time-travel operation. The sheriff hastily put out a call for volunteers to block the march, but, as it turned out, there had been no march. It was just another of the many ugly rumors that at times crept even into the news reports. Why the rioters did not think of taking us over, I will never figure out. From their point of view, it would have been a logical move, although, in all likelihood, it would not have worked out as they might have thought it would. If they thought of it at all, they probably envisioned a time machine of some sort that could be physically taken over and which they probably could operate. But, apparently, no one thought of it. Perhaps the leaders of the operation were concentrating on a violent confrontation that would bring the federal establishment to its knees.

The Five Days passed and relative calm fell over the battered, blackened cities. Talks began, but who was talking and where and what they might be talking about was not disclosed. The newsmen and the networks were unable to penetrate the silence. We tried to reach Courtney, but the long-distance lines were still out.

Then, late one afternoon, Courtney came walking through the gate.

“I didn't phone from Lancaster,” he said, “because it was quicker to grab a cab and come.” He took the drink that Ben offered him and sank into a chair. The man looked tired and harried.

“Day and night,” he said, “for the last three days. Christ, I hope I never live through anything like this again.”

“You were sitting in on the negotiations?” asked Ben.

“That's right. And I think we have it all worked out. I never saw such stubborn sons-of-bitches in all my life—both sides, the government and the rioters. I had to fight off both of them. Over and over, I had to explain to them that Time Associates had a big stake in the matter, that we had to protect our interests and that without us, no one could get anywhere.”

He drained the paper cup he'd been given and held it out. Ben slopped more liquor into it.

“But now,” he said, “I think we have it. The documents are being drawn up. As it stands, if none of the bastards changes his mind, we'll supply a time road into the Miocene without charge. I had to make that concession. The government points out that the program will cost so much that any fee to us would wreck it. I don't believe this, but there was nothing much that I could do. If I'd refused, the talks would have collapsed; the government, I think, was looking for some reason to walk out of them. We only furnish the time road, that is all. We say to them, here it is, and then it's their headache. In exchange for that, the State Department ban is removed and stays removed and there will be no effort, ever, to impose any kind of governmental regulations, state, federal or otherwise. And, furthermore—and this one, once again, almost wrecked the talks—Mastodonia is accorded recognition as an independent state.”

I looked across the room at Rila and she was smiling—it was the first time she had smiled for days. And, somehow, I knew what she was thinking—that now, we could go ahead with that house in Mastodonia.

“I think,” said Ben, “that is good enough. You did a good job, Court. We'd probably have trouble, anyhow, collecting any fees from the government.”

The door opened and Hiram came into the room. We all turned to look at him.

He shuffled a few feet forward. “Mr. Steele,” he said, “Catface would like for you to come. He wants to see you. He says it is important.”

I rose and Rila said, “I'll come with you.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but no. I'd better see what this is about myself. It's probably nothing. It won't take too long.”

But I had a horrible feeling it would be more than nothing. Never before had Catface sent for me.

Outside the building, Hiram said, “He's down near the chicken house.”

“You stay here,” I said. “I'll go alone.”

I went down across the yard and around the chicken house and there was Catface, in one of the apple trees. As I walked toward the tree, I felt him reach out for me. When he did that, it seemed to me that we were in a place together, just the two of us, with all the rest of it shut out.

“I am glad you came,” he said. “I wanted to see you before I left. I wanted to tell you …”

“Leave!” I shouted at him. “Catface, you can't leave. Not now. What are you leaving for?”

“I cannot help myself,” said Catface. “I am changing once again. I told you how I changed before, back on my home planet after my beginning.…”

“But change?” I asked. “What kind of change? Why should you change?”

“Because I cannot help myself. It comes on me. It's no doing of my own.”

“Catface, is this a change you want?”

“I think so. I have not asked myself yet. And yet, I feel happy at it. For I am going home.”

“Home? Back to the planet of your birth?”

“No. To headquarters planet. Now I know that that is home. Asa, do you know what I think?”

I felt cold inside. I felt limp and beaten and suddenly, bereft. “No, I don't,” I said.

“I think that I am becoming a god. When I go back, I will be one of them. I think this is how they come about. They evolve from other forms of life. Maybe only from my form of life. Maybe from other forms of life as well. I don't know. I think some day, I will know. I have served my apprenticeship. I have grown up.”

I was in an emptiness, a black abyss of emptiness and the thing that rasped across my soul was the realization that it was not the loss of Catface's ability to construct time roads for us, but the loss of Catface himself that made the emptiness.

“Asa,” he said, “I am going home. I had lost the way, but now I know the way and I am going home.”

I said nothing. There was nothing I could say. I was lost in the emptiness.

“My friend,” he said, “please wish me well. I must have that to carry with me.”

I said the words, wrenched out of me as if they were dripping gobbets of flesh wrenched from my body; I wanted to say them, I had to say them, and yet they hurt to say: “Catface, I wish you well. Most sincerely, I do wish you well. I shall miss you, Catface.”

He was gone. I did not see him go, but I knew that he was gone. There was a chill wind blowing out of nowhere and the black of the emptiness turned to gray and then it changed to nothing and I was standing in the orchard, at the corner of the hen house, looking at an empty apple tree.

Dusk had come across the land and any minute now, the floodlights would turn on automatically and the homestead would change into a garish nightmare, with the uniformed guards tramping up and down the fence. But, mercifully, for a few moments, I had the dusk and I needed it.

Then, the lights snapped on and I turned about to head for the office building. I was afraid that I would stagger, but I didn't. I walked stiff and straight, like a wound-up toy. Hiram was nowhere around and Bowser, more than likely, was somewhere hunting woodchucks, although it was a little late for woodchucks. Usually, they went to ground shortly after sundown.