Now Wait for Last Year (20 page)

'My uniform,' Festenburg said wildly, his face dark red and quivering as if it were about to burst. 'Look at my shoulder patches!'

'Why couldn't that be faked, too? I'm not saying it is, or that the homeopape was faked.' After all, he was not in a position to know one way or another. 'I'm merely saying it could be, and that's enough to cause me to suspend my judgement.'

With enormous effort Festenburg managed to gain partial control of himself. 'All right; you're playing cautious. This entire experience is disorienting for you – I understand. But doctor, be realistic for a moment; you've seen the pape, you know that in a way which I'm not specifying I succeeded Molinari as UN Secretary. Plus the fact that six months from your own time period you were caught red-handed conspiring against me. And—'

'Acting UN Secretary,' Eric amended.

'What?' Festenburg stared at him.

'A pro tern situation is implied. Transitional. And I wasn't – or won't be – caught "red-handed." The pape merely relates an accusation; there's been no trial, no conviction. I could be innocent. I could be about to be framed, and by you. Again, recall Stalin during his last year, the so-called—'

'Don't lecture me in my own field! Yes, I know of the situation you related; I know how completely Stalin fooled the dying Lenin. And I know about the doctor's plot, paranoiacally engineered by Stalin during his final illness. Okay—' Festen-burg's voice was steady. 'I admit it. That homeopape which I showed you just now – it was faked.'

Eric smiled.

'And I'm not Acting UN Secretary,' Festenburg continued. 'But as to what actually has happened — I'll leave it to you to guess. And you're not going to be able to; you're going to return to your own time a few moments from now knowing nothing, not a damn thing, about the world of the future – whereas if you had made a few deals with me you could know everything.' He glowered at Eric.

'I guess,' Eric said, 'I'm a fool.'

'More than that: polymorphic perverse. You could be going back armed with incredible weapons – in the figurative sense, of course – to save yourself, your wife, Molinari. And for one year you'll stew ... assuming that you survive your drug addiction that long. We'll see.'

For the first time Eric felt a wavering doubt. Was he making an error? After all, he had not even heard what he would need to pony up in order to consummate the deal. But now the antidote had been destroyed; it was too late. This was just talk.

Rising, Eric took a quick look out of the window at the city of Cheyenne.

The city was in ruins.

While he stood staring at that he felt the reality of the room, the substantiality of what he saw, ebb; it eased away from him and he clutched at it, trying to retain it.

'Much luck, doctor,' Festenburg said hollowly, and then he, too, became a streak of foglike wispiness that eddied gray and indistinct around him, blending with the disintegrated remnants of the desk, the walls of the room, the objects that a moment before had been utterly stable.

He lurched – and struggled to catch himself. Losing his balance, he pitched into the sickening experience of no weight... and then, with pain banging at his head, he looked up, saw around him the tables and people of the White House cafeteria.

A group had formed around him. Concerned but hesitant. Unwilling to actually touch him; they remained spectators.

'Thanks for the help,' he grated, and got unsteadily to his feet.

The spectators melted guiltily off to their tables, leaving him alone. Alone – except for Kathy.

'You were out about three minutes,' she said.

He said nothing; he had no desire to speak to her, to have anything to do with her. He felt nauseated and his legs shook under him; his head felt splintered and broken and he thought, This must be how it feels to experience carbon monoxide poisoning. As described in the old textbooks. A sense of having imbibed of death itself.

'Can I help you?' Kathy asked. 'I remember how I felt the first time.'

Eric said, 'I'll take you to the infirmary now.' He grabbed her by the arm; her purse bobbed against him. 'You must have your supply in your purse,' he said, and yanked it away from him.

A moment later he held two elongated spansules in his hand. Dropping them into his pocket, he returned her purse to her.

'Thanks,' she said with massive irony.

'Thank you, too, dear. We've each got a lot of love for one another. In this new phase of our marital relationship.' He led her from the cafeteria then; she accompanied him without resistance.

I'm glad I didn't make a deal with Festenburg, he thought. But Festenburg would be after him again; this was not the end. However, he possessed an advantage over Festenburg, one which the sallow-faced speech writer did not – at this date – know of.

From this encounter a year hence he knew that Festenburg had political ambitions. That in some fashion he would attempt a coup and would try to buy support. The UN Secretary uniform had turned out to be ersatz, but Festenburg's aspirations had not.

And it was entirely possible that Festenburg had not yet begun this phase of his career.

Festenburg, in this time period, could not take Eric Sweet-scent by surprise because one year in the future, unknown to his present self, he had tipped his hand. And, in doing so, had not grasped the implications of what he had done.

It was a major political error and one which could not be retrieved. Especially in view of the fact that other political strategists, some with immense capabilities, were on the scene.

One of these was Gino Molinari.

After he had gotten his wife admitted to the White House infirmary he placed a vidphone call to Jonas Ackerman at TF&D in Tijuana.

'So you know about Kathy,' Jonas said. He did not look happy.

'I'm not going to ask you why you did it,' Eric said. 'I'm calling in order to—'

'Did what?' Jonas' face convulsed. 'She told you I put her on the stuff, did she? Not true, Eric. Why should I do that? Ask yourself.'

'We won't discuss that now.' There was no time. 'I want to find out, first if Virgil knows anything about JJ-180.'

'Yes, but no more than I do. There's not much—'

'Let me talk to Virgil.'

Reluctantly, Jonas switched the call to Virgil's office. Eric after a moment faced the old man, who leered with guileless abandon when he saw who was calling. 'Eric! I read in the pape – you've already saved his life once. I knew you'd make out. Now, if you can do that every day—' Virgil chuckled delightedly.

'Kathy is addicted to JJ-180. I need help; I have to get her off it.'

The pleased emotions left Virgil's face. 'That's horrible! But what can I do, Eric? I'd like to, of course. We all love Kathy around here. You're a doctor, Eric; you ought to be able to do something for her.' He tried to babble on but Eric interrupted.

'Tell me who to contact at the subsidiary. Where JJ-180 is made.'

'Oh yes. Hazeltine Corporation, in Detroit. Let's see . .. who should you talk to there? Maybe Bert Hazeltine himself. Just a minute; Jonas is up here in my office. He's saying something.'

Jonas appeared on the vidscreen. 'I was trying to tell you, Eric. When I found out about Kathy's situation I contacted Hazeltine Corporation immediately. They've already sent someone out; he's on his way to Cheyenne; I figured Kathy would show up there after she disappeared. Keep Virgil and me posted as to what progress he can make. Good luck.' He disappeared from the screen, evidently relieved to have contributed his share.

Thanking Virgil, Eric rang off. Rising, he at once went to the White House receiving room to see if the representative of Hazeltine Corporation had shown up yet.

'Oh yes, Dr Sweetscent,' the girl said, checking her book. Two persons arrived just a moment ago; you're being paged in the halls and in the cafeterias.' She read the names from the book. 'A Mr Bert Hazeltine and a woman. Miss Bachis... I'm trying to read her writing; I think that's it. They were sent upstairs to your conapt.'

When he reached his conapt he found the door ajar; in the small living room sat two individuals, a middle-aged man, well dressed, in a long overcoat, and a blonde-haired woman, in her late thirties; she wore glasses and her features were heavy and professionally competent.

'Mr Hazeltine?' Eric said, entering with his hand out.

Both the man and the woman rose. 'Hello, Dr Sweetscent.' Bert Hazeltine shook hands with him. This is Hilda Bachis; she's with the UN Narcotics Control Bureau. They had to be informed of your wife's situation, doctor; it's the law. However—'

Miss Bachis spoke up crisply, 'We're not interested in arresting or punishing your wife, doctor; we want to help her, as you do. We've already arranged to see her but we thought we'd talk with you first and then go down to the infirmary.'

In a quiet voice Hazeltine said, 'Your wife has how large a supply of the drug with her?'

'None,' Eric said.

'Let me explain to you, then,' Hazeltine said, 'the difference between habituation and addiction. In addiction—'

'I'm a doctor,' Eric reminded him. 'You don't have to spell it out for me.' He seated himself, still feeling the effects of his bout of the drug; his head still ached and his chest hurt when he breathed.

'Then you realize that the drug has entered her liver metabolism and now is required for that metabolism to continue. If she's denied the drug she'll die in—' Hazeltine calculated. 'How much has she taken?' Two or three capsules.'

'Without it she'll die very possibly within twenty-four hours.'

'And with it?'

'She'll live roughly four months. By that time, doctor, we may have an antidote; don't think we're not trying. We've even tried artiforg transplant, removing the liver and substituting—'

'Then she's got to have more of the drug,' Eric said, and he thought about himself. His own situation. 'Suppose she had only taken it once. Would that—'

'Doctor,' Hazeltine said, 'don't you understand? JJ-180 was not designed as a medicine; it's a weapon of war. It was intended to be capable of creating an absolute addiction by a single dose; it was intended to bring about extensive nerve and brain damage. It's odorless and tasteless; you can't tell when it's being administered to you in, say, food or drink. From the start we faced the problem of our own people becoming accidentally addicted; we were waiting until we had the cure and then we would use JJ-180 against the enemy. But—' He eyed Eric. 'Your wife was not accidentally addicted, doctor. It was done with deliberate intent. We know where she got it.' He glanced at Miss Bachis.

'Your wife couldn't have obtained it from Tijuana Fur & Dye,' Miss Bachis said, 'because no quantity of the drug whatsoever has been released by Hazeltine to its parent company.'

'Our ally,' Bert Hazeltine said. 'It was a protocol of the Pact of Peace; we had to deliver to them a sample of every new weapon of war produced on Terra. The UN compelled me to ship a quantity of JJ-180 to Lilistar.' His face had become slack with what for him was now a stale, flat resentment.

Miss Bachis said, The quantity of JJ-180, for security purposes, was shipped to Lilistar in five separate containers on five separate transports. Four reached Lilistar. One did not; the reegs destroyed it with an automine. And, since then, we've heard persistent rumors through our intelligence service operating within the Empire that 'Star agents have carried the drug back here to Terra, to use against our people.'

Eric nodded. 'All right; she didn't get it at Tijuana Fur & Dye.' But what does it matter where Kathy had gotten it?

'So your wife,' Miss Bachis said, 'has been approached by 'Star intelligence agents and therefore can't be kept in Cheyenne; we've already talked to the Secret Service and she's to be transferred back to Tijuana or San Diego. There's no alternative; she hasn't admitted it, of course, but she's being supplied in exchange for acting as a 'Star recruit. That could be why she followed you here.'

'But,' Eric said, 'if you cut her off her supply of the drug—'

'We don't intend that,' Hazeltine said. 'In fact just the opposite; the most thoroughgoing method of detaching her from the 'Star agents is to supply her directly from our stock. That's policy in cases such as this ... and your wife is not the first, doctor; we've seen this before and take my word for it, we know what to do. That is, within the limited number of possibilities open to us. First, she needs the drug merely to stay alive; that alone makes it essential to keep her supplied. But there's one more fact you should know. The shipment that was sent to Lilistar but was destroyed by a reeg mine ... we understand now that the reegs were able to salvage portions of that ship. They obtained a minute but nonetheless real quantity of JJ-180.' He paused. They're working on a cure, too.'

The room went silent.

'We don't have a cure anywhere on Terra,' Hazeltine continued, after a pause. 'Lilistar, of course, isn't even trying, despite what they may have told your wife; they're simply cranking out their own supply of the drug, no doubt to use against us as well as the enemy. That's a fact of life. But – a cure may already exist among the reegs; it would be unfair and morally wrong not to tell you this. I'm not suggesting that you defect to the enemy; I'm not suggesting anything – I'm just being honest with you. In four months we may have it or we may not; I have no way of knowing the future.'

'The drug,' Eric said, 'permits some of its users to pass into the future.'

Hazeltine and Miss Bachis exchanged glances.

'True,' Hazeltine said, nodding. That's highly classified information, as you no doubt know. I suppose you learned that from your wife. Is that the direction she moves when she's under the influence of the drug? It's relatively rare; withdrawal into the past seems to be the rule.'

Guardedly Eric said, 'Kathy and I have talked about it.'