Our Children's Children (7 page)

Because its coal and fossil fuels are almost gone, the future world, said Gale, relies entirely for its energy on fusion power. The development of that type of power, he said, is the only thing that holds the delicate economic fabric of his world together.

The world of 500 years from now is highly computerized, with the greater part of the population living in “high rise” cities. Half a dozen towers, some of them reaching as high as a mile, will constitute a city. Urban sprawl is gone, leaving vast surface areas free for agricultural purposes. The cities are built, in large part, from converted scrap metal which in our day would have been buried in landfills, and are computer-operated, almost entirely automatic.

There is, Gale said, none of the great spread of wealth that is found in our world. No one is rich and there is none of the abject poverty that today oppresses millions. Apparently there has been not only a change in life style, but a change as well in life values. Life is simpler and kinder and less competitive; there are few eager beavers in that world of 500 years ahead.…

15

A crowd was gathering in Lafayette Park, quiet and orderly, as crowds had gathered through the years, to stand staring at the White House, not demanding anything, not expecting anything, simply gathering there in a dumb show of participation in a nation's crisis. Above the crowd, Andy Jackson still sat his rearing charger, with the patina of many years upon both horse and rider, friends to perching pigeons.

No one quite knew what this crisis meant or if it might even be a crisis. They had, as yet, no idea how it had come about or what it might mean to them, although there were a few among them who had done some rather specific, although distorted, thinking on the subject and were willing (at times, perhaps, insistent) on sharing with their neighbors what they had been thinking.

In the White House a flood of calls had started to come in and were stacking up—calls from members of the Congress, from party stalwarts ready with suggestions and advice, from businessmen and industrialists suddenly grown nervous, from crackpots who held immediate solutions.

A television camera crew drove up in their van and set up for business, taking footage of the Lafayette crowd and of the White House, gleaming in the summer sun, with a newsman doing a stand-up commentary against the background.

Straggling tourists trailed up and down the avenue, somewhat astonished at thus being caught up in the midst of history, and the White House squirrels came scampering down to the fence and through it out onto the sidewalk, sitting up daintily, with forepaws folded on their chests, begging for handouts.

16

Alice Gale stood in the window, gazing across Pennsylvania Avenue to the gathering crowd in the park beyond it. She hugged herself in shivering ecstasy, not daring to believe that she actually was there, that she could be back in twentieth-century Washington, where history had been made, where legendary men had lived, and at this moment in the very room where crowned heads had slept.

Crowned heads, she thought. What an awful, almost medieval phrase. And yet it had a certain ring to it, a certain elegance that her world had never known.

She had caught a glimpse of the Washington Monument as she and her father had been driven into the White House grounds, and out there, just beyond it, a marble Lincoln sat in his marble chair, with his arms resting on its arms and his massive, whiskered face bearing that look of greatness, of sorrow and compassion that had quieted thousands into reverent silence as they came climbing up the stairs to stand face to face with him.

Just across the hallway her father was in the Lincoln bedroom, with its massive Victorian bed and the velvet-covered slipper chairs. Although, she recalled, Lincoln had never really slept there.

It was history back to life, she thought, history resurrected. And it was a precious thing. It would be something to remember always, no matter what might be ahead. It would be something to remember back in the Miocene. And what, she wondered with a little shiver, might the Miocene be like? If they ever got there, if the people of this time should decide to help them in getting there?

But whatever might happen, she had something she could say—“Once I slept in the Queen's Bedroom.”

She turned from the window and looked in wonder once-again-renewed at the huge four-poster bed with its hangings and counterpane of rose and white, at the mahogany bookcase-secretary that stood between the windows, the soft white carpeting.

It was selfish of her, she knew, to be feeling this when so many others of her world at this very moment stood homeless and bewildered, unsure of their welcome, perhaps wondering if they would be fed and where they might lay their heads this night, but even as she tried, she could not rebuke herself.

17

“Terry,” said the President, speaking into the phone, “this is Sam Henderson.”

“How good of you to call, Mr. President,” said Terrance Roberts, on the other end. “What can I do for you?”

The President chuckled. “You maybe could do a lot for me. I don't know if you would. You've heard what's happening?”

“Strange things,” said the labor leader. “A lot of speculation. Are you folks in Washington making any sense of it?”

“Some,” said the President. “It would seem the people are really from the future. They're facing catastrophe up there and the only way they could escape was to run back into time. We haven't got the full story yet.…”

“But, Mr. President, time travel?”

“I know. It doesn't sound possible. I haven't talked to any of our physicists, although I intend to do so, and I suspect they'll tell me it's impossible. But one of the people who came through a time tunnel swears to us it is. If there was any other way to explain it, I'd be more skeptical than I am. But I'm forced by circumstances to accept the idea, at least provisionally.”

“You mean all of them from up ahead are coming back? How many of them are there?”

“A couple of billion or so, I guess.”

“But, Mr. President, how will we take care of them?”

“Well, that's really, Terry, what I wanted to talk with you about. It seems they don't intend to stay here. They mean to go farther back in time—some twenty million years farther back in time. But they need help to do it. They need new time tunnels built and they'll need equipment to take back with them.…”

“We can't build time tunnels.”

“They can show us how.”

“It would cost a lot. Both in manpower and materials. Can they pay for it?”

“I don't know. I never thought to ask. I don't suppose they can. But it seems to me we have to do it. We can't let them stay on here. We have too many people as it is.”

“Somehow, Mr. President,” said Terrance Roberts, “I can sense what you want to ask me.”

The President laughed. “Not only you, Terry. The industrialists as well—everyone, in fact, but I have to know beforehand what kind of cooperation I can expect. I wonder if you'd mind coming down here so a few of us can talk about it.”

“Certainly, I could come down. Just let me know when you want me. Although I'm not just sure how much I can do for you. Let me ask around some, talk to some of the other boys. Exactly what do you have in mind?”

“I'm not entirely sure. That's something I'll need some help in working out. On the face of it, we can't do the kind of job that's called for under existing circumstances. The government can't assume alone the kind of costs that would be involved—I'm not thinking just of the tunnels. I have no idea so far what they would involve. But we would need to furnish the resources for an entire new civilization to start over once again and that would cost a lot of money. The taxpaying public would never stand for it. So we'll have to turn elsewhere for some help. Labor will have to help us, industry will have to help. We're facing a national emergency and it calls for some extraordinary measures. I don't even know how long we can feed all these people and.…”

“It's not only us,” said Roberts. “It's the rest of the world as well.”

“That's right. And they'll have to take some action, too. If there were time, we could put together some sort of international setup, but a thing like that takes time and we haven't got the time. To start with, at least, it has to be a national action.”

“Have you talked to any of the other nations?”

“Britain and Russia,” said the President. “Some of the others later. But not about this. Once we get an idea or two shaped up, we can see what some of the others think. Pool our ideas, trade them back and forth. But we can't take much time. Whatever we do we'll have to get started on almost immediately and work as fast as we can.”

“You are sure there are people from up ahead who can explain these tunnels? Well enough so that our scientists and engineers can understand the principles involved and the technology well enough so it can be done—hell, Mr. President, this is sheer insanity. American labor building time tunnels! This must be all a dream. Or a bad joke.”

“I'm afraid,” said the President, “it is neither. We're in a mess, Terry. I don't know how bad a mess. I imagine it will be a day or two before we have the full story and know what we really face. All I ask right now is that you think about it. Get a few ideas together. Figure out what you can do. I'll let you know about coming down. No use coming now. We have to get a few things sorted out before we can talk. I'll be in touch as soon as I know a little more about it.”

“Any time, Mr. President,” said Roberts. “You let me know and I'll be there.”

The President hung up and buzzed Kim. “Ask Steve to come in,” he said when she opened the door. He tilted back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Less than five hours ago, he thought, he'd stretched out for a nap, looking forward to a lazy Sunday afternoon. He didn't get many lazy afternoons and when they came he treasured them. He'd no more than shut his eyes than the world had fallen in on him. Christ, he asked himself, what am I to do? What can I do? What's the wise thing to do? Without half trying, a man could make a mistake or a number of mistakes and he sensed that in a situation such as this, he could not afford mistakes.

Steve Wilson came in the door. The President took his hands from behind his head and tilted forward in the chair.

“Have you had the press in, Steve?”

“No, sir, I haven't. They're pounding on the door, but I haven't let them in. I didn't have the guts to face them with the little that you gave me. I had been hoping.…”

“All right, then,” said the President. “Your hope paid off. You can give them all of it with two exceptions. You can't tell them why we have the guns planted. That still has to be simply normal precautions. And there must be no hint of Gale suggesting we go back in time with them.”

“I can't tell them, then, about why they're leaving the future. Nothing about the aliens?”

The President shook his head. “Simply say that this point has not been sufficiently clarified and needs more study before anything can be said of it.”

“They won't like it,” said Wilson, “but I guess that I can manage. How about the TV? I have alerted the networks you may want time this evening.”

“How about ten o'clock? That's a little late, I suppose, but.…”

“It would be all right.”

“Then you set it up. Tell them only ten or fifteen minutes or so.”

“I'll draft up something for you to look at.”

“You have your hands full, Steve. I'll ask Brad and Frank to put it together.”

“They'll want to know if you've talked with anyone.”

“I talked with Sterling in London and Menkov in Moscow. You can tell them Menkov has talked with the Russian equivalent of our Gale and has substantially the same story we got. London still hadn't been contacted by anyone when I spoke with Sterling. You can say I plan to talk with other national leaders before the day is out.”

“How about a cabinet meeting? The question is sure to come up.”

“I've been seeing Cabinet members off and on during the last few hours. This is the first time since it's started there has been no one in this office. And I'll be conferring with people on the Hill, of course. Anything else you can think of, Steve?”

“There'll probably be a lot of other questions. I'll manage to field them. You can't anticipate them all. This will satisfy them.”

“Steve, what did you think of Gale? Your own personal opinion. How do you size him up?”

“It's hard to know,” said Wilson. “No real impression, I'd think. Except that I can't figure out where he'd gain anything by not telling the truth, or at least the truth as he saw it. However you look at it, those people out there are in serious trouble and they look to us to help them. Maybe they have a thing or two to hide, maybe it's not exactly as Gale told it, but I think mostly it is. Hard as it may be to accept, I'm inclined to believe him.”

“I hope you're right,” said the President. “If we're wrong, they could make us awful fools.”

18

The chauffeured car went up the curving drive to the gracious mansion set well back from the street amid the flowers and trees. When it stopped before the portico, the chauffeur got out and opened the rear door. The old man fumbled out of it, groping with his cane. He petulantly struck aside the chauffeur's hand when he put it out to help.

“I still can manage to get out of a car alone,” he panted, finally disengaging himself from it and standing, albeit a little shakily and unsure of himself, upon the driveway. “You wait right here for me,” he said. “It may take a little while, but you wait right here for me.”

“Certainly, Senator,” said the driver. “Those stairs, sir—they look a little steep.”