Paycheck (2003) (12 page)

Kastner lapsed into silence. He picked at his sleeve nervously, watching the port.

Across the time map the cable arms moved, tracing a line from the present back into the past. Ryan studied the motion of the arms. ‘We’re reaching the latter part of the war. The final stages. I’m going to rephase the ship and bring it out of the time flow.’

‘Then we’ll be back in the universe again?’

‘Among objects. In a specific continuum.’

Ryan gripped the power switch. He took a deep breath. The first great test of the ship had passed. They had entered the time stream without accident. Could they leave it as easily? He opened the switch.

The ship leaped. Kastner staggered, catching hold of the wall support. Outside the port a gray sky twisted and wavered. Adjustments fell into place, leveling the ship in the air. Down below them Terra circled and tilted as the ship gained equilibrium.

Kastner hurried to the port to peer out. They were a few hundred feet above the surface, rushing parallel to the ground. Gray ash stretched out in all directions, broken by the occasional mounds of rubbish. Ruins of towns, buildings, walls. Wrecks of military equipment. Clouds of ash blew across the sky, darkening the sun.

‘Is the war still on?’ Kastner asked.

‘The claws still possess Terra. We should be able to see them.’

Ryan raised the time ship, increasing the scope of their view. Kastner scanned the ground. ‘What if they fire at us?’

‘We can always escape into time.’

‘They might capture the ship and use it to come to the present.’

‘I doubt it. At this stage in the war the claws were busy fighting among themselves.’

To their right ran a winding road, disappearing into the ash and reappearing again later on. Bomb craters gaped here and there, breaking the road up. Something was coming slowly along it.

‘There,’ Kastner said. ‘On the road. A column of some sort.’

Ryan maneuvered the ship. They hung above the road, the two of them peering out. The column was dark brown, a marching file making its way steadily along. Men, a column of men, marching silently through the landscape of ash.

Suddenly Kastner gasped. ‘They’re identical! All of them are the same!’

They were seeing a column of claws. Like lead toys, the robots marched along, tramping through the gray ash. Ryan caught his breath. He had expected such a sight, of course. There were only four types of claws. These he saw now had all been turned out in the same underground plant, from the same dies and stampers. Fifty or sixty robots, shaped like young men, marched calmly along. They moved very slowly. Each had only one leg.

‘They must have been fighting among themselves,’ Kastner murmured.

‘No. This type was made this way. The Wounded Soldier Type. Originally they were designed to trick human sentries to gain entrance into regular bunkers.’

It was weird, watching the silent column of men, identical men, each the same as the next, plodding along the road. Each soldier supported himself with a crutch. Even the crutches were identical. Kastner opened and closed his mouth in revulsion.

‘Not very pleasant, is it?’ Ryan said. ‘We’re lucky the human race got away to Luna.’

‘Didn’t any of these follow?’

‘A few, but by the time we had identified the four types and were ready for them.’ Ryan took hold of the power switch. ‘Let’s go on.’

‘Wait.’ Kastner raised his hand. ‘Something’s going to happen.’

To the right of the road a group of figures were slipping rapidly down the side of a rise, through the ash. Ryan let go of the power switch, watching. The figures were identical. Women. The women, in uniforms and boots, advanced quietly toward the column on the road.

‘Another variety,’ Kastner said.

Suddenly the column of soldiers halted. They scattered, hobbling awkwardly in all directions. Some of them fell, stumbling and dropping their crutches. The women rushed out on the road. They were slender and young, with dark hair and eyes. One of the Wounded Soldiers began to fire. A woman fumbled at her belt. She made a throwing motion.

‘What—’ Kastner muttered. There was a sudden flash. A cloud of white light rose from the center of the road, billowing in all directions.

‘Some kind of concussion bomb,’ Ryan said.

‘Maybe we better get out of here.’

Ryan threw the switch. The scene below them began to waver. Abruptly it faded. It winked out.

‘Thank God that’s over,’ Kastner said. ‘So that’s what the war was like.’

‘The second part. The major part. Claw against claw. It’s a good thing they started fighting with each other. Good for us, I mean.’

‘Where to now?’

‘We’ll make one more observation stop. During the early part of the war. Before claws came into use.’

‘And then Schonerman?’

Ryan set his jaw. ‘That’s right. One more stop and then Schonerman.’

Ryan adjusted the controls. The meters moved slightly. Across the map the cable arms traced their path. ‘It won’t be long,’ Ryan murmured. He gripped the switch, setting the relays in place. ‘This time we have to be more careful. There’ll be more war activity.’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t even—’

‘I want to see. This was man against man. The Soviet region against the United Nations. I’m curious to see what it was like.’

‘What if we’re spotted?’

‘We can get away quickly.’

Kastner said nothing. Ryan manipulated the controls. Time passed. At the edge of the board Ryan’s cigarette burned to an ash. At last he straightened up.

‘Here we go. Get set.’ He opened the switch.

Below them green and brown plains stretched out, pocked with bomb craters. Part of a city swept past. It was burning. Towering columns of smoke rose up, drifting into the sky. Along the roads black dots moved, vehicles and people streaming away.

‘A bombing,’ Kastner said. ‘Recent.’

The city fell behind. They were over open country. Military trucks rushed along. Most of the land was still intact. They could see a few farmers working the fields. The farmers dropped down as the time ship moved over them.

Ryan studied the sky. ‘Watch out.’

‘Air craft?’

‘I’m not sure where we are. I don’t know the location of the sides in this part of the war. We may be over UN territory, or Soviet territory.’ Ryan held on tight to the switch.

From the blue sky two dots appeared. The dots grew. Ryan watched them intently. Beside him Kastner gave a nervous grunt. ‘Ryan, we better—’

The dots separated. Ryan’s hand closed over the power switch. He yanked it closed. As the scene dissolved the dots swept past. Then there was nothing but grayness outside.

In their ears the roar of the two planes still echoed.

‘That was close,’ Kastner said.

‘Very. They didn’t waste any time.’

‘I hope you don’t want to stop any more.’

‘No. No more observation stops. The Project itself comes next. We’re close to Schonerman’s time area. I can begin to slow down the velocity of the ship. This is going to be critical.’

‘Critical?’

‘There are going to be problems getting to Schonerman. We must hit his continuum exactly, both in space as well as time. He may be guarded. In any case they won’t give us much time to explain who we are.’ Ryan tapped the time map. ‘And there’s always the chance the information given here is incorrect.’

‘How long before we rephase with a continuum? Schonerman’s continuum?’

Ryan looked at his wristwatch. ‘About five or ten minutes. Get ready to leave the ship. Part of this is going to be on foot.’

It was night. There was no sound, only unending silence. Kastner strained to hear, his ear against the hull of the ship. ‘Nothing.’

‘No. I don’t hear anything either.’ Carefully, Ryan unbolted the hatch, sliding the locks back. He pushed the hatch open, his gun gripped tight. He peered out into the darkness.

The air was fresh and cold. Full of smells of growing things. Trees and flowers. He took a deep breath. He could see nothing. It was pitch black. Far off, a long way off, a cricket chirruped.

‘Hear that?’ Ryan said.

‘What is it?’

‘A beetle.’ Ryan stepped gingerly down. The ground was soft underfoot. He was beginning to adjust to the darkness. Above him a few stars glinted. He could make out trees, a field of trees. And beyond the trees a high fence.

Kastner stepped down beside him. ‘What now?’

‘Keep your voice down.’ Ryan indicated the fence. ‘We’re going that way. Some kind of building.’

They crossed the field to the fence. At the fence Ryan aimed his gun, setting the charge at minimum. The fence charred and sank, the wire glowed red.

Ryan and Kastner stepped over the fence. The side of the building rose, concrete and iron. Ryan nodded to Kastner. ‘We’ll have to move quickly. And low.’

He crouched, taking a breath. Then he ran, bent over, Kastner beside him. They crossed the ground to the building. A window loomed up in front of them. Then a door. Ryan threw his weight against the door.

The door opened. Ryan fell inside, staggering. He caught a quick glimpse of startled faces, men leaping to their feet.

Ryan fired, sweeping the interior of the room with his gun. Flame rushed out, crackling around him. Kastner fired past his shoulder. Shapes moved in the flame, dim outlines falling and rolling.

The flames died. Ryan advanced, stepping over charred heaps on the floor. A barracks. Bunks, remains of a table. An overturned lamp and radio.

By the rays of the lamp Ryan studied a battle map pinned on the wall. He traced the map with his finger, deep in thought.

‘Are we far?’ Kastner asked, standing by the door with his gun ready.

‘No. Only a few miles.’

‘How do we get there?’

‘We’ll move the time ship. It’s safer. We’re lucky. It might have been on the other side of the world.’

‘Will there be many guards?’

‘I’ll tell you the facts when we get there.’ Ryan moved to the door. ‘Come on. Someone may have seen us.’

Kastner grabbed up a handful of newspapers from the remains of the table. ‘I’ll bring these. Maybe they’ll tell us something.’

‘Good idea.’

*

Ryan set the ship down in a hollow between two hills. He spread the newspapers out, studying them intently. ‘We’re earlier than I thought. By a few months. Assuming these are new.’ He fingered the newsprint. ‘Not turned yellow. Probably only a day or so old.’

‘What is the date?’

‘Autumn, 2030. September 21.’

Kastner peered out the port. ‘The sun is going to be coming up soon. The sky is beginning to turn gray.’

‘We’ll have to work fast.’

‘I’m a little uncertain. What am I supposed to do?’

‘Schonerman is in a small village beyond this hill. We’re in the United States. In Kansas. This area is surrounded by troops, a circle of pillboxes and dugouts. We’re inside the periphery. Schonerman is virtually unknown at this continuum. His research has never been published. At this time he’s working as part of a large Government research project.’

‘Then he’s not especially protected.’

‘Only later on, when his work has been turned over to the Government will he be protected day and night. Kept in an underground laboratory and never let up to the surface. The Government’s most valuable research worker. But right now—’

‘How will we know him?’

Ryan handed Kastner a sheaf of photographs. ‘This is Schonerman. All the pictures that survived up to our own time.’

Kastner studied the pictures. Schonerman was a small man with horn-rimmed glasses. He smiled feebly at the camera, a thin nervous man with a prominent forehead. His hands were slender, the fingers long and tapered. In one photograph he sat at his desk, a pipe beside him, his thin chest covered by a sleeveless wool sweater. In another he sat with his legs crossed, a tabby cat in his lap, a mug of beer in front of him. An old German enamel mug with hunting scenes and Gothic letters.

‘So that’s the man who invented the claws. Or did the research work.’

‘That’s the man who worked out the principles for the first workable artificial brain.’

‘Did he know they were going to use his work to make the claws?’

‘Not at first. According to reports, Schonerman first learned about it only when the initial batch of claws was released. The United Nations were losing the war. The Soviets gained an original advantage, due to their opening surprise attacks. The claws were hailed as a triumph of Western development. For a time they seemed to have turned the tide of the war.’

‘And then—’

‘And then the claws began to manufacture their own varieties and attack Soviets and Westerners alike. The only humans that survived were those at the UN base on Luna. A few dozen million.’

‘It was a good thing the claws finally turned on each other.’

‘Schonerman saw the whole development of his work to the last stages. They say he became greatly embittered.’