Untouched By Human Hands Part 7

"Because I can't allow a paradox to occur." Masrin didn't even wonder how he knew this. His normal egotism saved him from wondering how the idea had originated in his mind.

"Look," he said, "my suitcase lands in the past. In it I've got an electric shaver, some pants with zippers, a plastic hairbrush, a nylon s.h.i.+rt, and a dozen or so books-some of them published as late as 1951. I've even got Ettison's 'Western Ways' in there, a text on Western civilization from 1490 to the present day.

"The contents of that case could give these savages the impetus to change their own history. And suppose some of that stuff got into the hands of Europeans, after they discovered America? How would that affect the present?"

"I don't know," Kay said. "And you don't either."

"Of course I know," Masrin said. It was all crystal-clear. He was amazed that she wasn't able to follow it logically.

"Look at it this way," Masrin said. "Minutiae make history. The present is made up of a tremendous number of infinitesimal factors, which shaped and molded the past. If you add another factor to the past, you're bound to get another result in the present. But the present is as it is, unchangeable. So we have a paradox. And there can't be any paradox!"

"Why can't there?" Kay asked.

Masrin frowned. For a bright girl, she was following him very poorly. "Just believe me," he said. "Paradox isn't allowed in a logical universe." Allowed by whom? He had the answer.

"The way I see it," Masrin said, "there must be a regulating principle in the universe. All our natural laws are expressions of it. This principle can't stand paradox, because . . . because-" He knew that the answer had to do with suppressing the fundamental chaos, but he didn't know why.

"Anyhow, this principle can't stand paradox."

"Where did you get that idea?" Kay asked. She had never heard Jack talk that way before.

"I've had these ideas for a long time," Masrin said, and believed it. "There was just never any reason to talk about it. Anyhow, I'm going back for my suitcase."

He walked out to the landing, followed by Kay. "Sorry I can't bring you any souvenirs," Masrin said cheerfully. "Unfortunately, that would result in a paradox also. Everything in the past has had a part in shaping the present. Remove something, and it's like removing one unknown from an equation. You wouldn't get the same result." He started down the stairs.

On the eighth step, he disappeared again.

He was back in prehistoric America. The savages were gathered around the suitcase, only a few feet from him. They hadn't opened it yet, Masrin noticed thankfully. Of course, the suitcase itself was a pretty paradoxical article. But its appearance-and his-would probably be swallowed up in myth and legend. Time had a certain amount of flexibility.

Looking at them, Masrin couldn't decide if they were forerunners of Indians, or a separate sub-race which didn't survive. He wondered if they thought he was an enemy, or a garden-variety evil spirit.

Masrin darted forward, shoved two of them aside, and grabbed his suitcase. He ran back, circling the little hill, and stopped.

He was still in the past.

Where in chaos was that hole in time, Masrin wondered, not noticing the strangeness of his oath. The savages were coming after him now, starting around the little hill. Masrin almost had the answer, then lost it as an arrow sped past him. He sprinted, trying to keep the hill between himself and the Indians. His long legs pumped, and a club bounced behind him.

Where was that hole in time? What if it had moved? Perspiration poured from his face as he ran. A club grazed his arm, and he twisted around the side of the hill, looking wildly for shelter.

He met three squat savages, coming after him.

Masrin fell to the ground as they swung their clubs, and they tripped over his body. Others were coming now, and he jumped to his feet.

Up! The thought struck him suddenly, cutting through his fear. Up!

He charged the hill, certain that he would never reach the top alive.

And he was back in the boarding house, still holding the suitcase.

"Are you hurt, darling?" Kay put her arms around him. "What happened?"

Masrin had only one rational thought. He couldn't remember any prehistoric tribe that carved their clubs as elaborately as these savages. It was almost a unique art form, and he wished he could get one of the clubs to a museum.

Then he looked at the mauve walls wildly, expecting to see the savages come bounding out of them. Or perhaps there were little men in his suitcase. He fought for control. The thinking portion of his mind told him not to be alarmed; flaws in time were possible, and he had become wedged, impacted in one. Everything else followed logically. All he had to do- But another part of his mind wasn't interested in logic. It had been staring blankly at the impossibility of the whole thing, uninfluenced by any rational arguments. That part knew an impossibility when it saw one, and said so.

Masrin screamed and fainted.

TO: CENTER.

Office 41 ATTN: a.s.st. Controller Miglese FROM: Contractor Carienomen SUB J: ATTALA Metagalaxy Dear Sir: I consider your att.i.tude unfair. True, I have utilized some new ideas in my approach to this particular metagalaxy. I have allowed myself the lat.i.tude of artistry, never thinking I would be beset by the howls of a static, reactionary CENTER.

Believe me, I am as interested as you in our great job-that of suppressing the fundamental chaos. But in doing this, we must not sacrifice our values.

Enclosed is a statement of defense concerning my use of the red s.h.i.+ft, and another statement of the advantages gained by using a small percentage of unstable atoms for lighting and energy purposes.

As to the time-flaw, that was merely a small error in duration-flow, and has nothing to do with the fabric of s.p.a.ce, which is, I a.s.sure you, of first-rate quality.

There is, as you pointed out, an individual impacted in the flaw, which makes the job of repair slightly more difficult. I have been in contact with him, indirectly of course, and have succeeded in giving him a limited understanding of his role.

If he doesn't disturb the flaw too much by time-traveling, I should be able to sew it up with little difficulty. I don't know if this procedure is possible, though. My rapport with him is quite shaky, and he seems to have a number of strong influences around him, counseling him to move.

I could perform an extraction of course, and ultimately I may have to do just that. For that matter, if the thing gets out of hand I may be forced to extract the entire planet. I hope not, since that would necessitate clearing that entire portion of s.p.a.ce, where there are also local observers. This, in turn, might necessitate rebuilding an entire galaxy.

However, I hope to have the problem settled by the time I next communicate with you.

The warp in the metagalactic center was caused by some workmen leaving a disposal unit open. It has been closed.

The phenomena such as walking mountains, et cetera, are being handled in the usual way. Payment is still due on my work.

Respectfully,

Carienomen

Enclosed: 1 statement, 5541 pages, Red s.h.i.+ft 1 statement, 7689 pages, Unstable Atoms TO: Construction Headquarters 334132, Extension 12 ATTN: Contractor Carienomen FROM: a.s.st. Controller Miglese SUBJ: ATTALA Metagalaxy Carienomen: You will be paid after you can show me a logical, decently constructed job. I'll read your statements when and if I have time. Take care of the flaw-impaction before it tears a hole in the fabric of s.p.a.ce.

Miglese Masrin recovered his nerve in half an hour. Kay put a compress on a purple bruise on his arm. Masrin started pacing the room. Once again, he was in complete possession of his faculties. Ideas started to come.

"The past is down," he said, half to Kay, half to himself.

"I don't mean really 'down'; but when I move in that apparent direction, I step through the hole in time. It's a case of s.h.i.+fted conjoined dimensionality."

"What does that mean?" Kay asked, staring wide-eyed at her husband.

"Just take my word for it," Masrin said, "I can't go down." He couldn't explain it to her any better. There weren't words to fit the concepts.

"Can you go up?" Kay asked, completely confused.

"I don't know. I suppose, if I went up, I'd go into the future."

"Oh, I can't stand it," Kay said. "What's wrong with you? How will you get out of here? How will you get down that haunted staircase?"

"Are you people still there?" Mr. Harf's voice croaked from outside. Masrin walked over and opened the door.

"I think we're going to stay for a while," he said to the landlord.

"You're not," Harf said. "I've already rented this room again." Happy Boy Harf was small and bony, with a narrow skull and lips as thin as a spider's thread. He stalked into the room, looking around for signs of damage to his property. One of Mr. Harf's little idiosyncrasies was his belief that the nicest people were capable of the worst crimes.

"When are the people coming?" Masrin asked.

"This afternoon. And I want you out before they get here."

"Couldn't we make some arrangement?" Masrin asked. The impossibility of the situation struck him. He couldn't go downstairs. If Harf forced him out, he would have to go to prehistoric New York, where he was sure his return was eagerly awaited.

And there was the over-all problem of paradox!

"I'm sick," Kay said in a stifled little voice. "I can't leave yet."

"What are you sick from? I'll call an ambulance if you're sick," Harf said, looking suspiciously around the room for any signs of bubonic plague.

"I'd gladly pay you double the rent if you'd let us stay a little longer," Masrin said.

Harf scratched his head, and stared at Masrin. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and said, "Where's the money?"

Masrin realized that he had about ten dollars left, and his train tickets. He and Kay were going to ask for an advance as soon as they reached the college.

"Broke," Harf said. "I thought you had a job at some school?"

"He does," Kay said staunchly.

"Then why don't you go there and get out of my place?" Harf asked.

The Masrins were silent. Harf glared at them.

"Very suspicious. Get out before noon, or I'll call a cop."

"Hold it," Masrin said. "We've paid the rent for today. The room's ours until twelve midnight."

Harf stared at them. He wiped his nose again, thoughtfully.

"Don't try staying one minute over," he said, stamping out of the room.

As soon as Harf was gone, Kay hurried over and closed the door. "Honey," she said, "why don't you call up some scientists here in New York and tell them what's happened? I'm sure they'd arrange something, until . . . how long will we have to stay here?"

"Until the flaw's repaired," Masrin said. "But we can't tell anyone; especially, we can't tell any scientists."

"Why not?" Kay asked.

"Look, the important thing, as I told you, is to avoid a paradox. That means I have to keep my hands off the past, and the future. Right?"

"If you say so," Kay said.

"We call in a team of scientists, and what happens? Naturally, they're skeptical. They want to see me do it. So I do it. Immediately, they bring in a few of their colleagues. They watch me disappear. Understand, all this time there's no proof that I've gone into the past. All they know is, if I walk downstairs, I disappear.

"Photographers are called in, to make sure I'm not hypnotizing the scientists. Then they demand proof. They want me to bring back a scalp, or one of those carved clubs. The newspapers get hold of it. It's inevitable that somewhere along the line I produce a paradox. And do you know what happens then?"

"No, and you don't either."

"I do," Masrin said firmly. "Once a paradox is caused, the agent-the man who caused it-me-disappears. For good. And it goes down in the books as another unsolved mystery. That way, the paradox is resolved in its easiest way-by getting rid of the paradoxical element."

"If you think you're in danger, then of course we won't call in any scientists," Kay said. "Although I wish I knew what you were driving at. I don't understand anything you've said." She went to the window and looked out. There was New York, and beyond it, somewhere, was Iowa, where they should be going. She looked at her watch. They had already missed the train.

"Phone the college," Masrin said. "Tell them I'll be delayed a few days."

"Will it be a few days?" Kay asked. "How will you ever get out?"

"Oh, the hole in time isn't permanent," Masrin said confidently. "It'll heal-if I don't go sticking myself in it."

"But we can only stay here until midnight. What happens then?"

"I don't know," Masrin said. "We can only hope it'll be fixed by then."

TO: CENTER.

Office 41 ATTN: a.s.st. Controller Miglese FROM: Contractor Carienomen SUBJ: MORSTT Metagalaxy Dear Sir: Herein, enclosed, is my bid for work on the new metagalaxy in the region coded MORSTT. If you have heard any discussions in art circles recently, I think that you will see that my use of unstable atoms in ATTALA Metagalaxy has been proclaimed "the first great advance in creative engineering since the invention of variable time-flow." See the enclosed reviews.

My artistry has stirred many favorable comments.

Most of the inconsistencies-natural inconsistencies, let me remind you-in ATTALA Metagalaxy have been corrected. I am still working with the man impacted in the time flaw. He is proving quite co-operative; at least, as cooperative as he can be, with the various influences around him.

To date, I have coalesced the edges of the flaw, and am allowing them to harden. I hope the individual remains immobile, since I really don't like to extract anyone or anything. After all, each person, each planet, each star system, no matter how minute, has an integral part in my metagalactic scheme.

Artistically, at any rate.

Your inspection is welcomed again. Please note the galactic configurations around the metagalactic center. They are a dream of beauty you will wish to carry with you always.

Please consider my bid for the MORSTT Metagalaxy project in light of my past achievements.

Payment is still due on ATTALA Metagalaxy.

Respectfully,