Children of Tomorrow Read online

  When they had gone, Bud telepathed to his father: Why don't you follow them, and tell me afterwards what they did?

  The invisible being there a few feet above the ground, in effect, shook his head ... Not yet, he replied. Please be aware: the crisis is here. My only purpose with you is to protect you until a decision is made about your espionage mission on this planet. Except for protecting you, my principal task is to keep a watch on Lane. He is deemed to be a key figure, and his movements significant, So, wait here while I go to the Lane home and watch who comes on the next subsurface - they run every fifteen minutes — but sometimes it takes two and even three elevator loads to bring up all the passengers. I have to make sure that Lane is or is not on one of those loads. That takes about three minutes. And I usually allow a minute before and one after to take account of possible variations or emergency situations in the monorail schedule. It will therefore be five minutes before I can be over at the bar, and observe the developments there.

  Be sure to go as soon as you can, said his son. Because Tm going to have to live with that man these next few days of the crisis period. Is that not so?

  It is so. And I shall do my best, replied the father.

  Since in his invisible state he was only a projected image, he made the leap (as always) at the speed of thought. He remained his intended five minutes . . . still no Lane . . . and then he switched himself over to the street comer, near which was located the cocktail lounge that was a Len Jaeger hangout.

  Though the time had seemed long to the unseen alien, he found that the boys had arrived at the bar only a minute before. And that Mike Sutter, with big Albert trailing him, had just gone into the building to ask Jaeger to step outside and talk to the outfit. He saw that all the boys were tense, but they were also determined. It was one of the quieter boys who must have voiced what was in everybody’s mind. He said, ‘I hope Mr Jaeger isn’t giving Mike a hard time.’ Unfortunately, that was exactly what was happening.

  Mike, on entering, had found himself in a vestibule which, as he walked slowly forward trying to accustom his eyes to the dim light, opened into a typical bar situation with an electronic synthesiser and its craftsman at the far end. The music from the synthesiser was loud, and had everybody’s attention. Mike was thus able to walk the fifteen or so feet to the table where Jaeger was sitting with another bar habitue.

  Stationing himself about five feet from the table, Mike waited until the music stopped. Then he called out, ‘Mr Jaeger.’ His was a youth’s voice but with a man’s courage in it. More impor-i tant, the words were spoken in a peremptory tone. What happened, then, was in a way too bad. Jaeger was taken by surprise, and he did a degrading thing. Somehow, the tone must have regressed him. He clearly took it for granted that he was in the presence of a superior, for he jerked in his chair, tried to get up, was in too awkward a position to do so, slumped back. But his body was at a kind of attention; as he uttered the words that ruined him, ‘Yes, sir. What is it, sir?’

  At that moment... his eyes focused on Mike. And now, when it was too late, he realised that this was the person who had addressed him. Confusion. Understanding. Rage! Such a great rage that his hulking body stiffened again; and froze there while Mike said, ‘Mr Jaeger, the Red Cat outfit is outside, and respectfully requests that you come out and let us talk to you about your son, Bud.’

  The words were visibly received as a new thought. Jaeger’s bloodshot blue eyes narrowed — and shifted - a little. An anxiety reaction. But there was too much anger in the man, too much mortification, for fear to make much headway. Yet the two emotions produced a temporary stability. Like a transuranian element with a half-life of a few seconds, this rough-mannered male human at last made his effort to deal with what had begun as a disgracing startled reaction.

  And so, he leaned back in his chair like someone who had got his cool in hand. And he said above the music, which had started again: ‘Are you talking to me - kid?’ The question was in its entirety meant to lull. Because, having uttered it, he launched himself out of the chair at Mike.

  Perhaps, if it had been brighter in the dim lit room, and faces thereby more clearly visible, Jaeger would have noticed that Mike was no ordinary boy. Would have noticed that he was being watched from narrowed, alert eyes - and noticed that strong, wiry. body. But it was not light enough. Or very possibly Len Jaeger was not, and never would be, able to appreciate the hopelessness of such an attack. Whatever the reason, he now experienced his second disaster.

  When he got to where Mike had been, Mike wasn’t there. Worse, the man’s awkward body was so geared to make the seizure that when there was nothing in that space to hold onto - he lost his balance. Fell. Fell with such force that if he had been liquid, he would have splashed all over the room. As it was, he sort of — splattered. And it was not funny. It was a badly hurt Jaeger who fumbled dazedly to his feet, and in a condition of total berserkness charged after Mike. The youth had retreated to the vestibule entrance. Now, seeing the insane creature that was lumbering toward him, he gestured at Albert to open the door to the outside, Albert, who had been waiting right there, promptly did so.

  It was not Jaeger’s day, evening, or night. For him it was already a quarter to midnight, in fact. And at this late, late moment, he had a memory lapse. There was a sign beside the door, which read, STEP UP. Undoubtedly, he had seen, and obeyed, that admonition on his previous visits to this cocktail lounge. Yet, now, he neither saw the sign, nor remembered that it was there. O why?

  Disaster ... He tripped. He landed on his hands and knees on the concrete of the sidewalk beyond. It was a crash landing of a kind that can shake a man for days. Coming on top of what had already happened, it was too much. Twice, he tried to get up. He couldn’t. He sank down on the sidewalk, and lay there in a condition of partial unconsciousness.

  A small crowd was gathering. The outfitters who had waited outside, we re bewildered. Mike hastened to Lee, explained quickly what had happened, and said, ‘We’d better call an ambulance.’

  At this point, Mr Laurieux and Bud arrived; and it was the man who phoned for the ambulance. In such a specialised city as Spaceport, with its great concentration of mechanical and energy assists to an enormous space program, the rescue services were tensely alert. The ambulance was there in four minutes.

  Jaeger was beginning to stir, but not enough. He was expertly put onto a stretcher, loaded into the ambulance, and carried off into that temporary oblivion know as an emergency hospital. As these events progressed, Arthur Laurieux questioned people in the bar; and since no one had as yet considered the implications of the event, those who had witnessed the debacle sort of grinned as individuals tend to when someone slips on ice and nearly spills out his brains, and they told what had happened - and laughed at the moments of greatest calamity.

  When he had the facts, the man took Lee and Mike with him; and the three went to one of the authorised substations of 'Outfit Central, and filed a report. In the report, Laurieux recommended that a charge of intent to harm be prepared against Jaeger - since his flying attack at Mike was clearly intended to capture with the obvious purpose of striking and hurting.

  Such details required time. So it was not until after one a.m. that Mr Arthur Laurieux arrived back in the bedroom, undressed, and crawled back into his bed. His wife stirred as he turned out the light. ‘What happened?’ she asked, from the darkness across from him.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ answered her husband, ‘But I can sum the consequences up in one word: nothing.’

  ‘Two hours of nothing? she said incredulously.

  It’s nothing,’ he said. But the word had a slight snore in it. Which sound increased until it was very definitely something.

  At about the same time, elsewhere in the city, Captain Peter Sennes entered his underground apartment. As he came in, he saw that the lights were still on. And that the lieutenant with whom he shared the accommodation was in bed but still awake and reading. Sennes relaxed down on h
is own twin bed, and began to undress. His companion finally looked up and said, ‘As you probably observed, after I got your phone call. I charged out of here at top speed,

  ‘Thanks,’ said Sennes.

  ‘I gather/ said the other, 'you made it with your little jabber, and brought her here for the crashing finale.’

  The older man stretched, yawned contentedly, and then said with a faint smile, ‘I made it with one of my little jabbers.’

  The friend considered that for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head admiringly, and commented, ‘I really don’t know how you do it. These female jabbers have mechanical hearts and a rule book in their hands, and besides if the outfit ever catch you jabber hunting - that’s the end, sir.’

  Sennes was unconcerned. ‘I hit the jackpot tonight. Beautiful Dolores. As full of hate as a panther, and as soft as a kitten. As for Susan — ’

  'I was wondering what happened to her.’

  Sennes was calm. ‘I gave her the good-bye routine tonight. I think she’ll come through for me, too.’ He disappeared into the bathroom with his clothes, and came out again in his pajamas.

  The younger officer greeted him: “Why don’t you marry Susan?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Sennes rudely, without turning.

  His friend urged, You could do worse that be married to the daughter of the great man.’

  The captain climbed lazily into bed before answering. He said then, Tm an active flight officer, Harry. I’m hoping to go along on some of the great expeditions. It’s too hard on a woman to be left behind. They either go on the town - which I wouldn’t care about - or they endure being in the nest. Thank you, no.’

  ‘Susan is a cute kid,’ said Harry.

  Sennes reached over and turned out the light beside his own bed. ‘They all are,’ he said casually.

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  .

  The long, streamlined, tanklike structure was waiting for John Lane and Desmond Reid as they stepped out at Level One of the Space Control building. The two men entered silently through a steel vestibule. The interior was somewhat reminiscent of the inside of a submarine: space was cramped, machinery jammed in everywhere. Lane evidentiy knew where to go, however. He led Reid through a tiny door near the entrance. The two men found themselves in a somewhat more spacious chamber, where a keen-eyed man sat in a chair before what looked like a control panel. Opposite the panel, there were built-in seats. And into one of these, wide enough for two persons, Lane and Reid settled themselves.

  Behind them, from nearby, came the sound of the outer door wheezing shut. The impression was of powerful pressure valves now holding the door closed. As this noise subsided, the big truck began to move. It was soon rolling briskly along - somewhere. The direction was not obvious to people inside a machine that had no windows.

  The man in front of the panel spoke first. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ^permit me to introduce myself. I am Dr Yanlo, physicist in charge, this evening — I should say a.m., for it is now about 1.35 a.m. - of this complex equipment that you see here. There are several assistants hidden back there somewhere’ - he waved vaguely toward the rear - ‘and two drivers up front. Though we shall, of course, take Mr Reid to his home first, our real job is to escort Commander Lane to his residence, and to maintain a continuous watch over him and his house until the present crisis is past.’

  The man continued, ‘You are seated in what we call the observation room. And if you will look at your left you will see there, not a viewplate as such, but a screen that shows energy symbols.’

  For Lane, it was familiar equipment. On the screen was the faint blue sheen of what seemed to be a large plate of opaque glass. The glass was inset in a black metal frame. The whole instrument seemed to go back toward the rear of the heavily armored vehicle. What they could see was apparently merely an outjut of that large machine.

  As it was, it spread generously across half the width and height of the interior . . . Across the screen there rippled tiny particles of light. They came in patterns and waves, but these did not move in a single direction — this was no modified TV screen with a one-way scanning system. Up, down, sideways, diagonally, simultaneously left and right - that was the movement ... But they were patterns, nonetheless.

  The scientist’s voice went on, ‘The screen could show a picture. However, at the moment we are reflecting random energy forma from the region of space beyond Pluto’s orbit approximately 4,000 million miles, or six light-hours, away. It is the area where our scouting vessel was destroyed the other day. And, of course, normally that distance is too great for us to detect radio waves, or TV, or other organised energies, unless they have been modified specifically for, and aimed at, our receivers. Which,’ he concluded briskly, ‘we may speculate would not be part of the intent of an alien group, if such a group is, in fact, maneuvering out there.’ Lane’s face had a thoughtful expression on it, as he listened to the explanation. Desmond Reid nodded a few times. Both men remained seated - and it was Reid who now spoke. He indicated the room, and his gesture also seemed to include the entire machine, and he said, ‘When did all this get organised, and why? I must admit I was surprised when we came out, and you guided me in here.’

  Lane was apologetic. 'I couldn’t explain in front of the others.1 ‘It’s all right,’ Reid reassured him. ‘I’m not complaining. But I can’t see it being a real protection. If Spaceport is vulnerable from’ - he glanced up at the ceiling - ‘from out there somewhere, it’ s hard to imagine that some truck standing outside your vulnerable house would be any protection in an emergency.’

  The younger man’s stem face relaxed into a faint smile. 1 see you’ve got the same wrong idea of what protection consists of, as all these other people. To someone who joins the fleet, there comes a gradual, horrified realisation that one can spend an entire lifetime doing routine maintenance and routine cruising. Meanwhile, our existence makes people -feel safer. Even those of us who are aboard units of the fleet feel more secure because they exist. Yet, what happened when we met the enemy out there. They attacked. Three of our units, which were unfortunately closest to the point of contact, were destroyed in those first few seconds. The rest of us, on my orders, withdrew. This meant that the fleet as a whole remained out of their range. Since we didn’t wish to fight, we tried communication. There was no reply. Next we sent units forward to discharge their atomic torpedoes at the enemy - only they were not loaded. We merely wanted to see if we could penetrate their defenses. The torpedoes could not get near their big ships, but several of the smaller ones were hit. Our conclusions were that the large enemy ships carried equipment that could put out energy that would confuse the target-locating devices on the torpedoes, but that the smaller vessels did not carry such defensive equipment. It gave us a picture of their limitations, and so we felt better. Tonight, when I sleep with the knowledge that this armored tank is sitting outside my house with its antennae pointed up in the direction of the enemy, I shall feel better, also.’

  ‘Yes, but - ’ protested Reid, ‘if the enemy is really watching, it will warn him that you are suspicious. And it will certainly cause talk in the neighborhood.’

  “Wel-l-ll,’ acknowledged Lane, and his smile was suddenly grimmer, ‘I should tell you that I have kept the real information to the last. You may recall that you accompanied me home on my first night back?’

  The older man sighed. ‘I remember it only too well. You were in a very determined mood in connection with Susan. I’ve been intending to ask you how that came out.’

  Lane said curtly, “We’!! discuss Susan some other time. What was interesting was what happened in connection with you and me the next morning.’

  Reid blinked in his astonishment. ‘Me?�
� he said.

  ‘Both of us came to the Space Control, and both of us stepped in to the Identification booth - you did, didn’t you?’

  “Yes, of course,’ the other man acknowledged. ‘After more than twenty years, I’ve often though it was unnecessary. But I did it each day just as if nobody had ever seen me before.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lane. ‘You will be fascinated to know that on that first morning after my return the computer of course accepted our identity, but reported your and my face, neck and hands - our visible skin - emitted energy of a wavelength hitherto not associated with a human being. Nobody really thought too much about that, but the next morning only I emitted that energy and not you. Again, this morning, my skin - but not yours - gave off this energy. Today, accordingly, these facts were brought to my attention, and - ’

  The older man was staring at him, shocked. ‘John, are you serious? Are you implying that somebody is watching your house?’

  Lane shrugged. ‘That’s what it seems to add up to, doesn’t it. Because the only time that you came over was that first night. Apparently, the intensity fades in about twenty hours, Now, there’s one thing - ’

  He was interrupted. 'Gentlemen, look! It was the scientist, in a hushed voice. ‘A picture!’

  Lane was fast in his response. His head twisted-leftward. And so, he actually saw the picture for the few seconds that it showed, His impression was of an unhuman face visible against a background of the interior of a highly mechanised room. Tall, gleam-’ ing panels of metal. Dials, knobs, plates, screens -

  Then it was gone.

  Lane spoke quickly, 'Can the computer reconstruct that as a still picture?’

  The scientist did not reply - verbally. His hand slapped a lever up above his head. There was a grating sound, then a lurch. The heavy machine came to a grinding stop. A long pause. And it began to back up. Once more it came to a stop. The man busied himself anxiously with dials and switches on the panel in front of him.