He rattled the knob. When he found the door locked, he let out an adult
oath. It was Sunday, of course. Dr. Minton wouldn't be in on Sunday.
And Ron had never known his home address.
He returned to the elevator and went to the ground floor. There was an
information booth, and the woman behind the glass was a motherly type.
Her eyes softened at his approach.
"Dr. Minton?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "Why, I guess I do have his
address. But who sent you, young man?"
"Nobody," Ron said. "I was supposed to see him, that's all."
She kept her eyes on his face while her hand leafed through the
directory on her desk. "Of course, Dr. Minton doesn't use his office
anymore. He gave up his practice here almost a year ago. He was put on
an important government project. Dr. Jurgens, his assistant, handles
all his patients now. Would you like Dr. Jurgens' number?"
"No," Ron said. "Please. I must see Dr. Minton."
"All right. But I don't know if you can see him without an appointment.
He's staying at the Government Medical Center in Washington." She
smiled. "That's a long way for a little boy...."
"Thank you," Ron said curtly, and walked off.
His mind was racing, tripping over his thoughts. A year ago! But
that was impossible! It seemed only days since he had returned from
Andromeda, after a five-year absence. One of his first visits had been
to Dr. Minton's office--not just to renew an old friendship, but to
allow the physician to examine him thoroughly for traces of the varied
and deadly diseases that man was subject to on alien worlds. Could it
have been a whole year ago? Where had he spent the time between? And
what had happened to give him the body of a twelve-year-old child?
He fought off the questions. He had no time for the puzzle now; there
weren't enough pieces to make sense. He had only one thought: to find
the doctor.
But that was a major problem all by itself. Washington was a good hour
away by fast copter service. And in this big, suspicious city, it
wouldn't be as easy to obtain free transport to his destination. He
could do nothing--not without money.
When he thought of money, he thought of Adrian.
Adrian....
Of course! Adrian would know what to do next. Adrian always seemed to
know what to do. Her father's money had opened every conceivable door
in this city, and she herself had often suggested that it open doors
for him. Doors to the executive heights of the Space Transport Company.
Doors to the plush offices in the sky tower, doors to the select circle
of cigar-smoking men who controlled the transportation empire of
which Ron had been only a spare part. But Ron Carver had been young
(he thought now, sourly) and his head had been stuffed with ideals. He
detested the groundworms who stayed home and counted the profits of
space travel. He wanted the stars.
So he had become a pilot, one of the best in her father's fleet. She
had sworn at him for his decision, and turned away from his embrace.
But on the night of their parting, the night before the dawn ascent
towards the speck of light that was Andromeda, she had softened, and
cried in his arms.
He thought now of that moment, and his small fingers rolled into fists.
_Adrian_, he thought. _I must go to her...._
The doorman was magnificent and imposing in his braided uniform, but
his eyes were cold when he saw Ron.
"What do you want, son?"
"I--I have a message for Miss Walder. It's very important."
"Okay, son. You just give your message to me."
"No! I'm supposed to deliver it in person!"
The doorman grunted. "Wait a minute." He put in a call to the penthouse
apartment. The idea of a twelve-year-old visitor must have amused the
girl. He brought back an invitation for Ron to enter her home.
Ron stepped off the elevator, and his stomach was churning. What would
she say when she saw him? Would she believe his story? Would she help
him find an answer?
Adrian came to the door herself, and the amusement was evident on her
long, smoothly-planed face. Her auburn hair was swept back in Grecian
ringlets, and the gown she wore was blindingly white. "Come in, dear,"
she said, smiling.
The effect of looking up at the girl, now a sort of giantess in his
eyes, made Ron dizzy. He swayed against the doorframe, and her cool
fingers steadied him.
"You poor boy," she crooned. "Come inside."
She half-carried him to the downy sofa. For a full minute, he was too
choked to speak. She offered him a glass of milk, but he asked for
water. She brought some to him, and he coughed.
"Now," the girl said, spreading the wide skirt over her knees, "just
what was it you wanted to tell me?"
"I--"
"Come now." She smiled endearingly, and brushed back the hair from his
forehead. "You must have had something on your mind."
"Yes," he said at last, his voice strained. "Yes, Adrian. I--I'm
Ron...."
"What?"
"I'm Ron Carver! No, listen, I'm not mad. It's really me, Ron!"
She had stood up, shocked. Then she laughed.
"Adrian, listen to me! Something happened to me when I returned from
Andromeda. I don't know what. I found myself at a boy's home near
Spring Harbor."
"Now, really! This is the craziest--"
"I know it's crazy!" He wiped his forehead in an adult gesture. "But
it's true, Adrian. I've been--changed somehow. I don't know why. But
it's something to do with Dr. Minton."
She sat down again, limply. Then she studied his face, and for a
moment, Ron thought she was seriously considering his predicament.
But then the laugh started again, the same slightly off-key laugh Ron
remembered.
"Adrian, you must believe me! I can prove it! Just listen to me for a
moment!"
She stopped the laugh and grew serious, her eyes caught by the
intensity of his own. "All right," she whispered. "I'll listen...."
"My name is Ronald Carver. I'm thirty years old. I'm a Captain of the
Walder Space Transport Company. I have been in the Andromeda system for
the past five years. I returned to Earth--" he stopped, and swallowed
hard. "I don't know exactly when. I went to see Dr. Minton, an old
friend and a physician. He examined me, and then--"
She stared, fascinated.
"And then I was a child! A child of twelve, in a home for boys. I ran
away from there this morning, and came looking for Dr. Minton. I've
been told that he's in Washington. I must get to him. I must find out
what's happened to me--"
She was shaking her head, slowly, eyes still fixed on his face. He got
up from the sofa and came towards her. His small hand reached out and
patted the fine bones of hers.
"You must remember," he said. "You must believe me, Adrian. Remember
our last night together? Right here? We stood by that window, and you
cried in my arms. And then we...."
She tore her hand away, as if burned. Then she stood up, looking
horrified.
"Get out of here!" she shrieked. "You little monster!"
"Adrian--" Only now did he realize what it must have been like to her,
to hear those words from his childish lips, to feel the touch of his
tiny hand as he spoke of the night they....
"Get out!" she cried, covering her face. "Get out before I call the
police!"
"Adrian!"
She screamed, piercingly. This time, the sound brought heavy foot-side
clumping outside her front door. It was thrown open, and a uniformed
man with bouncing epaulets was striding towards him.
"No," Ron said. "You must listen--"
"Get him out of here!"
"Sure, Miss Walder!"
He struggled in the big man's grip, while the girl turned her head
aside. He managed to squirm from his hold, and broke for the door. The
houseman started after him, cursing. Ron's hand went out and grasped
a solid metal ash tray. He threw it without thought or aim, but it
crashed squarely into the man's face and sent him thudding to the
carpet.
Adrian screamed again. He looked at her once more, imploringly. Then he
ran for the door, just before she reached for the house telephone.
In the elevator cage, he punched the button marked roof, and fell
against the wall, panting.
On the rooftop, he galloped across the metallic surface towards the
ledge. He peered over it, and his heart sank when he saw that his
stratagem had deceived no one. Police were entering the building, and
some were pointing fingers in his direction. With a sigh, he dropped to
his knees and rested his head against the cool aluminum surface.
"It's no use," he said aloud.
Then he heard the copter overhead.
He looked up, thinking it was a police vehicle. But then he saw the
outmoded design of its fuselage, and the young face at the controls.
It hovered over his head, and a rope ladder unfolded. The youthful
pilot said: "Quick! Climb in!"
He blinked at the voice, unbelievingly. Then he scrambled to his feet,
and grabbed the dangling ladder. He barely made it into the copter; the
pilot had to help.
"Who are you?" he said, gasping.