It was some time before I remembered to kiss my bride. When I did
remember, the twentieth century landscape spread out around me and I
had the distinct impression that the world had stirred beneath my feet,
had hesitated, for a fraction of a second, on its gargantuan journey
around the sun.
The voice of the Marriage Administrator was deafening, his face purple.
"There will be no osculating in the chapels! The chapels will be
cleared immediately for the next applicants. There will be no--"
Neither of us had known that the screen was a transmitter as well as a
receiver, and we moved apart guiltily. A shower of plastic rice poured
down on us as we stepped through the doorway. We ran laughing down the
corridor, picked up our marriage contract at the vestibule window, and
stepped out into the Cathedral court.
The afternoon sun was bright in the coppery sky but the shadow of the
pulpit platform lay cool and dark across the eastern flagstones. We
walked across the congregation area to the vaulted entrance that led
to the street. I hailed a double rickshaw and we rode to the YWCA and
picked up Julia's things. Then we headed for the hives.
I'd called in the converters, of course. They'd done their work rapidly
and well. I noticed the changes the moment I opened the door.
There were two chairs in the parlorette now, both smaller than the
old one had been, but charming in their identical design. A table had
replaced the table-ette in the kitchenette and an extra stool now stood
by the enlarged cupboard. Through the bedroomette doorway I could see
one of the corners of the new double bed.
I stepped into the parlorette, waited for Julia to follow me. When she
did not, I returned to the passageway. She was standing there quietly,
her eyes downcast, her hands folded at the waist of her new blue dress.
It struck me abruptly that she was the most beautiful thing I had ever
seen and simultaneously it dawned on me why she hadn't followed me in.
The custom was so old--so absurd. It was almost a part of folklore,
a tattered remnant of the early years of the twentieth century when
newlyweds had tried to insure by fetish the conjugal permanence that
was now enforced by law.
And yet, in a way, it was beautiful.
I stood for a moment, memorizing Julia's pale fresh loveliness. Then I
lifted her into my arms and carried her across the threshold.
* * * * *
Guarding interred Cadillacs was far from being an ideal way to spend
my wedding night, but after the way things had been going I hadn't
dared to ask the Sexton for an extra night off. I donned my sentry
suit in the darkness, moving quietly so as not to awaken Julia, then I
descended to the street and hailed a rickshaw. It was past 2300 and I
had to ride all the way to the cemetery in order to get there on time.
After posting the other sentries, I relieved the 1600-2400 senior
sentry in the ganglion tower. He had nothing of interest to report and
I sent him on his way. Standing beneath the big rotating searchlight,
watching him descend the ladder, I envied him his night's freedom.
The searchlight threw a moving swath of radiance over artificial hill
and dale, shone like an ephemeral sun on arborvitae patterns, blazed
on the green curtains of lombardy stands. I cursed those noncommittal
curtains for the thousandth time, deplored my inability to do anything
about them.
The size of the cemetery precluded any practical patrol of the grounds.
All I could do was hope that I, or one of the other sentries in the
strategically located towers, would spot any unusual movement, hear any
unusual sound.
I touched the cold barrel of the tower blaster. My fingers were eager
for the feel of the trigger, my eyes hungry for the spiderweb of the
sight. I had never brought down a ghoul 'copter--for the simple reason
that I had never had a good shot at one. But I was looking forward to
the experience.
It was a cool night for June. The wind had shifted to the northeast,
washing the haze of the western dust storms from the atmosphere, and
the stars stood out, bold and clear. Mars was no longer an inflamed
red eye but a glowing pinpoint of pure orange. _Deucalionis Regio_,
however, was as much of an enigma as ever.
An hour passed. The sentries phoned in their reports and I recorded
them on the blotter.
0100--all quiet on the Cadillac Front.
My thoughts shifted to Julia, and the magic of the night deepened
around me. I pictured her sleeping, her hair dark against the pillow,
the delicate crescents of her lashes accentuating the whiteness of her
cheeks; her supple body curved in relaxed grace beneath the sheets. I
listened to the soft sound of her breathing--
Soft? No, not soft. My Julia breathed loudly. Moreover, she breathed
with a regularity hard to associate with a human being--a regularity
reminiscent of a machine. Specifically, a malfunctioning machine, and
more specifically yet, the turning of a borer shaft in a well-oiled,
but worn, sleeve.
Alert now, I tried to locate the sound. At first it seemed to be all
around me, a part of the night air itself, but I finally narrowed it
down to the northeast section of the cemetery. Tower 11's territory.
I called 11. Kester's lean young face came into focus on the
telescreen. "You should be hearing a borer," I said. "Unless you're
deaf. _Do_ you hear one?"
Kester's face seemed strained. "Yes. I--I think so."
"Then why didn't you report it? I can hear the damn thing way over
here!"
"I--I was going to," Kester said. "I wanted to make sure."
"Make sure! How sure do you have to be? Now listen. You stay by your
blaster and keep your eyes and your ears open. I'm coming over to see
if I can locate the 'copter. If I do locate it I'll throw a flare under
it, and if they try to rise, you burn them. If they don't try to
rise and we can take them alive, so much the better. I'd like to see
a real live ghoul. But otherwise, you burn them! If we lose another
car-corpse, we'll all be out on our ears."
"All right," Kester said. The screen went blank.
Descending the tower ladder, I wondered what kind of a guard detail I
had. Last night, Betz's negligence had cost me a Cadillac. Tonight,
Kester's negligence had very nearly cost me another--and might yet, if
I wasn't careful.
I couldn't understand it. They were both newly-married men (Kester
had applied for a wife the same day Betz had) and, since women were
forbidden to work after marrying, both of them certainly needed the
better wages Cadillac paid. Why should they deliberately jeopardize
their status?
Maybe Betz really hadn't seen or heard anything until it was too late.
Maybe Kester really hadn't been sure that the sound he was hearing was
the turning of a borer.
But I was sure, and the closer I got to Tower 11, the surer I became. I
timed my approach with the swath of the searchlight, made certain there
was plenty of concealment available whenever it passed my way. That
wasn't hard to do, with all the lombardies, the arborvitae, the hills,
dales and gardens that infested the place. But for once the ancient
automakers' passion for landscaping was benefitting me instead of the
ghouls.
Tower 11 was a tripodal skeleton stabbing into the cadaverous face of
the rising moon. It loomed higher and higher above me as I neared the
source of the sound. I swore silently at Kester. He was either stone
deaf and blind as a bat, or a deliberate traitor to the Cadillac cause.
The exhuming was taking place practically under his nose.
I crept beneath the hem of a lombardy curtain and lay in the deep
shadows. I could see the cargo 'copter clearly now. It squatted over a
grave mound less than twenty feet from my hiding place, its rotating
borer protruding from its open belly like an enormous stinger. The
grave mound was already perforated with a score of holes, spaced so
that when the car-casket was drawn upward, the hard-packed earth would
crumble and fall apart.
The borer was now probing for the eye of the casket. Even as I watched
I heard the grind of steel against gun metal, saw the borer reverse its
spiral and rise swiftly into the hold of the 'copter. A bright light
stabbed down into the new hole, was quickly extinguished. I thought
I heard the sound of a breath being expelled in relief, but I wasn't
sure. Shortly thereafter, I heard the almost inaudible hum of a winch
motor, saw the hook dangling on the end of the steel cable just before
it disappeared into the hole.
I pulled a flare from my belt, broke the seal. My aim was excellent.
The flare landed in the center of the grave mound, went off the minute
it hit the ground. The light was blinding. The whole northeast section
of the cemetery became as bright as noonday, the interior of the
'copter leaped into dazzling detail. I could see the dungaree-clad
ghouls standing on the edge of the open hatch. I could see the winch
operator's face----
It was a striking face. It was a twentieth century landscape. The smear
of grease on one of the pink cheeks had no effect whatsoever on the
white cloud. The blue eyes, blinded by the unexpected light, flowed
their blue and beautiful way along the green lip of the nonpareil
meadow. The forested hills were more exquisite than ever--
But the solitary bird was gone, and the sky was empty.
And then, suddenly, I could not see anything at all. The ground
erupted as the casket broke free, and a shower of dirt and broken
clods engulfed me. I staggered to my feet, shielding my eyes with my
arms, gasping for breath. By the time I regained my vision the 'copter
was high above the lombardies, the exhumed car-casket swinging wildly
beneath the still-opened hatch.
_Don't shoot!_ my mind screamed to Kester. _Don't shoot!_ But the words
were locked in my throat and I could not utter them. I could only stand
there helplessly, waiting for the disintegrating beam to lance out from
the tower, waiting for the 'copter and the ghouls--and my conniving
Julia--to become bright embers in the night sky.
But I needn't have worried. Kester missed by a mile.
* * * * *
I turned him in. What else could I do? I'd spent nine years languishing
in lonely towers through long and lonely nights, faithfully guarding
the buried art of the automakers. I couldn't throw those years away out
of foolish loyalty to a man as obviously indifferent to the cause as
Kester was.
But I didn't feel very proud of myself, standing there in the Cadillac
Sexton's office the next morning, with Kester, his face cold and
expressionless, standing beside me. I didn't feel proud at all. And the
Sexton's praise of my last night's action only turned my stomach.
I was cheating and I knew it. I should have turned in Julia too.
But I couldn't do that. Before I took any action, I had to see her,
question her myself. There had to be a reasonable explanation for her
complicity. There _had_ to be!
After the Sexton dismissed me I waited outside for Kester. He didn't
seem like a chastened man when he stepped into the morning sunlight. If
anything, he seemed relieved--if not actually happy.
He would have walked right by me without a word, but I touched his
shoulder and he paused. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't want to turn you
in but I had no choice. But the Sexton let you go?"
He nodded.
"I'm sorry," I said again.
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he said: "Bartlett, you're a
fool," and turned and walked away.