Justin shook his head, said to Ortine, "So your strain became
inextricably intermixed with ours. But how does that account for your
playing Satan?"
"My dear Justin!" Ortine spread his hands wide. "Consider my position.
What had originally been a most impersonal mission had become a matter
of the deepest personal concern. Confidentially, I have never since--or
at least within the past few hundred generations--been able to
materialize on Earth itself."
"Why not?" Justin asked him.
"Because of the risk," replied Ortine. "Suppose, as a man, I were
killed accidentally or murdered. Suppose, as a woman, I conceived
again--I can assure you my desires in such matters are perhaps even
stronger than those of your species.
"Each such accident--and in the early days I had my share--is
weakening. I have only so much life force and no means of replenishing
that which is spent--not in this universe. Hence I have had to indulge
in what you might term economy of forces."
"Playing the devil...." Justin reminded him.
"Dammit, don't interrupt. I am quite capable of image
projections--hallucinations to you. These I have indulged in frequently
when I thought such appearances needful or considered them diverting.
In some of them, for various reasons, I have assumed some remarkable
shapes."
"How about these folk you can influence directly?"
Ortine regarded Justin irritably, said, "Surely you know enough of
Mendel's Law to be aware that dominant strains will pop up again and
again, even in a recessive capacity. When mine recurs, as it does in
every generation, I am able to exercise over them more control than I
can over others."
"How much control can you exercise over someone else--say over me?"
Justin asked Ortine quietly.
"I think you can answer that for yourself," said Ortine.
Justine thought it out quickly. If Ortine could actually control him,
save when he was unconscious or on the rim of sleep, there would have
been no need to bring him to Belvoir at all.
Ortine met his gaze frankly--and Justin, from his long experience of
judging living beings, some of whom were perhaps as devious as Ortine
himself, decided the other was lying--or at any rate revealing but an
expedient fraction of the truth.
Why, he wondered, didn't Ortine simply kill Deborah or himself. The
answer to that was obvious. If he could have done so he certainly would
have--especially after Justin and Deborah had balluxed up his whole
scheme.
Which meant that he couldn't, for all the miracle of his ship and his
polymorphism and his ability to span time at will. Justin wondered why
his host was so helpless, decided he might as well accept the fact.
"All right," he said, "so it's a stalemate--correct?"
"I wouldn't be too sure," said Ortine. His eyes turned toward Deborah
but he spoke to Justin. "The matter of inbred belief is or can be
a vital factor. I believe you have heard, in your own enlightened
era"--there was a trace of irony in the phrase--"of primitive Haitians
and Africans who have succumbed to voodoo for no other reason than
that they believed in it and thought someone had put a death-curse on
them."
"I have heard of them," said Justin. "But I've been thinking of another
factor in our first discussion. We discussed your so-called madmen--but
what of sane men?"
"What of them?" Ortine looked troubled.
"Let's look at some of the most successful," Justin offered. "For
instance, Ghengis Khan. Now there was a sane man--he fought only for
self preservation. And each time he won a victory he was forced to
preserve it and himself by winning more. So he destroyed a continent
and caused the deaths of, say, fifty million innocent people. He left
marks on the world that are still with us--the deserts of Central Asia,
the fear-psychology of Russia under Czar or Commissar. Do you call him
insane?"
Ortine made an impatient gesture, said, "Of course he was sane. It was
his time and environment, not himself, that were at fault."
"You're rationalizing," said Justin. "I could name some other sane men
of prominence--Timur the Great, Attila, Metternich, Stalin. Find me any
saner men."
"Who are these strangers of whom ye speak?" asked Deborah.
The men ignored her. Ortine said, "In the case of each there were
extenuating circumstances...."
"And," said Justin, "I can name you some sane men who, for one reason
or another, failed--which can only be called a blessing to mankind.
Rokh-ud-Din, the last emir of the Assassins, for instance--or Lucullus
or Louis Fourteenth or Bismarck or Robespierre. Now certainly no saner,
less imaginative, more honorable man than Robespierre ever lived. Yet
he virtually destroyed a great revolution by his very sanity."
For the first time Ortine looked seriously annoyed. He said, "On what
range of experience do you base your judgment of what is beneficial for
humanity or not, my dear Justin? This is ridiculous--why should I argue
with you?"
"Because you've got to persuade me to do your will or your entire
scheme will collapse," Justin told him calmly.
"You're risking the person you love most," said Ortine.
"Not yet," replied Justin. "And here's something else that has me
stopped--if you're so anxious to save our planet from its so-called
ruin, why are you taking the very steps that will lead to its speedy
destruction?"
"Consider," said Ortine, regaining his self control, "if my plan is
followed your planet will suffer a certain retrogression, of course.
Now think what such a retrogression will mean--it will mean no A-bomb,
no airplanes, none of the modern destructive machinery. In that way
your planet will be aeons from self-destruction."
"You'll force us back to the caves!" cried Justin.
"Not quite." Ortine smiled. "Not quite, my dear Justin. Why not enjoy
a good dinner before we resume our little chat?"
X
There were a number of small changes in the clothing of the diners
in Ortine's incredible restaurant. The eighteenth-century lady had
removed her towering headdress to reveal a closely shaved round pate,
the white-haired woman from medieval England had managed to don a
shift--and of course Dr. Phillips had his trousers. But most of the
diners appeared the same.
There was a general air of festivity about the repast. Apparently the
bulk of the visitors had expected no return to the paradise of Belvoir
and were resolved to enjoy its luxuries to the hilt. But Justin and
Deborah said little, barely toyed with their food.
"Darling Charles," said the girl softly, "what d'ye think is going to
happen now?"
"I don't know," said Justin honestly. He captured her near hand, added,
"Dear Debby, will you go with me no matter what?"
She answered him with her eyes.
When they returned to their cubicle, after a brief walk in the garden,
Ortine was awaiting them. He said, "Well?"
Justin studied him. Finally he said, "Ortine, we've made up our minds.
We're going back--together. But this time we're going back into _my_
era."
Deborah gave vent to a little cry of joy. Ortine flicked ashes on
the floor. "You still don't seem to understand, my dear Justin," he
said. "I _can't_ allow that. I might, of course, be willing to make
some concessions. I could arrange things for Deborah so that she will
succeed without having actually to give herself to James Otis.
"I might even be able to rig some sort of happiness for you,
Justin--say a liaison with Corinne Forrester." Reading Justin's
expression correctly he added quickly, "No, of course, that would not
do now. But I could influence some very likely facsimile of your young
lady here and perhaps get you clear of your present unhappy domestic
arrangements."
"That I don't doubt," said Justin. "But what guarantee can you give us
that you will?" And, as Ortine colored slightly, "We go together or we
don't go at all. In either case you're cooked."
"An odd expression to use toward me," said Ortine thoughtfully, "I
assure you I can make things extremely unpleasant for Deborah."
"I don't doubt that either," Justin told him. "But to what avail?"
He hesitated, then plunged into a statement he had been considering
through dinner. "Ortine, I don't think you give a damn what happens to
our world. I don't believe you give a damn about our sun going nova."
Ortine said silkily, "Very well, Justin, what _do_ you believe--where I
am concerned?"
"I think you'd have taken off from here like a shot if it weren't for
your becoming inextricably entangled with the human race through your
multiple-Eve disaster. I have no idea of the effect of plural birth
upon a polymorphous being but I have a hunch it is serious. I think
you've got to destroy all of us to get away. Otherwise none of this
makes sense."
"Then why shouldn't I simply stay on?" Ortine inquired caustically.
"I'll tell you why," replied Justin. "You've got to get away because
we're beginning to learn too much. Sooner or later the existence of
this ship of yours is going to be discovered--_you_ are going to be
discovered. And when that happens, you're in the wrong galaxy and your
physical weapons will be as useless as your psychological weapons are
useless against an educated mind and spirit."
Ortine said, "You have reared quite a structure upon a few involuntary
hints, a smidgin of knowledge and a long train of intuition." He smiled
ruefully, added, "I might as well confess you are remarkably close to
the truth--not a bullseye but close."
"Thank you for that," said Justin ironically.
"You needn't feel too proud of yourself," Ortine told him. "I suppose
the indications are there for anyone to read who is able to. You're
right about my mission. Mine is merely an experimental flight to crash
the barrier between your space and mine--incidentally, I believe, the
first to do so successfully.
"Unfortunately my ship emerged into this galaxy on a collision course
for a planet of your system, shattering it into what you know as the
asteroids. As a result of the damage it caused I was forced to moor to
Earth in an effort to effect repairs.
"I could not make such repairs alone--hence I was forced to develop the
dominant species to a point where its members could actually do some of
the heavy work. The construction needed, while minuscule in comparison
to my ship, was immense in relation to men--immense and generally
senseless."
"The Tower of Babel," mused Justin, "and the pyramids...."
"And the basalt water city of Ponape and scores of other structures
whose size has always seemed to exceed the needs of their purpose,"
Ortine affirmed. "Call them jacks if you wish--that was their primary
function. At any rate, thanks to the labor of humans, my ship has at
last been readied for its return flight."
"And if you should return successfully what will happen?"
Ortine shrugged. "I belong to an aggressive race," he said simply. "We
have already conquered one universe. Need I say more?"
"And your communications are ineffective?" Justin asked.
"Yes, thanks to the crash. But don't let your hopes rise too high,
Justin. When my plans are complete human science and knowledge will be
irreparably set back."
"So you _are_ afraid of what we're beginning to learn."
"Afraid? That is an emotional word but I suppose in a parallel way I
am." Ortine paused, added, "Your species is aggressive too. As I have
already told you, we are very similar."
"Why not simply cut and run and then come back in force and destroy
us?" countered Justin.
"Time is much less simple than you people seem to think," said Ortine.
"The few months it would require us to organize such an expedition in
my universe would be the equivalent of several centuries in this one.
And by that time, if you have not destroyed yourselves, you may know as
much as we."
"So you plan to destroy us," said Justin.
Ortine replied, "You should know better than that, Justin. Why should I
trouble to bring all of you here, why should I have spent the time and
labor I have on this experiment--when I could blast your planet out of
hand?"
Justin studied him for a moment, then said, "I can think of a pair
of possible reasons, Ortine. One--your extra-space weapons might not
be effective in this universe. Two--from some of the things you have
dropped about polymorphous conception and birth, you may not be able to
dis-ally yourself from humanity so easily."
Ortine studied Justin in turn, then said, "You're wrong about my
weapons--they have long since been adjusted to operate in your space.
But I _am_ saddled with you--_all_ of you. I am like a man with a
diseased appendix--save that in this instance my appendix numbers three
to four billion."
"You mean you are actually part of us--and we of you?" asked Justin,
appalled at the thought.
"Unfortunately, yes--in what you would call a physiological sense but
one which is painfully physical to me," Ortine replied. "Now consider
my plight in terms of your own appendicitis. Such major disasters as
battles and natural catastrophes are like recurring attacks. An atomic
war might well rupture my very fabric.
"Naturally deaths in smaller quantities or lesser disasters do not
noticeably affect me--but the destruction for which your world may be
heading is more than I can risk. Therefore I have had to take steps,
first to obviate the possibility of atomic war, secondly to lower the
population. These are the twin purposes toward which I have conducted
my experiment. If I were to wipe out humanity, as I easily could, I
should myself die."
"I think I understand," Justin told him, frowning. "By removing human
imagination--you call it madness--you plan not only to reduce human
population to a nubbin but to rig things so that the remnants will
eliminate themselves in a manner practically painless to yourself. Am I
right?"
Ortine hesitated, then said, "Consider again the man with
appendicitis. If it bursts and he has no proper medical care he will
die. But if it withers away, then he is free of the diseased organ."
"And for that purpose you expect me to go through with your
assignment?" asked Justin. "_You're_ the one who's mad!"
"I think not," said Ortine, rising. "I happen to know how all-powerful
the peculiar form of insanity you humans call love can be. For
instance...."
He extended a hand casually toward Deborah. At once a wall of flame
sprang up around the cot on which she was sitting. She screamed and
shrank back, cowering and covering her eyes. Justin sprang toward her,
stood in the midst of the fire.
* * * * *
"Come," he told her but she refused to believe the fire was illusory.
She screamed again, said, "Ye'r a de'il too, Charles!"
"_Stop_ it!" cried Justin to Ortine.
"Certainly." At once the flames vanished. Deborah looked at Charles
piteously. "Charles, he's going to burn us alive. He _is_ Satan!"
"You want to go back to your own time alone, my dear?" Ortine had
strolled casually to the other side of the bed.
Deborah gave him a long look, replied, "Nay, I'll take my chances wi'
ye'r hellfire, Master Devil."
"I can ensure that the importunities of Master Otis will meet with no
success," offered Ortine. "I can see that you wed a fine young man of
family with a mansion near North Square."
"Ye cannot give me Charles," Deborah said fiercely.
Ortine lifted a sardonic eyebrow at Justin. He said, "I'll give you a
few minutes alone with her, my dear fellow. For her own sake and yours
I hope you can talk some sense into her."
He strolled out and Deborah flung herself on Charles, sobbing her fear.
He said when she had calmed a little, "Dear Deborah, you've _got_ to
understand. Ortine's fire is real only if you believe it. You saw me
standing in it unsinged."
"I know!" she sobbed. "My eyes saw and my poor brain understood but the
rest of me couldn't believe."
"You can thank your preachers for that," said Justin. "They've been
playing right into the hands of Ortine all along. Now that you've
seen I can't be hurt you've got to believe yourself. Otherwise I'm
afraid...."
"Else what?" she asked tremulously.
"Otherwise there's no hope for us, honey. If we can't stand together
against him we might as well both be dead. It will mean the death of
the world as we know it." He looked close into the depths of her blue
eyes. "Do you think you're strong enough--with me at your side?"
"I--don't--know," she replied. "Darling Charles, can't ye see how much
I _want_ to be strong? But can't ye understand how little it will
avail us if, after I promise, I fail?"
He sighed, automatically patted his pockets for a cigarette.
The spider! It was still there. Justin pulled it out, looked at it.
When Corinne Forrester had questioned him about its uses other than as
a waterproofer, he had not given her an answer.
Deborah touched the odd little sprayer with a forefinger, said, "I
found this in ye'r nightdress when I put it away. What is it, Charles?"
He hesitated, made up his mind, said, "It's an invention from my own
time, honey. It shelters against cold--and against heat. Providence
must be with us."
"Against heat? How does it work, Charles?"
"Here--I'll show you." He pressed a tiny button, spraying some of the
transparent plastic across the palm of his left hand.
"'Tis as magical as Master Ortine's devices," cried the girl.
"Perhaps," replied Justin. "Now stand very still, honey--I'm going to
give you a coat of this stuff. Then you'll have nothing to fear from
Ortine's flame illusions."
"Ye'r a very wonderful man, Charles," she told him proudly.
"We'll soon know," he replied, then got busy and sprayed her with it
all over, not sparing even her hair and lashes.
Finished, he returned the spider to his pocket, said, "Now let him do
his worst. Are ye--are you _sure_ you want to come back with me, honey?
There's going to be one hell of a row over you."
"I'll be with _ye_," she said simply.
Ortine returned. He bowed to his guests, said, "Well, I hope this is
our last session."
"We've reached an agreement," Justin told him.
"An intelligent agreement?"
"Quite. We're going back together--to my time."
Ortine's smile was not pleasant. He said, "This may sound a trifle
trite but don't say I didn't warn you." Then, to Deborah, "For your
information this may be quite painful while it lasts--or while _you_
last."
"Don't be afraid, honey," Justin told her.
"I'm not." The countenance she lifted to his was radiantly assured.
"Not any more."
Ortine hesitated, his hand half outstretched, and said, "I truly hate
to disillusion you, Justin."
"We'll see how your tricks prevail against love," said Justin.
"_Love!_" The word seemed to infuriate Ortine. He gestured at them and
the room became a cubicle of fire. For a fraction of a second Justin
flinched involuntarily and during that time he could actually feel the
heat. Then, once more in control of himself, he stood quietly amid
flames that neither seared nor burned.
Deborah locked up at him and smiled, the blaze flickering against her
face. Her hand found his, pressed it tightly, and she smiled.
The flames vanished. A weary Ortine shook his head in bafflement.
He said, "All right, you two--you win. I'll do anything you wish.
Anything to get you out of here."