"I'm sorry. It's nothing new, only the information is classified
top-secret in our world; and evidently in yours, too. It has to be
withheld from hype-trainees, otherwise they might deliberately flunk
their course. We're running pilot classes here on our track, too. We
have to keep them filled."
Lance was stunned. He hardly knew what he should say or do next.
Finally, he put forth a faltering question: "Is there any way I can get
back to Home Base? _My_ home base?"
All three officers in the room shook their heads in unison.
"You might as well look for a pebble in the beach," said Nordsen. He
elucidated: "As a matter of fact, this _is_ Home Base for you. The
differences between one track and another are not usually too great; the
resemblances are many. Sometimes even, the returned pilot accommodates
himself to the new time-track without suspecting in the slightest what's
happened to him."
"And in those cases, you seldom bother to enlighten him, I suppose."
"Naturally not. Security frowns on it."
"But in my case, you couldn't cover up."
"Your case manifests a much more serious slippage. Your path,
evidently, warped to a track several million or billion worlds further
over than anybody from your world had previously experienced.
Consequently, your luck has really been unfortunate. You've materialized
out of hyperspace into a universe where someone you apparently knew
quite closely simply was never born."
[Illustration]
"But Carolyn did exist before ... where I was? I'm not dreaming."
"No. Both our worlds are equally real."
* * * * *
Lance, though he felt the truth slowly and inexorably sink in, still
could not quite grasp all its implications. He turned his numbed face to
the other two officers in the room. Colonel Sagen and Major Carmody
inclined their heads.
For one despairing moment, Lance felt almost like hurling himself
through the window. Then, he straightened up. His mouth compressed into
a thin line. "If I must face the facts, I must. But," his tone edged off
into irony, "it sure isn't easy. You'll have to give me time."
Colonel Nordsen stood up, held out his hand. "I'm sorry, major, believe
me. This is a hard blow to take and I wouldn't care to be on the
receiving end, myself. But you'll adjust. If you like, I'll recommend
you for convalescent leave. You understand, of course," the psychiatrist
went on, "that we expect you to keep tight-lipped. Our hype-classes are
still too small. We need a lot of sharp men, and they have to be
volunteers. Right, Colonel Sagen?"
"Right."
Lance dropped the proffered hand. "I get it. Let the word get around how
hyperspace messes you up, all your bright young jets will bug out on it.
That's your main worry, isn't it? Not what happens to me."
"Frankly, yes," Nordsen acknowledged, without blinking. "But the Space
Service is also concerned about individuals. Don't worry now, major.
We'll look after you."
"Don't bother!" An uncontrolled bitterness crept into Lance's reply.
"Far as I'm concerned, the Space Service can go to hell. What reason
have I got to stay in it? You've conned me out of all that meant
anything in my life."
Nobody said a word.
Lance rose to his feet, unsteadily. His sardonic glance swept over them.
"I suppose it's back to the guardhouse for me now, huh? Well, I won't be
sorry to go. I'll find better company. And I refuse your bribe of
special leave-time."
Colonel Nordsen seemed unaffected. "You're making a mistake," he said,
calmly.
"Am I?"
"Major, we're offering you a chance to get adjusted and assimilated.
Take it or leave it. We can hold you in the brig until you see reason.
But you're a good man. We need you."
"For what? More flights through that hyperspace muck?"
"If you can pass our mental stability tests, yes."
"And if not?"
"You'll be grounded."
Lance made a sudden decision.
"I want to go up right now."
"What?"
* * * * *
"You heard me. I want to go up in the _Cosmos XII_ right now, tests or
no tests. Ground me--and I'll never have a chance again. Don't you think
I'm hep to that?"
"We'll see that you're not grounded," broke in Colonel Sagen, from
behind his desk.
But Lance didn't believe him.
"Don't try to kid me, colonel," he snapped out. "You write me out flight
orders for the _Cosmos XII_, or I'll blab everything I know. You can't
hang me, you can't tear my tongue out--and I know I'll bust out of your
guardhouse one way or another! You'll see! And then, how will you fill
up your precious training classes? Then, how will you get new chumps to
pilot your ships to the stars? The stars! Ha, ha! That's the biggest
joke of all!"
Colonel Sagen began to splutter. Lance, watching him carefully, decided
there wasn't much resemblance between the old boy and the fine Colonel
Sagen he'd known in his own world. Maybe it'd been having the softening
influence of normal family life and a growing daughter that had made old
Hard-Head human.
"You'll never get away with this," Sagen warned. "We're three against
one."
"Won't I?" Lance's hand darted inside his shirt. "Maybe this'll equalize
us." He brought out the pistol he'd taken off the captain in the
guardhouse. Sagen, Nordsen, and Carmody backed off from it.
"The _Cosmos XII_ is still two-thirds fueled," Lance said. "And
well-stocked on provisions. Besides, I'm a light eater in hyperspace--as
who isn't? I intend to take that ship out again, and you're going to
help me, gentlemen."
Lance flicked off the safety and waved the gun back and forth, to
demonstrate what he meant.
* * * * *
It worked.
Lance got his ship, using Colonel Sagen as both shield and go-between
after he had first tied up the other two officers in a closet. He kept a
close watch, of course, for the SSP's and their gas pellets; but
apparently an alarm was not raised soon enough for the base police to
hurl into action.
After having the colonel authorize a space clearance for him by
contacting Traffic directly over the ship's mike, Lance finally released
him.
The colonel scooted down the ladder. Lance gave him time to clear the
pad, but little more; then he went to work pushing buttons on the manual
desk. The _Cosmos XII_ blasted loose from her moorings and soared aloft
into space.
At five thousand miles above Earth's surface, Lance re-checked his
tapes. Groombridge 34 was the only possible destination the autopilot
could take him to. Somehow, he didn't mind taking one more look at the
double-star system. He cut into hyperspace as quickly as he dared; then
sat back and relaxed. That is, as much as any man could in hype.
When he reached Groombridge 34, all Lance did was pop out into normal
space long enough to assure himself he had reached the proper checkpoint
for turning back. The tapes were in good order, and there had been no
hitches. Grunting, he threw in the switch-over and once more found
himself plowing through hyperspace. Only this time, he was homeward
bound.
If he were lucky, just real lucky, he told himself, there might be a
Carolyn Sagen alive and waiting for him in whatever time-track he wound
up in this time.
At last, he materialized again in the Solar System. Or _some_ Solar
System, anyhow. As far as he could tell, all the planets looked
unchanged. It was just four weeks to the day, since his escape from
World Two. This would be World Three. He had been gone eight weeks and
two days from World One.
Lance cut the ecliptic at a different angle than before, and Terra was
farther along in her journey around Sol. He needed a new landing
trajectory. His eye swept his panel, to see if anything had been preset.
There was no green flashing on the deck, where there should have been
green.
Oh, well. There could have been cruisers waiting in space, too, to pot
him with ship-to-ship missiles. He'd taken one chance, he could take
another.
Lance opened a switch and called Base Traffic's frequency. "This is the
_Cosmos XII_, Major Lance Cooper piloting. Just broke out of hype. Can
you read me?"
He repeated the message for several minutes.
Finally, he got an answer. A startled voice whipped back at him through
crackling static: "_Cosmos XII_, this is Traffic. Who did you say you
were up there?"
* * * * *
Lance hardly knew whether he felt more like laughing or crying. He was
fairly close to home, anyhow. They did have space traffic here. And
being pretty much of an optimist, he also decided that it was a
time-track where he had been known. Only being so long overdue, he had
probably been given up for lost.
On this premise, he could visualize all the consternation and excitement
now in progress downstairs; the personnel were likely falling all over
each other in the stampede to pass the word around.
"I'm Major Lance Cooper," he announced over the mike.
There was a long pause.
"Repeat that, please."
"This is Lance Cooper, Major, Space Service. I'm up here in the _Cosmos
XII_."
"B-b-but you can't be."
"Who says I can't. Say, what's the matter with you monkeys? I want to
come in."
Another voice took over on the channel. "The lieutenant's right. You
actually do sound like Cooper, whoever you are!"
Lance laughed openly. "I've lived with him all my life, why shouldn't I?
You think I'm a ghost?"
"Well ... no. We know you're real. We're getting a blip from you. Only
thing is--"
"Let's talk about it when I get down," Lance interrupted. "I need a
program fast. Get those G.S. computers working and read me an orbit."
"W-will do."
"And one more thing: Is Colonel Sagen around?"
"Not today, major. He had to fly to Luna."
"How about his daughter?"
"Who?"
_Oh, no!_ Lance felt his heart almost stop. Had the big try been for
nothing? He chanced a repeat.
"His daughter. Carolyn Sagen."
This time, he got results.
"Oh! You mean Hard-Head's daughter. The one who ... say, wasn't she all
set to marry you?"
"You bet your last commendation ribbon she was. And she's going to!
Hey!" Lance shouted. "Anything wrong with her? She's not sick or--"
The voice of the first operator at Traffic came back on. "The captain
had to take off. No sir, major. She's not sick. We just don't know how
she's gonna take this, is all."
"With bells on, Junior. Wedding bells! Get her out to meet me when I
land, will you? And snap it up on that trajectory."
Again, the traffic crackled in Lance's ear. There seemed to be a great
deal of excitement going on down there. And then the great night rim of
Earth swung under him, blocking out further radio communication.
Presently, a relayed beam from Luna came in. The Luna spaceport read him
a series of figures to punch into his autopilot. The new orbit would
edge him in close enough to Terra, that he could pick up an assist from
the G.A. system of his home base.
Lance rubbed his hands together in his joy. He was cooking on all
burners, now. At last.
* * * * *
Six hours later, the _Cosmos XII_ settled down in her landing cradle.
Major Lance Cooper kicked open the air-lock door and began climbing down
to solid ground.
It was just barely twilight. Ordinarily, there would have been long
purplish shadows at the far ends of the field; but now the entire space
base was flooded with lights. Were the beacons sweeping back and forth
just to welcome him? It hardly seemed possible. Yet, the apron itself,
was swarming with people. Here they came now! A whole mob racing towards
him, and the noise of their swelling shouts preceded them, rolling
forward like the breakers upon a shore.
_Oh, oh! What was that in the far corner of the field?_ A big pile of
crumpled metal, already rusted and ready for the bulldozers. Some poor
devil had crashed his hype-ship. Lance wondered vaguely which of his
buddies it had been. Then he shut it out of his mind.
A jeep swung out ahead of the advancing crowd and came speeding down
the concrete. Brakes squealed; rubber tires bit in hard, and the vehicle
plunged to a halt near him. Lance recognized Major Carmody in the
driver's seat. Or another Major Carmody. What difference did it make?
None, now that he was able to identify so very well the other figure in
the jeep--a slight blond figure in a trench coat seated next to Carmody.
Carolyn!
He saw her get out. He saw her commence walking towards him. But too
slowly, he thought. And he was too paralyzed to move.
"Lance?" she called to him. "Is it you? Is it really you, darling?"
The girl's step almost faltered. Major Carmody's hand reached out,
steadied her.
Something was wrong again. But what? He could not guess.
Lance came out of his paralysis. He began running towards her.
And in a moment, they were in each other's arms without caring why or
how: Lance Cooper and the girl he loved. Kissing, hugging, unable to
believe for a moment in each other's reality.
Then, Carolyn had to have breath and she drew apart for a moment. Then,
she kissed him again. And Lance, for the first time, listened and made
sense out of the welter of hysterical sobbing words that were pouring
forth:
"Darling, darling, darling Lance! I cried so much, and now it's all
over. I don't care if you're not real. I love you, I love you! I don't
care if you are somebody from another time-track like Major Carmody
says! You're my Lance and you belong to me. It's you I love and want
now; no matter how shameless I sound!... Yes, darling, it's you I want,
not that poor broken thing we buried two months ago. Not the--"
Lance's feeling of impending horror was great, but not so great that he
shrank from the question that now rose and beat and beat at his brain.
The overwhelming question that had to be asked.
"Carolyn!" He held her so tight he thought for a moment he'd cracked her
ribs. His half-shook gaze penetrated her retreating eyes, forcing her to
meet him.
"Carolyn! What do you mean--it's _me_ you want now, not that poor broken
thing you buried? Tell me. TELL ME!"
"Don't you know, darling Lance? When you took off that night eight weeks
ago, that night I kissed you good-by, your ship ... oh don't you
comprehend?... Your ship, it--"
"Tell me, Carolyn!"
"Your ship, Lance, that's it over there--the wreckage of it! The _Cosmos
XII_ crashed on take-off that night, Lance. You were killed out-right.
We buried you two days later."