She shook her head. "If only it were. There is no Eurasia now. The
dictator took care of that. Nothing but gutted holes, and rubble." She
stood up, helping Roger to his feet. Together they filed through the
rubbish down to a roadway. Ann dialed a small wrist radio; in a few
moments, out of the dark sky, the dim-out lights of a small 'copter
came into view, and the machine settled delicately to the road. Two
strange men were inside; they saluted Ann, and helped Roger aboard.
Swiftly they clamped down the hatch tight, and the ship rose again
silently into the air.
"Where are we going?" asked Roger Strang.
"We have a headquarters. Our data must be checked first. We can't
reach a decision without checking. Then we can talk."
The 'copter swung high over the blazing inferno of a city far below.
Strang glanced from the window, eyes widening at the holocaust. The
crater holes were mammoth, huge spires of living flame rising to the
sky, leaving mushroom columns of gray-black smoke that glowed an evil
red from the furnace on the ground. "Not Eurasia?" Roger asked
suddenly, his mind twisting in amazement. "But who? This is America,
isn't it?"
"Yes. This is America. There is no Eurasia now. Soon there may not be
an America. Nor even an Earth."
Roger looked up at Ann, eyes wide. "But those jet-planes--the
bombing--_who is doing the bombing?_"
Ann Strang stared down at the sullen red fires of the city for a
moment, her quiet eyes sad. "Those are Martian planes," she said.
* * * * *
The 'copter settled silently down into the heart of the city, glowing
red from the flames and bombing. They hovered over the shining Palace,
still tall, and superb, and intact, gleaming like a blood-streaked
jewel in the glowing night. The 'copter settled on the roof of a low
building across a large courtyard from the glittering Palace. Ann
Strang stepped out, and motioned Roger to follow down a shaft and
stairway into a small room below. She knocked at a door, and a strange
man dressed in the curious glowing fabric opened it. His face lit up
in a smile.
"Roger!" he cried. "We were afraid we couldn't locate you. We weren't
expecting the Security to meddle. Someone got suspicious, somewhere,
and began checking your references from their sources--and of course
they were false. We were lucky to get you back at all, after Security
got you." He clapped Roger on the back, and led him into the room.
John Morrel and Martin Drengo were standing near the rounded window,
their faces thrown into grotesque relief against the red-orange glow
outside. They turned and saluted, and Roger almost cried out, his mind
spinning, a thousand questions cutting into his consciousness,
demanding answers. But quite suddenly he was feeling a new power, a
new effectiveness in his thinking, in his activity. He turned to
Martin Drengo, his eyes questioning but no longer afraid. "What year
is this?" he asked.
"This is 2165. March, 2165, and you're in New Albany, in the United
States of North America. This is the city where you were born, the
city you loved--and look at it!"
Roger walked to the window. The court below was full of people now,
ragged people, some of them screaming, a disconsolate muttering rising
from a thousand throats--burned people, mangled people. They milled
about the mammoth courtyard before the glorious Palace, aimlessly,
mindlessly. Far down the avenue leading from the Palace Roger could
see the people evacuating the city, a long, desolate line of people,
strange autos, carts, even animals, running down the broad avenue to
escape from the flaming city.
"We're not in danger here," said Drengo, at his elbow. "No fire nor
bomb can reach us here--that is the result of your mighty Atlantic
Coast Barrier. Nothing more. It never was perfected in time, before
the great Eastern Invasion and the second Atomic War. That was due to
occur three years after the time-area where we visited. We were trying
to stem it, to turn it aside. We don't know yet whether we succeeded
or not."
He turned to the tall man standing at the door. "Markson, all the
calculations are prepared. The Calc is evaluating the data against the
Equation now, figuring all the variables. If our work did any good, we
should know it soon." He sighed and pointed to the Palace. "But our
fine Dictator is still alive, and the attack on Mars should be
starting any minute--If we didn't succeed, nothing in all Time will
stop him."