The Time Wanderers Part 10

UNUSUAL EVENTS DEPARTMENT. ROOM "D.".

11 MAY 99.

On the morning of May 11, a grim Toivo came to work and saw my resolution. He must have calmed down overnight. He did not protest or insist, but hunkered down in room D and started working on the list of inverts, soon coming up with seven, only two of whom were named, the rest given as "patient Z., servomechanic," "Theodore P., ethnolinguist," and so on.

Around noon, Sandro Mtbevari showed up in room D, haggard, yellow, and frazzled. He sat down at his desk and, without any preamble or the usual jokes (when he came back from long trips), told Toivo that on Big Bug's orders he was reporting to him, but would first like to finish his report on his trip. "What's the holdup?" Toivo asked warily, rather surprised by the man's appearance. "The holdup," Sandro answered irritably, "is that something happened to him and he wasn't sure whether it should be included in the report or not, and if so, then in what light."

And he began to tell him, choosing his words with difficulty, getting the details confused, and laughing convulsively at himself throughout.

This morning he got out of the zero-cabin at the resort town of Rosalinda (not far from Biarritz), covered some five kilometers down an empty, rocky path through vineyards, and appeared at his goal around ten o'clock: there was the Valley of Roses. The path led down to the Bon Vent, whose pointed roof stuck out through the thick foliage below. Sandro automatically noted the time -- it was ten to ten, just as he had planned.

Before starting the descent to the house, he sat down on a round black boulder and shook the pebbles from his sandals. It was already very hot, and the sun-warmed boulder burned through his shorts, and he was very thirsty.

Apparently, at just that moment he felt sick. There was ringing in his ears, and the sunny day grew dark. He thought that he was going down the path, walking, without sensing his legs, past a cheery gazebo that he had not noticed from above, past a glider with an open top and a topsy-turvy engine (as if entire sections had been removed), past a huge s.h.a.ggy dog that lay in the shade and indifferently watched him, its red tongue lolling. Then he went up the steps to the veranda, entwined in roses. He definitely heard the steps creaking, but he still did not feel his legs. In the depths of the veranda there stood a table covered with strange objects, and at the foot of the table leaning on widespread arms, was the man he needed.

The man raised his tiny eyes, hidden beneath gray eyebrows, and a look of regret crossed his face. Sandro introduced himself and, almost not hearing his own voice, told him his cover story. But before he got out a dozen sentences, the man wrinkled up his face and said, "I can't believe it, you're really here at the wrong time!" Sandro came to his senses, surfacing from semiconsciousness, covered in sweat and holding his right sandal in his hand. He was sitting on the boulder, the hot granite was burning through his shorts, and the time was still ten to ten. Well, maybe fifteen seconds had pa.s.sed, no more.

He put on the sandal, wiped his sweaty bee, and then had another attack, apparently. He was going down the path again, not feeling his own legs; the world looked as if he was seeing it with a neutral filter on his eyes, and only one thought was going though his mind: "I can't believe it, how I'm really here at the wrong time!" And once again on his left was the cheery gazebo (a doll without arms and only one leg lay on the floor), and he pa.s.sed the glider (a lively imp was drawn on the side), and there was a second glider, farther back, also with the hood up, and the dog had pulled in its tongue and was dozing, its heavy head on its paws. (What a strange dog; was it a dog at all?) The creaky steps. The coolness of the veranda.

And once more the man looked at him from beneath his brows, wrinkled his face, and spoke in a fake threatening tone, the way you talk to a naughty child: "What did I tell you? Inconvenient! Shoo!" And Sandro woke up again.

But now he wasn't on the boulder, but next to it on the dry p.r.i.c.kly gra.s.s, and he was nauseated.

What's the matter with me today? he thought with fear and sadness, and tried to get himself in hand. The world was still subdued and his ears still rang, but at the same time Sandro had himself in full control. It was almost exactly ten o'clock, and he was very thirsty; but he no longer felt weak, and he had to complete his mission. He got up and saw that the man had come out on the path and stopped, looking in Sandro's direction, and then the s.h.a.ggy dog came out of the bushes and stood at the man's feet and also looked at Sandro, and Sandro realized that it wasn't a dog but a young Golovan. And Sandro raised his arm, not knowing why, either as a sign of greeting or to get their attention, but the man turned his back, and the world grew black before Sandro's eyes and went off obliquely down and to the left.

When he regained consciousness yet again, he was sitting on a bench in the midst of the reset Rosalinda, next to the zero-cabin he had arrived in.

He was still nauseated and thirsty, but the world was clear and welcoming.

It was 10:42. Insouciant, festive people pa.s.sed by, then looked at him anxiously and slowed down, and a robot waiter rolled over and brought him a beaded gla.s.s of something...

Hearing him out, Toivo was silent for a while and then spoke, choosing his words carefully.

"That has to be included in the report, for sure."

"Let's a.s.sume so," Sandro said. "But in what accent?"

"Write it the way you told me."

"I told you it as if I got sick in the heat and the whole thing was a delirium."

"You're not sure it was a delirium?"

"How should I know? But I could have told it as if I had been hypnotized, as if it had been an induced hallucination..."

"Do you think the Golovan induced the hallucination?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But probably not He was too far from me -- about seventy meters, at least -- and he was too young for those tricks. And then: what for?"

They were silent. Then Toivo asked: "What did Big Bug say?"

"Oh, he didn't even let me open my mouth, he didn't even look at me.

'I'm busy. You're working for Glumov now.' "

"Tell me," Toivo said, "are you sure that you didn't go down to the house even once?"

"I'm not sure of anything. I am sure that there's something very dirty going on with these Val Winkles. I've been working on them since the beginning of the year, and nothing's clear. On the contrary, things get darker with every incident... Well, there hasn't been anything like today before, that was extra special..."

Toivo spoke through gritted teeth. "But don't you see what it smells of, if it really happened?" He had a sudden thought. "Wait! How about your registrator? What does your registrator say?"

Sandra replied with a look of total submission to fate: "Nothing's on my registrator. It wasn't turned on."

"Really, now!"

"I know. Except I remember distinctly recharging it and turning it on before I left."

[End of Doc.u.ment 15.]

No.047/99 Urals-North Date: 4 -- 11 May 99 FROM: S. Mtbevari, InspectorTHEME: 101 "Rip Van Winkle"CONTENTS: Result of the inspection on "Group of 80."

I received your orders on the inspection the morning of May 4. I started immediately.

4 May at 22:40.

Astangov, Yuri Nikolaevich. Not at registered address. No new address left in the BVI. Questioned relatives, friends, and business a.s.sociates, to no avail. General response: can't tell you anything, haven't been in contact the last few years. After his return in 95 he became even more of a hermit than before his disappearance. Checked with the cosmodrome network, the circ.u.mterrestrial zero-Ts, the system of HD enterprises (heightened danger): nothing. Suggestion: Yuri Astangov, like last time, has "secluded himself in the debris of the Amazon Basin to polish his new philosophical system." (It would be interesting to talk to someone familiar with his previous philosophical system. Doctors deny it, but I think he's a psycho.) 6 May, at 23:30 Lehair, Fernand. He saw me at his registered address at 11:05. I gave him my cover story, after which we chatted until 12:50. Lehair told me that he feels wonderful, is not experiencing any symptoms of illness, no consequences of his amnesia during the years 89-91, and therefore sees no need to be mentoscoped. He can add nothing new to what he said in 91, because he still remembers nothing. Transmantle engineering has not interested him in a long time, and for the last few yeas he has been inventing and researching multimeasure games. He spoke in a kindly but vague manner. Then he grew animated: he decided to teach me the game "snip-snap-snurre." We parted on that (I later learned that F. Lehair really has become a major specialist in multimeasure games; he's been dubbed "the joker for academicians.") Tuul, Albert Oskarovich. Not at registered address. New address in the BVI: Venusborg (Venus). Not at that address either. The data on his Venerian registration: A. Tuul never showed up on Venus. In 97, he told his mother that he wanted to work. with the Pathfinders in the Hius camp (on the planet Kala-i-Moog). Since then, she has been receiving cards from him rather regularly (the last this March). These are actually long letters with detailed and rather artistic descriptions of his searches for traces of the civilization of "werewolves." Data from Hius camp: A. Tuul was never there, but he regularly calls on the zero-communicator the grounddigger of the group, E. Kapustin, who is absolutely certain that his good pal A. Tuul is living, on Earth at his registered address. Kapustin last spoke with Tuul on January 1. Check on the cosmodrome network reveals that since 96 (the year he reappeared) he's gone into Deep s.p.a.ce several times, and returned from Resort the last time in October 98. Check on circ.u.mterrestrial zero-T: has visited the moon several times, also the "Greenhouses," and BOP. Check on systems of HD enterprises: since December 96 through October 97 worked at the abyssal laboratory Tuskarora-16 as a gastronome. Supposition: A. Tuul is a very lighthearted person, with a low level of civic responsibility; the incident in 89 taught him nothing, and he still does not wish to admit the importance of such a trifle as precise personal address.

8 May 99, at 22:10.

Bagration, Mavrikii Amazaspovich. Not at registered address. No new address in the BVI. Due to his advanced age, he has no near living relatives with whom he is in steady contact. His business ties broke off a quarter-century ago. His two old friends, known horn the investigation of this disappearance in 81, are not at their registered addresses, and I have not yet been able to determine their whereabouts. Checks on the cosmodrome network, the circ.u.mterrestrial zero-T, and the HD enterprises systems: nothing. Data from the gerontological center: they haven't been able to catch the object of this investigation for years... Supposition: an unregistered fatal accident. I would consider it proper to find his friends and let them know.

Jan, Martin. Not at registered address. New address in the BVI: Matrix base (Second, EN 7113). Sent to Matrix in January 93 by the Inst.i.tute of Bioconfigurations (London) as an interpreter. At the present (since 98), has been on a long vacation; location unknown. Checks on cosmodrome network, circ.u.mterrestrial zero-T, and HD enterprises systems: nothing since December 98. A curiosity: S. Van, a neighbor of M. Jan's at the registered address, maintains that he saw Jan in March of this year; Jan appeared before his very eyes in his yard in a glider and without going into the house began taking the glider apart; he replied casually to Jan's greeting and avoided conversation; Van went off and when he returned several hours later, both Jan and the glider were gone, never to reappear. This story seems interesting, since the mystery of Jan's first disappearance was in the fact that the registrator of the cosmodrome network did not have either his departure or his arrival. Question: are there organisms whose genetic code is not perceived or registered by existing registration?

TO THE HEAD OF THE UE DEPARTMENT FROM THE PRESIDENT.

Dear Big Bug!

Can't do anything about it. They're putting me in the hospital for surgery. However, every cloud has a silver lining. G. Komov is adding my responsibilities to his own (starting tomorrow, I think). I pa.s.sed your materials along to him. I won't hide the fact that he was skeptical. But he knows me, and he knows you. Now he is prepared, so that you have a chance to convince him, especially if you have been able to obtain the materials you were hoping to get. And then you will be dealing not only with the president of Secor CC-2, but also with an influential member of the World Council. I wish you success, and you wish me success, too.

Athos. 11/05/99 [End of Doc.u.ment 17.]

Mac!

1. Glumov, Toivo Alexandrovich was taken into control today.

(Registered 8/05).

2. Also taken under control today: -- Kaskazi, Artek 18 student Tehran 7/05-- Mauki, Charles 63 mari-technician Odessa 8/05 Laborant 11 May 99 [End of Doc.u.ment 18.]

This must be strange, but I can hardly remember my feelings when I got that amazing missive from Laborant. I do remember one sensation -- like an unexpected and vile slap in the face, for no reason, for nothing, out of the blue, when you don't expect it, when you're expecting something else. A childish hurt, tearful - that's all I remember, and that's all that's left from what must have been an hour that I spent with my mouth wide open and staring straight ahead.

I must have had thoughts of betrayal and treason. I must have been enraged, embittered, and disappointed because I had worked out a definite plan of action, with a part for everyone, and now there was a hole in the plan and no way of plugging it up. And bitterness, of course, there was desperate bitterness, of loss, the loss of a friend, an ally, a son.

And most probably there was a temporary blackout, chaos not of feelings but of the debris of feelings.

Then gradually I regained control and went back to reasoning -- coldly and methodically, the way I had to reason in my position.

The wind of the G.o.ds raises storms but it also fills sails.

Reasoning coldly and methodically, I found a new place for the new Toivo Glumov in my plan on that muggy morning. And that new place seemed to me then to be incomparably more important than the old one. My plan acquired a long-range prospect, and now we could attack instead of defend ourselves.

On that same day, I reached Komov, and he gave me an appointment for the next day, the twelfth of May.

On May 12, early in the morning he saw me in the President's office. I gave him all the materials I had gathered by then. The conversation lasted five hours. My plan was approved with insignificant changes. (I cannot maintain that I managed to fully overcome Komov's skepticism, but I did manage to interest him without any doubt.) On May 12, when I came back to my office, I sat for a few minutes with the tips of my index fingers at my temples, in the manner of Honti scouts, thinking lofty thoughts, and then called in Grisha Serosovin and gave him an a.s.signment. At 18:05, he told me that the a.s.signment was completed. Now all we had to do was wait.

On the morning of the thirteenth, Danya Logovenko called.

WORKING PHONOGRAM.

Date: 13 May 99 INTERLOCUTORS: M. Kammerer, head of UE Department; D. Logovenko, deputy director of the Kharkov Branch, IMITHEME X X XCONTENTS X X X LOGOVENKO: h.e.l.lo, Maxim, it's me.

KAMMERER: Greetings. What do you have to say?

LOGOVENKO: I say that it was cleverly done.

KAMMERER: I'm glad you like it.

LOGOVENKO: I can't say that I like, it much, but I have to credit an old friend. (pause) I understood it all to mean that you want to meet with me and speak openly.

KAMMERER: Yes. But not I. And maybe not with you.

LOGOVENKO: You'll have to talk to me. But if not you, who, then?

KAMMERER: Komov.

LOGOVENKO: Aha! So, you've made the decision...

KAMMERER: Komov is my direct boss now.

LOGOVENKO: Ah, so that's it, . All right. When and where?

KAMMERER: Komov wants Gorbovsky to be part of the conversation.

LOGOVENKO: Leonid Andreyevich? But he's on his deathbed...

KAMMERER: Precisely. Let him hear it all. From you.

LOGOVENKO: (after a pause) Yes. I see the time has come to talk.

KAMMERER: Tomorrow at 15:00 at Gorbovsky's. Do you know his house? Near Kraslava, on the Daugava River.

LOGOVENKO: I know it. Until tomorrow. You have everything?

KAMMERER: Everything. Till tomorrow.

(The conversation lasted from 9:02 until 9:04.) [End of Doc.u.ment 19.]

It's amazing that for all its pushy energetic scrupulousness, the Luden group never bothered me about Daniil Alexandrovich Logovenko. Yet Danya and I go back a long way, to the blessed Sixties, when I, a young, devilishly energetic COMCONite, was taking a special course in psychology at Kiev U.; where Danya, then a young and devilishly energetic metapsychologist, was my practic.u.m teacher, and in the evenings we dated charming and devilishly spoiled Kiev girls. He obviously thought more of me than the other students; we became friends and saw each other regularly for years. Then our studies separated us, we saw each other less frequently, and in the Eighties stopped seeing each other completely (until the tea at my house just before these events). He was very unhappily married, and now I know why. He was unhappy in general, which I can't say about myself.

In general, everyone who seriously studies the era of the Big Revelation tends to believe that he knows perfectly well who Daniil Logovenko was. What a delusion! What does someone who has read even the most complete collection of Newton's works know about Newton? Yes, Logovenko had played an extremely important role in the Big Revelation. The Logovenko Impulse, Logovenko's T-program, the Logovenko Declaration, the Logovenko Committee...

But what was the fate of Logovenko's wife; do you know that?

And how did he end up in the courses of higher and anomalous etology in the city of Split?

And why in the year 66 did he zero in on M. Kammerer, energetic and promising COMCONite, of all his students?

And what did D. Logovenko think of the Big Revelation -- not lecture, or declare, or proselytize, but think and feel in the depths of his inhuman soul?

There are many such questions. I can answer some of them accurately. I can make suppositions about some. And for the rest, there are no answers and never will be.

REPORT COMCON-2No.020/99 Urals-North Date: 13 May 99 FROM: T. Glumov, InspectorTHEME: 009 "A Visit from an Old Lady"CONTENTS: Comparison of the lists of people with the inversion of the Penguin Syndrome with the Theme List.

On your orders I made up a list from all available sources of cases of the inversion of the Penguin Syndrome. I found only twelve cases, and I managed to identify ten. Comparison of the list of identified inverts with the T-List gave cross-reference on the following: 1. Krivoklykov, Ivan Georgievich, 65 psychiatrist, Lemba base (EN 2105).

2. Pakkala, Alf-Christian, 31 builder operator, Anchorage, Alaska.

3. Io, Nika, 48 fabric designer, Irawadi factory, Phyapown.

4. Tuul, Albert Oskarovich, 59 gastronome, whereabouts unknown. (See report No.047/99, S. Mtbevari.) The percentage of cross-references of the list seems incredibly high to me. The fact that Tuul, A.0., belongs on three lists is even more astonis.h.i.+ng.

I feel it necessary to call your attention to the full list of people with the Penguin Syndrome inversion. The list is attached.

T. Glumov [End of Doc.u.ment 20.]

DOc.u.mENT 21: Kraslava, Latvia "LEONID'S HOUSE" (KRASLAVA, LATVIA).

14 MAY 99. 15:00.

The Daugava River near Kraslava was narrow, fast, and clean. The sandy strip of beach showed yellow near the water and led to a steep sandy slope that reached the fir forest. On the gray-and-white-checked landing square overhanging the water, multicolored flyers parked carelessly baked in the sun. All three of them were old-fas.h.i.+oned machines now used only by old men born in the last century.

Toivo reached for the glider's door, but I said. "Don't. Wait"

I was looking up to where amid the firs stood the cream-colored little house from which the stairs, made to look like silvery weathered wood, zigzagged along the cliff. Someone dressed in white was slowly descending the stairs -- a stout, almost cubic man, clearly very old, clutching the railing with his right hand, going step by step, one foot at a time, a sunspot flickering on his large smooth pate. I recognized him. It was August-Johann Bader, Paratrooper and Pathfinder. A ruin of a heroic era.

"Let's wait for him to go down," I said. "I don't want to meet him."