At last he came to a store that was open. He walked in, too consumed by excited curiosity by now to wait any longer. A young man with curly hair was arranging things behind the counter. He looked at Braden almost incredulously, then asked politely, «What can I do for you, sir?»
«Please don’t think I’m crazy. I’ll explain later. Just answer this. What happened thirty years ago? Wasn’t there atomic war?»
The young man’s eyes lighted. «Why, you must be the man who’s been under the dome, sir. That explains why you …» He stopped as though embarrassed.
«Yes,» Braden said. «I’ve been under the dome. But what happened? After Boston was destroyed what happened?»
«Space-ships, sir. The destruction of Boston was accidental. A fleet of ships came from Aldebaran. A race far more advanced than we and benevolent. They came to welcome us into the Union and to help us. Unfortunately one crashed—into Boston—and the atomics that powered it exploded, and a million were killed. But other ships landed everywhere within hours and explained and apologized and war was averted—very narrowly. United States air fleets were already en route, but they managed to call them back.»
Braden said hoarsely, «Then there was no war?»
«Of course not. War is something back in the dark ages now, thanks to the Galactic Union. We haven’t even national governments now to declare a war. There can’t be war. And our progress, with the help of the Union, has been—well, tremendous. We’ve colonized Mars and Venus—they weren’t inhabited and the Union assigned them to us so we could expand. But Mars and Venus are just suburbs. We travel to the stars. We’ve even…» He paused.
Braden held tightly to the edge of the counter. He’d missed it all. He’d been thirty years alone and now he was an old man. He asked, «You’ve even—what?» Something inside him told him what was coming and he could hardly hear his own voice.
«Well, we’re not immortal but we’re closer to it than we were. We live for centuries. I wasn’t much younger than you were thirty years ago. But—I’m afraid you missed out on it, sir. The processes the Union gave us work only on humans up to middle age—fifty at the very most. And you’re—»
«Sixty-seven,» Braden said stiffly. «Thank you.»
Yes, he’d missed everything. The stars—he’d have given almost anything to go there but he didn’t want to now. And Myra.
He could have had her and they’d both still be young. He walked out of the store and turned his footsteps toward the building that had been under the dome. By now they’d be waiting for him there. And maybe they’d give him the only thing he’d ask of them—power to restore the force field so he could finish what was left of his life there under the dome. Yes, the only thing he wanted now was what he’d thought he wanted least—to die, as he had lived, alone.
BLOOD
In their time machine, Vron and Dreena, last two survivors of the race of vampires, fled into the future to escape annihilation. They held hands and consoled one another in their terror and their hunger.
In the twenty-second century mankind had found them out, had discovered that the legend of vampires living secretly among humans was not a legend at all, but fact. There had been a pogrom that had found and killed every vampire but these two, who had already been working on a time machine and who had finished in time to escape in it. Into the future, far enough into the future that the very word vampire would be forgotten so they could again live unsuspected—and from their loins regenerate their race.
«I’m hungry, Vron. Awfully hungry.»
«I too, Dreena dear. We’ll stop again soon.»
They had stopped four times already and had narrowly escaped dying each time. They had not been forgotten. The last stop, half a million years back, had shown them a world gone to the dogs—quite literally: human beings were extinct and dogs had become civilized and man-like. Still they had been recognized for what they were. They’d managed to feed once, on the blood of a tender young bitch, but then they’d been hounded back to their time machine and into flight again.
«Thanks for stopping,» Dreena said. She sighed.
«Don’t thank me,» said Vron grimly. «This is the end of the line. We’re out of fuel and we’ll find none here—by now all radioactives will have turned to lead. We live here … or else.»
They went out to scout. «Look,» said Dreena excitedly, pointing to something walking toward them. «A new creature! The dogs are gone and something else has taken oyer. And surely we’re forgotten.»
The approaching creature was telepathic. «I have heard your thoughts,» said a voice inside their brains. «You wonder whether we know ‘vampires,’ whatever they are. We do not.»
Dreena clutched Vron’s arm in ecstasy. «Freedom!» she murmured hungrily. «And food!»
«You also wonder,» said the voice, «about my origin and evolution. All life today is vegetable. I—» He bowed low to them. «I, a member of the dominant race, was once what you called a turnip.»
HALL OF MIRRORS
For an instant you think it is temporary blindness, this sudden dark that comes in the middle of a bright afternoon.
It must be blindness, you think; could the sun that was tanning you have gone out instantaneously, leaving you in utter blackness?
Then the nerves of your body tell you that you are standing, whereas only a second ago you were sitting comfortably, almost reclining, in a canvas chair. In the patio of a friend’s house in Beverly Hills. Talking to Barbara, your fiancée. Looking at Barbara—Barbara in a swim suit—her skin golden tan in the brilliant sunshine, beautiful.
You wore swimming trunks. Now you do not feel them on you; the slight pressure of the elastic waistband is no longer there against your waist. You touch your hands to your hips. You are naked. And standing.
Whatever has happened to you is more than a change to sudden darkness or to sudden blindness.
You raise your hands gropingly before you. They touch a plain smooth surface, a wall. You spread them apart and each hand reaches a corner. You pivot slowly. A second wall, then a third, then a door. You are in a closet about four feet square.
Your hand finds the knob of the door. It turns and you push the door open.
There is light now. The door has opened to a lighted room … a room that you have never seen before.
It is not large, but it is pleasantly furnished—although the furniture is of a style that is strange to you. Modesty makes you open the door cautiously the rest of the way. But the room is empty of people.
You step into the room, turning to look behind you into the closet, which is now illuminated by light from the room. The closet is and is not a closet; it is the size and shape of one, but it contains nothing, not a single hook, no rod for hanging clothes, no shelf. It is an empty, blank-walled, four-by-four foot space.
You close the door to it and stand looking around the room. It is about twelve by sixteen feet. There is one door, but it is closed. There are no windows. Five pieces of furniture. Four of them you recognize—more or less. One looks like a very functional desk. One is obviously a chair … a comfortable-looking one. There is a table, although its top is on several levels instead of only one. Another is a bed, or couch. Something shimmering is lying across it and you walk over and pick the shimmering something up and examine it. It is a garment.
You are naked, so you put it on. Slippers are part way under the bed (or couch) and you slide your feet into them. They fit, and they feel warm and comfortable as nothing you have ever worn on your feet has felt. Like lamb’s wool, but softer.