'The drug,' Eric said, 'permits some of its users to pass into the future.'
Hazeltine and Miss Bachis exchanged glances.
'True,' Hazeltine said, nodding. That's highly classified information, as you no doubt know. I suppose you learned that from your wife. Is that the direction she moves when she's under the influence of the drug? It's relatively rare; withdrawal into the past seems to be the rule.'
Guardedly Eric said, 'Kathy and I have talked about it.'
'Well,' Hazeltine said, 'it's a possibility, logically at least. To go into the future, obtain the cure – perhaps not a quantity of it but anyhow the formula; memorize it and then return to the present, turn the formula over to our chemists at H. Corporation. And that would be that. It seems almost too easy, doesn't it? The drug's effects contain the method for procuring the nullifying agent, the source of a new, unknown molecule to enter the liver metabolism in place of JJ-180 ... The first objection that occurs to me is that there may never be such an antidote, in which case going into the future is useless. After all, there is not yet any sure cure for addiction to opium derivatives; heroin is still illegal and dangerous, as much so as a century ago. But another objection, a deeper one, occurs to me. Frankly – and I've supervised all phases of testing JJ-180 – I feel that the time period entered by the subject under its influence is phony. I don't believe it's the real future or the real past.'
Then what is it?' Eric asked.
'What we at Hazeltine Corporation have maintained from the start; we claim that JJ-180 is an hallucinogenic drug and we mean just that. Just because the hallucinations seem real, that's no criterion to go by; most hallucinations seem real whatever the cause, whether from a drug, a psychosis, brain damage, or electrical stimulation given directly to specific areas of the brain. You must know that, doctor; a person experiencing hallucinosis doesn't merely think he sees, say, a tree of oranges – he really does see it. For him it's an authentic experience, as much so as our presence here in your living room. No one who's taken JJ-180 and gone into the past has returned with any artifact; he doesn't disappear or—'
Miss Bachis interrupted, 'I disagree, Mr Hazeltine. I've talked to a number of JJ-180 addicts and they've given details about the past which I'm positive they wouldn't know except by having gone there. I can't prove it but I do believe it. Excuse me for interrupting.'
'Buried memories,' Hazeltine said irritably. 'Or Christ, possibly past lives; maybe there is reincarnation.'
Eric said, 'If JJ-180 did induce authentic time travel it might not constitute a good weapon to use against the reegs. It might give them hallucinosis, Mr Hazeltine. As long as you have plans of selling it to the government.'
'An ad hominem argument,' Hazeltine said. 'Attack my motives, not my argument; I'm surprised, doctor.' He looked glum. 'But maybe you're right. How do I know? I've never taken it, and we've given it to no one once we discovered its addictive properties; we're limited to animal experiments, our first – and unfortunate – human subjects, and more recent ones such as your wife whom the 'Starmen have made into addicts. And—' He hesitated, then shrugged and continued. 'And, obviously, we've given it to captured reegs in POW camps; otherwise we would have no way of determining its effects on them.'
'How have they responded?' Eric asked.
'More or less as our own people. Complete addiction, neurological decay, hallucinations of an overpowering order which made them apathetic to their actual situation.' He added, half to himself, The things you have to do in wartime. And they talk about the Nazis.'
Miss Bachis said, 'We must win the war, Mr Hazeltine.'
'Yes,' Hazeltine said lifelessly. 'Oh, you're so goddam right, Miss Bachis; how truly right you are.' He stared sightlessly down at the floor.
'Give Dr Sweetscent the supply of the drug,' Miss Bachis said.
Nodding, Hazeltine reached into his coat. 'Here.' He held out a flat metal tin. 'JJ-180. Legally we can't give it to your wife; we can't supply a known addict. So you take it – this is a formality, obviously – and what you do with it is your own business. Anyhow, there's enough in that tin to keep her alive for as long as she'll live.' He did not meet Eric's gaze; he continued to stare at the floor.
Eric, as he accepted the tin, said, 'You're not very happy about this invention of your company's.'
'Happy?' Hazeltine echoed. 'Oh sure; can't you see? Doesn't it show? You know, oddly enough, the worst has been watching the POWs after they've taken it. They just plain fold up, wilt; there's no remission at all for them ... they live JJ-180, once they've touched it. They're glad to be on it; the hallucinations are that – what should I say? — entertaining for them ... no, not entertaining. Engrossing? I don't know, but they act as if they've looked into the ultimate. But it's one which clinically speaking, physiologically speaking, constitutes an insidious hell.'
'Life is short,' Eric pointed out.
'And brutish and nasty,' Hazeltine added, vaguely quoting, as if responding unconsciously. 'I can't be fatalistic, doctor. Maybe you're lucky or smart, some such thing.'
'No,' Eric said. 'Hardly that.' To be a depressive was certainly not desirable; fatalism was not a talent but a protracted illness. 'How soon after taking JJ-180 do the withdrawal symptoms appear? In other words must—'
'You can go from twelve to twenty-four hours between dosages,' Miss Bachis said. 'Then the physiological requirements, the collapse of adequate liver metabolism, sets in. It's unpleasant. So to speak.'
Hazeltine said hoarsely, 'Unpleasant – God in heaven, be realistic; it's unendurable. It's a death agony, literally. And the person knows it. Feels it without being able to label it. After all, how many of us have gone into our death agonies?'
'Gino Molinari has,' Eric said. 'But he's unique.' Placing the tin of JJ-180 in his coat pocket, he thought, So I have up to twenty-four hours before I'll be forced to take my second dose of the drug. But it could come as soon as this evening.
So the reegs may have a cure, he thought. Would I go over to them to save my life? Kathy's life? I wonder. He did not really know.
Perhaps, he thought, I'll know after I undergo my first bout with the withdrawal symptoms. And, if not that, after I detect the first signs of neurological deterioration in my body.
It still dazed him that his wife had, just like that, addicted him. What hatred that showed. What enormous contempt for the value of life. But didn't he feel the same way? He remembered his initial discussion with Gino Molinari; his sentiments had emerged then and he had faced them. In the final analysis he felt as Kathy did. This one great effect of war; the survival of one individual seems trivial. So perhaps he could blame it on the war. That would make it easier.
But he knew better.
ELEVEN
On his way to the infirmary to turn over to Kathy her supply of the drug, he found himself facing unbelievably, the slumped, ill figure of Gino Molinari. In his wheel chair the UN Secretary sat with his heavy wool rug over his knees, his eyes writhing like separate living things, pinning Eric into immobility.
'Your conapt was bugged,' Molinari said. 'Your conversation with Hazeltine and Bachis was picked up, recorded, and delivered in transcript form to me.'
'So quickly?' Eric managed to say. Thank God he had made no reference to his own addiction.
'Get her out of here,' Molinari moaned. 'She's a 'Star fink; she'll do anything – I know. This has happened before.' He was shaking. 'As a matter of fact she's already out of here; my Secret Service men grabbed her and took her to the field, to a 'copter. So I don't know why I'm getting myself upset like this . .. intellectually I know the situation's in hand.'