Reflexively he opened his eyes.
Velikovsky said, “Computer, display.”
A holographic display appeared in the middle of the table.
“This is a recording made in Frankfurt on July 4,1848 at the official announcement of the formation of the Pan-German Empire.” The recording must have been taken from the top of a tall building. Robbins looked down at a sea of cheering humanity in the great open area, and a dais on which stood bemedaled dignitaries. At ground level, near one end of the raised platform, he noticed a military band that seemed ready to start playing.
“The man speaking,” said Velikovsky, indicating the walrus-mustached figure speaking softly in German in the middle of the image, “is the same Baron Otto von Bismarck I mentioned earlier. In our history, he was one of the many nobles in the Prussian and Hapsburg courts who opposed German unification in 1848. In the revised history of TCE, however, for reasons we still do not fully understand, they were among its most enthusiastic supporters.” The tiny figure in the display concluded his speech with a generous sweep of his arm toward “our new Kaiser.” As if on cue the band started to play a powerful, triumphant, martial time.
Robbins felt his flesh turn cold. Now he understood. As they sang together the faces of the tiny figures in the recording showed a mixture of pride, fervor, and single-minded patriotism. Workers, peasants, aristocrats—men and women, people from every level of society, different in so many ways, but all united in a common cause—in their love for their country. Right arms raised in a salute to their new leader, they shouted the words to the song passionately, in complete, fanatical unity—as if they were now inspired to go out and conquer the world.
It all made sense. He thought of the armies of Revolutionary and Napoleonic France, marching out to the strains of La Marseillaise to overrun Europe. Or the Germans of the twentieth century on their Earth, with Deutchland über alles. Even the English, perhaps, during their days of Empire, with God Save the King. A memory from his childhood came back to him—the time his father had taken him to a baseball game. The swelling pride he’d felt at being an American, standing with the rest of the crowd, as he’d heard The Star-Spangled Banner sung for the first time.
The people in the recording seemed to feel the same thing, but many times more intensely as they sang their own anthem. Aufstehen! (“Arise, ye German sons, unite!”) A song whose melody was based on the primary theme of the fourth movement of Beethoven’s final symphony.
The A minor.
The triumphant Tenth.
“Dr. Robbins?” Velikovsky was speaking to him. “Dr. Brentano says you’re familiar with the song these people are singing, and that it might have a bearing on the question we are discussing. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Robbins said. “But first—could you please turn off that recording?”
After the others had a little time to absorb what he’d told them, Robbins turned to Everett, who was sitting by herself in the far comer of the room. “Is there any way we can undo all this? Change things back the way they’re supposed to be?”
She nodded. “I think we can. At the science committee meeting earlier this afternoon, Harrison said the vaccine-blocking agent the late Dr. Ertmann tried to use would still be effective even if it were given up to twenty-four hours after you injected the vaccine. All you have to do is translocate to Beethoven’s apartment again, say thirty minutes ‘after’ you gave the vaccine, and inject this neutralizing agent into him. Theoretically, that would undo what’s been done to this point, and TCE would return to normal.’ I propose that you do just that.”
That’s all? That’s all I have to do? He looked down at his hands, clenched them, then opened them. I destroy worlds, then I create them again—.
But not anymore. He had no desire to play God. After this one last time, he swore never to go back to TCE again.
The Chancellor said, “Is there a second for Dr. Everett’s proposal? All in favor? Opposed? Let the record show that the humanities committee has voted six to zero in favor of her proposal.”
Robbins sighed. The sooner he did it the better he’d feel—.
“And that,” the Chancellor continued, “brings us to the second item on our agenda. Dr. Velikovsky has submitted a proposal which was approved by the executive and science committees earlier today. It involves setting up a special task force to review future projects for changing the history of TCE. The applicability of this proposal is, of course, contingent on Dr. Robbins’s anticipated success in returning TCE to its original state. If he does, and this proposal is approved by the committee today, the task force will—.”
“What?” The Chancellor looked startled at Robbins’s interjection. “Are you saying that, if I do make things right on TCE, you’re going to let someone else go back and change them again?”
Velikovsky said, “Precisely. You have shown it is possible, with appropriate manipulations, to change TCE’s history without changing our own. Thus, instead of passively retrieving lost information as we’ve done in the past, we now know we can use TCE as a vast laboratory for studying the effects of carefully selected changes on subsequent political, scientific, and artistic developments. After each such experiment is finished, we can go back and, as you will be doing, undo that change and reset TCE’s history to its ‘default’ condition.”
He smiled warmly at Robbins. “Although the change you caused had, in that particular history of TCE, disastrous consequences for its people, we here on our Earth have benefited greatly. The dynamics of what is, to us, an ‘alternate’ history will provide enormous material for analysis and review for years to come. And this is just the beginning. We all owe you a debt of gratitude for showing us what can be done.”
Robbins wished he still had that gun he’d dropped on TCE. “Do you realize what you’re saying? You’re talking about deliberately manipulating, possibly destroying billions of innocent people for the sake of an ‘experiment’!”
Velikovsky looked pained. “Not real people, like us. ‘Shadow people,’ in a ‘shadow history,’ without a real existence of their own. As Dr. Everett has said, they live in a ‘pliable’ past that is not truly real’—.”
“Don’t you dare misquote me!” Everett interrupted. “You know what I think of your proposal!”
Robbins glared at Velikovsky. “They are real! Flesh and blood! I saw them! I touched them!” I killed four of them personally! “They can be hurt, they can feel pain just like us—and we have no right to play God!”
“Order, order!” The Chancellor looked angry. “We must discuss this proposal in a civilized manner. You and Dr. Velikovsky have had your say. Does anyone else wish to comment?”
There was another round of shouting, this time with Antonia on one side and Lytton and Shimura on the other. For every “Shelley” that Lytton mentioned or “van Gogh” that Shimura brought up, Antonia countered with “And how many billions of people have to suffer and die to get those tew extra poems and paintings?”
Billingsley said nothing. Just fiddled with his bow tie.
After the arguing died down the Chancellor said, “Is there a second for Dr. Velikovsky’s proposal?”
“Seconded!” Lytton and Shimura spoke simultaneously.
“All in favor?”
Velikovsky, Lytton, and Shimura raised their hands.
“Opposed?”
Robbins’s arm shot up first, then Antonia’s. Billingsley raised his lazily.
“Let the record show that the humanities committee has voted three to three on Dr. Velikovsky’s proposal.” She paused. “As per our by-laws, I must now cast the tie-breaking vote. Based on the positive recommendations made earlier today by the executive and science Committees, I feel that I too must vote in favor of the proposal. Let the record show that—.”