"Then," Bailly said, "we got a nut in command. There's no returning to Terra; we better build our lives on Proxima's planets and forget forever about our home. Thank God we got women aboard. My God, even if we did get back… what could one-inch high people accomplish? We'd be jeered at."
"Nobody jeers at me," Nils said quietly.
But he knew Bailly was right. They'd be lucky if they could research the micros of the old pre-cog journals in the ship's reference room and develop for themselves a way of landing safely on Proxima's planets… even that was asking a lot.
We'll succeed, Nils said to himself. As long as everyone obeys me, does exactly as I tell them, with no dumb questions.
Bending, he activated the spool of the December 1962 If. There was an article in it that particularly interested him… and he had four years ahead of him in which to read, understand, and finally apply it.
Fermeti said, "Surely your pre-cog ability helped prepare you for this, Mr. Anderson." His voice faltered with nervous strain, despite his efforts to control it.
"How about taking me back now?" Anderson said. He sounded almost calm.
Fermeti, after shooting a swift glance at Tozzo and Gilly, said to Anderson, "We have a technical problem, you see. That's why we brought you here to our own time-continuum. You see -"
"I think you had better, um, take me back," Anderson broke in. "Karen'll get worried." He craned his neck, peering in all directions. "I knew it would be somewhat on this order," he murmured. His face twitched. "Not too different from what I expected… what's that tall thing over there? Looks like what the old blimps used to catch onto."
"That," Tozzo said, "is a prayer tower."
"Our problem," Fermeti said patiently, "is dealt with in your article Night Flight in the August 1955 If. We've been able to deprive an interstellar vehicle of its mass, but so far restoration of mass has -"
"Uh, oh, yes," Anderson said, in a preoccupied way. "I'm working on that yarn right now. Should have that off to Scott in another couple of weeks." He explained, "My agent."
Fermeti considered a moment and then said, "Can you give us the formula for mass-restoration, Mr. Anderson?"
"Um," Poul Anderson said slowly, "Yes, I guess that would be the correct term. Mass-restoration… I could go along with that." He nodded. "I haven't worked out any formula; I didn't want to make the yarn too technical. I guess I could make one up, if that's what they wanted." He was silent, then, apparently having withdrawn into a world of his own; the three men waited, but Anderson said nothing more.
"Your pre-cog ability," Fermeti said.
"Pardon?" Anderson said, cupping his ear. "Pre-cog?" He smiled shyly. "Oh, uh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. I know John believes in all that, but I can't say as I consider a few experiments at Duke University as proof."
Fermeti stared at Anderson a long time. "Take the first article in the January 1953 Galaxy" he said quietly. "The Defenders… about the people living beneath the surface and the robots up above, pretending to fight the war but actually not, actually faking the reports so interestingly that the people -"
"I read that," Poul Anderson agreed. "Very good, I thought, except for the ending. I didn't care too much for the ending."
Fermeti said, "You understand, don't you, that those exact conditions came to pass in 1996, during World War Three? That by means of the article we were able to penetrate the deception carried on by our surface robots? That virtually every word of that article was exactly prophetic -"
"Phil Dick wrote that," Anderson said. "The Defenders?'
"Do you know him?" Tozzo inquired.
"Met him yesterday at the Convention," Anderson said. "For the first time. Very nervous fellow, was almost afraid to come in."
Fermeti said, "Am I to understand that none of you are aware that you are pre-cogs?" His voice shook, completely out of control now.
"Well," Anderson said slowly, "some sf writers believe in it. I think Alf Van Vogt does," He smiled at Fermeti.
"But don't you understand?" Fermeti demanded. "You described us in an article – you accurately described our Bureau and its interstellar Project!"
After a pause, Anderson murmured, "Gosh, I'll be darned. No, I didn't know that. Um, thanks a lot for telling me."
Turning to Tozzo, Fermeti said, "Obviously we'll have to recast our entire concept of the mid twentieth century." He looked weary.
Tozzo said, "For our purposes their ignorance doesn't matter. Because the pre-cognitive ability was there anyhow, whether they recognized it or not." That, to him, was perfectly clear.
Anderson, meanwhile, had wandered off a little and stood now inspecting the display window of a nearby gift store. "Interesting bric-a-brac in there. I ought to pick up something for Karen while I'm here. Would it be all right -" He turned questioningly to Fermeti. "Could I step in there for a moment and look around?"
"Yes, yes," Fermeti said irritably.
Poul Anderson disappeared inside the gift shop, leaving the three of them to argue the meaning of their discovery.
"What we've got to do," Fermeti said, "is sit him down in the situation familiar to him: before a typewriter. We must persuade him to compose an article on deprivation of mass and its subsequent restoration. Whether he himself takes the article to be factual or not has no bearing; it still will be. The Smithsonian must have a workable twentieth century typewriter and 8 1/2 by 11 white sheets of paper. Do you agree?"
Tozzo, meditating, said, "I'll tell you what I think. It was a cardinal error to permit him to go into that gift shop."
"Why is that?" Fermeti said.
"I see his point," Gilly said excitedly. "We'll never see Anderson again; he's skipped out on us through the pretext of gift-shopping for his wife."
Ashen-faced, Fermeti turned and raced into the gift ship. Tozzo and Gilly followed.
The store was empty. Anderson had eluded them; he was gone.
As he loped silently out the back door of the gift shop, Poul Anderson thought to himself, I don't believe they'll get me. At least not right away. I've got too much to do while I'm here, he realized. What an opportunity! When I'm an old man I can tell Astrid's children about this.
Thinking of his daughter Astrid reminded him of one very simple fact, however. Eventually he had to go back to 1954. Because of Karen and the baby. No matter what he found here – for him it was temporary.
But meanwhile… first I'll go to the library, any library, he decided. And get a good look at history books that'll tell me what took place in the intervening years between 1954 and now.
I'd like to know, he said to himself, about the Cold War, how the U.S. and Russia came out. And – space explorations. I'll bet they put a man on Luna by 1975. Certainly, they're exploring space now; heck, they even have a time-dredge so they must have that.
Ahead Poul Anderson saw a doorway. It was open and without hesitation he plunged into it. Another shop of some kind, but this one larger than the gift shop.
"Yes sir," a voice said, and a bald-headed man – they all seemed to be bald-headed here – approached him. The man glanced at Anderson's hair, his clothes… however the clerk was polite; he made no comment. "May I help you?" he asked.
"Um," Anderson said, stalling. What did this place sell, anyhow? He glanced around. Gleaming electronic objects of some sort. But what did they do?
The clerk said, "Haven't you been nuzzled lately, sir?"
"What's that?" Anderson said. Nuzzled?
"The new spring nuzzlers have arrived, you know," the clerk said, moving toward the gleaming spherical machine nearest him. "Yes," he said to Poul, "you do strike me as very, very faintly introve – no offense meant, sir, I mean, it's legal to be introved." The clerk chuckled. "For instance, your rather odd clothing… made it yourself, I take it? I must say, sir, to make your own clothing is highly introve. Did you weave it?" The clerk grimaced as if tasting something bad.