Sharply: “Explain that.”
Chaney said carefully: “What will happen if that machine probes back into the past before the basement was dug? What will happen if it burrows into a bed of clay?”
“That simply will not be allowed to happen,” was the quick reply. “The lower limit of displacement is December 30, 1941. A probe beyond that date is prohibited.” The Director emptied his glass and put it aside. “Chaney, the site has been carefully researched to determine a lower limit; every phase of this operation has been researched so that nothing is left to chance. The first building on the site was a crude structure resembling a cabin. It burned to the ground in February, 1867.”
“You went back that far?”
“We were prepared to go farther if necessary; we had access to records dating back to the Black Hawk war in 1831. A farmhouse with a basement was built on the site during the summer of 1901, and remained in place until demolition in 1941 when the government acquired this land for an ordnance depot. It has since been government owned and occupied, and the site remained vacant until the laboratory was built. The engineers were very careful to locate that basement. Today the TDV floats in a sealed tank of polywater three feet above the original basement floor, in a space that could have been occupied by nothing else. We even pinpointed the former location of the furnace and the coal room.”
“And so the deadline is 1941? Why not 1901?”
“The lower limit is December 30, 1941, well after the date of demolition. The safety factor above all.”
“I’d like to see that tank of polywater.”
“You will. It is necessary that you become quite familiar with every aspect of the operation. Have you been visiting the doctor for your physicals?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had weapons training?”
“No. Will that be necessary?”
Seabrooke said: “The safety factory, Chaney. It’s wise to anticipate. The training may be wasted, but it’s still wise to prepare yourself in every way.”
“That sounds pessimistic. Wasted in what way?”
“Excuse me; you’ve been out of the country. All weapons for civilians will probably be prohibited in the near future. President Meeks favors that, you know.”
Chaney said absently: “That will please the Major. He doesn’t believe civilians have enough sense to point a gun in the right direction.”
He was looking across the pool. Katrina had left the water and was now perched on the tiled rim of the opposite side, freeing her hair from the confines of a plastic cap. Arthur Saltus was as close as their two wet suits would permit, but none of the loungers about the pool were staring at him. Two other women in the water weren’t drawing half the attention — but neither were they as exposed as Katrina. Military codes extended to the swimming pool whether WACS liked it or not.
Chaney continued to stare at the woman — and at Saltus hard by — but a part of his mind dwelt on Gilbert Seabrooke, on Seabrooke’s matter-of-fact statements. He thought about the machine, the TDV. He tried to think about the TDV. Every effort to visualize it was a failure. Every attempt to understand its method of operation was a similar failure — he lacked the engineering background to comprehend it. It worked: he accepted that. His own ears told him that every time they rammed through a test.
Drawing an enormous amount of power and piloted by a remote guidance, the vehicle displaced — what? Temporal strata. Time layers. The machine didn’t move through space, it didn’t leave the basement tank, but it — or the camera mounted in the nose — peered and probed into time while photographing a clock and a calendar. Soon now, it would transmit humans into tomorrow and those humans were expected to do more than merely look through the nose at a clock. (But it had also killed nine men when it doubled back on itself.) Despite an effort to control it, his skin crawled. The cold shock would not leave him.
Chaney said shortly: “You picked a hell of a crew.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Not an engineer in the lot — not a hard scientist in the lot. Moresby and I love each other like a cobra and a mongoose. I think I’m the mongoose. Want to try again?”
“I know what I’m doing, Chaney. The engineers and the physical scientists will come later, when the probes demand engineers and physical scientists. When did the first geologist reach the moon? The first selenographer? This survey demands your kind of man, and Moresby, and Saltus. You and Moresby were chosen because each of you is supreme in your field, and because you are natural opposites. I like to think the pair of you are delicate balances, with Saltus the neutral weight in center. And I say again, I know what I am doing.”
“Moresby thinks I’m some kind of a nut.”
“Yes. And what do you think of him?”
Sudden glee: “He’s some kind of a nut.”
Seabrooke permitted himself a wintry smile. “Forgive me, but there is a measure of truth to both suppositions. The Major also has a hobby which has embarrassed him.”
Chaney groaned aloud. “Those damned prophets!” He looked around at the Major. “Why doesn’t he collect toy soldiers, or be the best chess player in the world?”
“Why don’t you write cookbooks?”
Chaney glanced down at his chest. “See how neatly the blade entered between the ribs? Notice that the haft stands out straight and true? A marksman’s thrust.”
Seabrooke said: “You like to read the past, while the Major prefers to read the future. I will admit yours is the more valuable vocation.”
“Another futurist. You collect futurists.”
“He places an inordinate faith in prognostication. He begins with so simple an act as reading his horoscope in the daily papers, and conducting himself accordingly. After his arrival here he admitted to Kathryn the mission was no surprise to him, because a certain horoscope had advised him to prepare himself for a momentous change in his daily affairs.”
Chaney said: “That is as old as time; the earliest Egyptians, the Sumerians, the Akkadians, all were crazy about astrology. It’s the most enduring religion.”
“I suppose you are familiar with the small booklets known as farmer’s almanacs?”
A nod. “I know of them.”
“Moresby buys them regularly, not only to learn how their minute prophecies may affect him but to anticipate the weather a year in advance. I will admit I have looked into that last, and the Major has a remarkable record of correlating military operations with weather conditions — when he’s stationed in the United States, you understand. One would suppose the weather works for him. And on some previous military posts, he has been known to plant a garden in strict accordance with the guidelines laid down in those almanacs — phases of the moon and so forth.”
Skeptically: “Did the spinach come up?”
The firm lips twitched and toyed with a smile, then controlled themselves. “Finally, there is his library. Moresby owns a small collection of books, perhaps forty or fifty in all, which he moves with him from post to post. Books by such people as Nostradamus, Shipton, Blavatsky, Forman, and that Cromwell woman in Washington. He has an autographed copy by someone named Guinness; he met the author at some lecture or other. I inquired into that because of the security angle but Guinness proved harmless. Just recently he added your volume to the collection.”
Chaney said: “He wasted his money.”
“Do you also believe I’ve wasted mine?”
“If you were looking for prophetic visions, yes. If you were interested in a biblical curiosity, no. The future should bring some great debates on that Revelations scroll; a dozen or so applecarts have been upset.”
Seabrooke peered at him. “But do you see how I’m using Moresby?”
“Yes. Just as you’re using me.”