Citizen in Spase. Stories / Гражданин в Космосе. Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“Of course,” said the captain thoughtfully, “if you should suddenly turn vicious, knock me over the head with this heavy paperweight, grab my personal Time Traveler – which I keep in the second shelf of that cabinet – and return to your friends in Sector Three, there would really be nothing I could do about it.”

“Huh?”

The captain turned toward the window, leaving his paperweight within Eldridge’s easy reach.

“It’s really terrible,” he commented, “the things one will consider doing for a boyhood hero. But, of course, you’re a law-abiding man. You would never do such a thing and I have psychological reports to prove it.”

“Thanks,” Eldridge said. He lifted the paperweight and tapped the captain lightly over the head. Smiling, the captain slumped behind his desk. Eldridge found the Traveler in the cabinet, and set it for Sector Three. He sighed deeply and pushed the button.

Again he was overcome by darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing on a plain of parched yellow ground. Around him stretched a treeless waste, and a dusty wind blew in his face. Ahead, he could see several brick buildings and a row of tents, built along the side of a dried-out gully. He walked toward them.

This future, he decided, must have seen another climatic shift. The fierce sun had baked the land, drying up the streams and rivers. If the trend continued, he could understand why the next future was Uncivilized. It was probably Unpopulated.

He was very tired. He had not eaten all day – or for several thousand years, depending on how you count. But that, he realized, was a false paradox, one that Alfredex would certainly demolish with symbolic logic.

To hell with logic. To hell with science, paradox, everything. He would run no further. There had to be room for him in this dusty land. The people here – a proud, independent sort – would not give him up. They believed in justice, not the law.

Here he would stay, work, grow old, and forget Eldridge I and his crazy schemes.

When he reached the village, he saw that the people were already assembled to greet him. They were dressed in long, flowing robes, like Arabian burnooses, the only logical attire for the climate.

A bearded patriarch stepped forward and nodded gravely at Eldridge. “The ancient sayings are true. For every beginning there is an ending.”

Eldridge agreed politely. “Anyone got a drink of water?”

“It is truly written,” the patriarch continued, “that the thief, given a universe to wander, will ultimately return to the scene of his crime.”

“Crime?” Eldridge asked, feeling an uneasy tingle in his stomach.

“Crime,” the patriarch repeated.

A man in the crowd shouted, “It’s a stupid bird that fouls its own nest!” The people roared with laughter, but Eldridge didn’t like the sound. It was cruel laughter.

“Ingratitude breeds betrayal,” the patriarch said. “Evil is omnipresent. We liked you, Thomas Eldridge. You came to us with your strange machine, bearing booty, and we recognized your proud spirit. It made you one of us. We protected you from your enemies in the Wet Worlds. What did it matter to us if you had wronged them? Had they not wronged you? An eye for an eye!”

The crowd growled approvingly. “But what did I do?” Eldridge wanted to know. The crowd converged on him, waving clubs and knives. A row of men in dark blue cloaks held them off, and Eldridge realized that there were policemen even here.

“Tell me what I did,” he persisted as the policemen took the Traveler from him.

“You are guilty of sabotage and murder,” the patriarch told him.

Eldridge stared around wildly. He had fled a petty larceny charge in Sector One, only to find himself accused of it in Sector Two. He had retreated to Sector Three, where he was wanted for murder and sabotage.

He smiled amiably. “You know, all I ever really wanted was a warm drowsy country, books, congenial neighbors, and the love of a good —”

When he recovered, he found himself lying on packed earth in a small brick jail. Through a slitted window, he could see an insignificant strip of sunset. Outside the wooden door, someone was wailing a song.

He found a bowl of food beside him and wolfed down the unfamiliar stuff. After drinking some water from another bowl, he propped himself against the wall. Through his narrow window, the sunset was fading. In the courtyard, a gang of men were erecting a gallows.

“Jailor!” Eldridge shouted.

In a few moments, he heard the clump of footsteps. “I need a lawyer,” he said.

“We have no lawyers here,” the man replied proudly. “Here we have justice.” He marched off.

Eldridge began to revise his ideas about justice without law. It was very good as an idea – but a horror as reality.

He lay on the floor and tried to think. No thoughts came. He could hear the workmen laughing and joking as they built the gallows. They worked late into the twilight.