Collision with Chronos

An unreal air pervaded the city. The inhabitants, contrasting sharply in appearance with their newly arrived conquerors, displayed no apparent alarm. There was much laughing and joking as the sweating Titans set up their emplacements. If Sobrie hadn’t already sampled the mental sophistication of these people, he would have thought them to be simple children who didn’t know what was happening.

At last they entered what Sobrie took to be a nursery. Cribs lined the walls of a sunny room, nearly every crib bearing a baby. All, Sobrie guessed, were newborn.

He couldn’t imagine why Su-Mueng should have brought him to a maternity ward. A young woman came forward, inclining her head while Su-Mueng spoke to her rapidly in a low voice. She frowned, looked doubtful and incredulous by turns, and then the two of them went off somewhere together.

Sobrie was beginning to feel uneasy by the time Su-Mueng returned. “They’ve agreed to it,” the young man said. “It’s kind of hard to get these people to admit there’s an emergency afoot. I thought I was going to have to use force.”

“They’ve agreed to what?” Sobrie asked, following the other. They passed along a corridor, smelling pleasantly of perfumes, and came to a chamber that evidently served some function not clear to Sobrie. There were cradles, set on rails that vanished into the wall. A barely perceptible hum filled the air.

“We’re going down into the Production Retort,” Su-Mueng informed him. Men entered the chamber, removed the cradles and replaced them with a platform on which were mounted a number of padded chairs.

One of them grinned cheerfully at Su-Mueng. “A long time since this was last used,” he said.

At his direction Sobrie seated himself in one of the chairs beside Su-Mueng. The wall facing them rolled away, revealing a tunnel that dwindled into the distance.

Su-Mueng’s expression was matter-of-fact. The platform moved into the tunnel, which was unlit and soon pitch-black. They travelled smoothly, without noticeable acceleration – without, indeed, any noticeable breeze – but Sobrie became aware of an unusual feeling, as if he were being lifted and compressed at the same time, and the faint hum intensified. After perhaps two minutes a light showed ahead, brightening until they emerged into a chamber much like the one they’d left.

Su-Mueng leaped up from his chair, shouting excitedly at the receptionists, young women who seemed astonished at their arrival. Sobrie followed him as he dashed into an adjoining chamber. From nearby he heard the crying of very young babies.

There were no babies, however, in the room in which Sobrie found himself. There was a bank of instruments and controls arranged in a workmanlike way around a bucket seat and desk. In that seat was a controller – but dressed in a simple blue garb rather than the sumptuous finery Sobrie had come to expect in the Leisure Retort.

Energetically Su-Mueng pushed the controller aside and applied himself with great concentration to the controls. The displaced controller gawped from the floor, too staggered to rise.

The ever-present hum that lay just within the bounds of audibility died into silence. With satisfaction Su-Mueng drew his automatic and fired several times into the main switch, sealing the settings temporarily at least.

The two retorts were now totally separated in time: no time-gradient connected them. If the Titans were to come along the tunnel Sobrie and Su-Mueng had just travelled, or to enter by any other route, they would only arrive into its unpeopled future.

Su-Mueng turned to the controller he’d just treated so barbarically. “Come with me,” he said. “It’s imperative that I speak with the retort managers!”

“We’ve captured the ruling clique, sir.”

“All right, let me see them.”

Brourne stared at the impassive, droopy-moustached, silky-bearded, satined and silked old men who came up on the screen. “How do you know this is the ruling clique?” he demanded.

The youthful, enthusiastic Captain came back into view. “They admit it, sir. We’ve found a kind of computer that knows a few Earth phrases.”

“Oh? How many?”

“Not enough for a useful interrogation, I’m afraid.”

“I see. Well, lock them up until later.”

“Yes, sir.” The Captain snapped off a salute and went off the line.

Brourne turned away, gingerly massaging his injured arm, which lay in a sling. What was the point of capturing anybody when he couldn’t talk to them? He cursed again for having let Hueh Su-Mueng get away. At the time he’d thought nothing of it, hadn’t even ordered any pursuit or search. Why bother? The Chink’s first move had doubtless been to divest himself of his uniform, whereupon he might as well have been invisible. It was practically impossible to tell these Chinks apart.