Children of Tomorrow (4 page)

What he did, abruptly, was, he walked over and stood behind a tree.

At least a minute passed. At the end of that time, a hulking male of medium height, late thirty-ish in age, came weaving up to the gate. The man had an obvious difficulty in maintaining his balance even when he stopped moving. He fumbled the gate catch. Then he bent down and looked at it. Then he fumbled at it some more.

Seen close, the man’s face showed a certain ruggedness. But there were purple veins in the nose and upper cheeks. And the small eyes were slightly too near each other. The man’s lips were bulky, as if slightly swollen, and loosely held together.

Observing him, not for the first time, the viewer had the private awareness - again - that in espionage, one often had to deal with partially destroyed entities. When he was not drunk, Len Jaeger was a skilled toolmaker; and, as such, had successfully applied for a position in Spaceport - all this before he was ever selected for his role.

When he suddenly produced a son, the authorities were surprisingly unsuspicious. Of course, it was true that his real son had run away. What should have caused wonder, and didn’t was that such a runaway would ever return to such a father.

This human entity finally solved the gate mechanism. It swung open, and he surged through on up to the door of the house. He stood, then, with his finger pressing the door-bell button until, once more, the door swung open, and there was Airs Jaeger,

‘Sssshh!
she said. ‘You’ll awaken Bud.'

If the admonition penetrated to the man there was no sign. He stepped past her, and staggered noisily on into the house out of sight of the watcher. The woman did not immediately follow him. She seemed undecided. It was a momentary delay only. Leaving the door ajar, she walked out onto the little porch, stepped down to the walk, and came along it to the gate, which she closed. Hurriedly, now, as if afraid of being seen, she turned about; and, holding her robe and nightdress way from her feet, she half ran back the way she had come. The door of the house closed behind her.

For nearly fifteen minutes after that, the boy, Albert, waited behind the tree. At last, he seemed satisfied. He emerged from his place of concealment, walked past the gate, and rapidly made his way along the street. He disappeared around the same corner from which Jaeger had first come into view.

The unseen watcher did not budge. His would be an all-night vigil

V

Next
morning came in its slow pace to
the
Lane household. In Susan’s room, the morning light filtered vaguely through the plastic two-way window. The light adjustment was for
alm
ost pitch dark, but not quite.

In the dim light it was possible to make out what was unmistakably a nice room. There was a makeup table with a large, glinting mirror. A dresser stood against the wall by the window. Pictures on the walls built-into-the-wall drawers, a built-in television, and a cunningly concealed door that opened into a spacious wardrobe. And on the bed, covered by a thin sheet, Susan lay sound asleep.

Suddenly, movement. On the bedside table to Susan’s right, a clocklike object produced a flag. The flag sprang into view with a click-clack. An instant later a chime sounded inside the clock, giving forth with a prolonged bell-like Middle C. As the musical note died away, a voice spoke from the clock. A familiar, girlish voice. It said, ‘Good morning, Susan ... it is 7.30. Time to get up.’

The girl in the bed did not stir.

In the breakfast room at the far side of the house, Lane was sitting at the table. He had a small notebook beside his plate, and his manner was preoccupied as he wrote into it at some length. Presently, he put the pen down, ate the rest of his breakfast - a few mouthfuls - and then, without looking directly at Estelle who was sitting across from him, he said, ‘I notice that hasn’t changed.’

The woman had been watching him, waiting for him to finish his notation. His sudden words caught her by surprise. ‘What?
¹
she asked.

‘Outfit or no, it’s still as hard to get a kid up as when I was young.’

His wife was recovering. She smiled, but her voice was calm as she said, ‘Susan isn’t perfect about getting up, but she’s pretty good. She has so many duties, I wonder sometimes that she can stand it. It would drive me out of my mind.’

Lane looked up, frowning, ‘Duties?’ he echoed.

‘For the outfit.’

‘Oh.’

There was a tone to his voice that caused the blonde woman to look at ihim sharply. She said finally, ‘Now, remember what you agreed.’

The expression on the man’s face showed that his thoughts and her words were not entirely in accord. He looked exasperated, then briefly cynical, and then his lips twisted ever so slightly, indicating that he hadn’t really agreed.

But he said aloud, ‘I remember.’

His voice sounded false. Estelle sighed. ‘Really, John’ - wearily

'do we have to go over all this again?
’

Lane shrugged. ‘You’re trying to imply something that does not exist.’

‘
You agreed -
‘

‘I agreed not to make a further issue of it with Susan,’ said Lane. ‘I didn’t agree to like it.’

The woman’s eyes were abruptly misty. She took out her handkerchief hastily from her sleeve, and wiped her eyes Lane watched the little byplay impatiently, and then said in an irritated tone, ’For heaven’s sake, Estelle - ’

‘What I’m visualising,’ she said in an unsteady voice, ‘is you around here, sullen, going into silences - like you used to, whenever you didn’t get your own way. It just seems’ too much to look forward to after all these years.’

Lane sat gazing at her. His shoulders sagged a little. It was the lame body response of helplessness that had briefly come over
him
the night before with Susan. But in the end he shook his head
rejectingly.
‘
You’re hitting hard,’ he said. ‘I haven’t done any of those things yet.’

She half sobbed, ‘I spent half the night fighting for the small concession that you finally made, and now it looks like you didn’t really concede anything,’

‘I agreed to wait,’ said Lane. ‘And I’m waiting. I’ll defer judgement until I hear the facts. But if Susan were to leave her outfit of her own free will, I can tell you it wouldn’t hurt my feelings any - the way I feel right now.’

“What a strange remark!’ She stared at him. The grief was gone out of her as suddenly as it had come. Her face tightened with suspicion. ‘I can’t imagine what could be going on in the mind of someone who would say a thing like that.’

‘Estelle - let up!’ her husband protested. ‘I haven’t done any
’
thing. I give up. Have mercy.’

The woman was still suspicious. ‘Can I trust you?
’

‘To do what I said - yes.’

‘All right.’ Her tone was still grudging, but her face changed. A smile brightened her eyes, and crinkle of lines around her mouth showed satisfaction. She said swifdy in an undertone, ‘I hear sounds. I do believe someone is coming.’

There were indeed sounds. They came from the hallway beyond a door behind Lane. Lane listened for a moment, and then he shook his head, puzzled. ‘If I were to guess, it would be that a one-legged, hoofed
anim
al is approaching

He had scarcely spoken when Susan came into view. She hopped into the room on one foot as she put her shoe onto the other foot. This complex operation required her to use only one hand. In the other hand she carried a booklet.

The shoeing task completed. She put the raised foot down on the floor, and became a two-legged human being, whose appearance indicated that a lot of work had been done in an incredibly short time. Her hair was combed, and done up in a peculiar sweep to one side of her head. Her face looked washed, and presumably her teeth were brushed, for they were brilliantly white. Her skirt and blouse were on straight, and tucked in, and her stockings gleamed in even lines.

‘Good morning, mom,’ said this youthful apparition. “ ’Morning, back from-the-universe dad.’

‘Good morning, dear,’ said Estelle.

Lane was hesitating. His daughter’s greeting was somehow not to his liking. That’s what his expression seemed to indicate. Or else, despite his assurances to his wife, the earlier feelings in him were too strong to be overcome, now that the moment for action had arrived.

Estelle was abruptly tense. ‘John, Susan spoke to you.’

Lane turned in his chair. ‘Susan/ he said, ‘do you always address people by their latest exploit? Suppose I said to you, “Hello, just-got-up Susan?” ’

Susan was drinking her orange juice. She lowered the glass. ‘Can we start over, dad? I’m willing. Good morning, dad. I’m sure glad you’re back from the universe.
’

‘Good morning, Susan,’ said Lane.

The words still came hard. His tone was slightly peevish, as if he was still one-down in a conversation that - his manner implied - should never have started in the first place. The man watched perhaps too grimly as his daughter finished her orange juice, gave him her delightful smile, and then glided over and put the booklet she had been holding onto the table beside his plate.

‘What’s this?’ Lane asked. His gaze fastened onto the print on the cover, and he read slowly, aloud,
‘Rules and Regulations far Outfits'

Susan drew back, and for the first time when she spoke, her voice seemed formal. ‘Bringing you this,’ she said, ‘is part of the outfit program to communicate with parents.’

‘You sound like you’re quoting,’ said Lane, quickly.
P
araphrasing is more like it,’ Susan said.

“What I don’t understand,’ said her father, 'is why should it be a program?’ At that moment, he caught a glimpse of Estelle’s face, with its disapproval, and he said hastily, ‘All right, Susan, I’ll consider myself communicated with.’
¹

‘It’s only a communication if you read it,’ said the girl. She seemed uncertain now, as if the unvarying intensity of his basic hostility was getting through to her finally. ‘Well - ’ she said, vaguely.

It was a bad moment, and Lane’s expression recognised that the situation could only be saved by a. gesture of goodwill from him. For the first time, he managed a smile. ‘I think I’ve got something better for you than reading this book, my dear about-to-leave Susan.’

The words caught his daughter at the door. She came to a stop, and turned slowly. She was visibly halted in her flight plan, which was clearly the solution she had come to. To leave, to put Lane and the problem he was causing behind her - that was what his communication prevented, barely in time. The man was momentarily staggered by the disaster that was so narrowly averted. He glanced involuntarily at his wife; and saw in her stricken expression her awareness of the same dark truth. His body shrank a little as he obviously visualised what might have
happened if Susan had actually escaped; and there he would have been alone with Estelle.

Lane swallowed and said hastily, with a forced smile, ‘Your mother has been making strong representations to me ... so just forget our little conversation of last night. I intend to get some data before I - ’ He stopped, grimacing.

Whatever it was he might have said, was lost to history. Susan came back from the door, and put her arms around him. ‘Oh, dad, I knew you were a great guy.’ She kissed him warmly on the left cheek. As he kissed her on her right, she said, ‘Dad, is it true that when you were out in space, you ran into some dangerous aliens?’

Lane completed his kiss. He was smiling now, cynically. ‘Now, dear, if I had classified information about that, I couldn’t tell you. But the fact is, the whole story is in the papers. We spent a year in evasive flight, making sure they didn’t trace us back to earth. The fight was very brief, three months - which in space is like three day’s battle on earth. Then the long, tiresome getaway.’ ‘It sounds awful scary,’ said Susan. ‘But
⁵
- she glanced at the clock - ‘look at the time.’ . She trotted to the door. ‘See you.’

After she had disappeared down the hallway, there were a few additional noises. The sound of her footsteps. Then her voice from a distance, saying, ‘Oh, my dear little Fuzzy pussycat, good-bye; I’ll see you later.’ Next, the front door opened softly and closed loudly. If there were other Susan noises after that, they were indistinguishable from ordinary street sounds.

In die breakfast room, no word was spoken by the parents as the girl made her exit. When she was finally gone, Lane pushed the booklet she had presented him away from his plate. Estelle, who had been watching, reached forward and pushed it toward him again. Lane looked down at it somberly and then up at her, ‘I don’t have to read it, do I?’ he said.

‘It says in there somewhere,’ stated his wife, ‘that a jabber is old enough to evaluate a parent, but what they’re normally not able to evaluate is what they should do about it, if their judgement is negative. The outfits tell them what to do. I thought you might be interested to know what they say.’

‘Why don’t you give it to me in one sentence?’

The woman shook her head. She was not unfriendly, and her tone was not as critical as were her words. She said, ‘If you can’t give ten minutes to your daughter after ten years, then I also may find myself making a negative judgement of you. Only for me there’s no book of rules that tells me what to do about it.’