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By ROBERT SHECKLEY The breath of an entire world literally hung upon whether he lived or died and he infuriatingly refused to stay alive! Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS EDWIN JAMES, the Chief Programmer of Earth, had seated himself upon a little three-legged stool in front of the Probabilities Calculator. He was a small, spare man, impressively ugly, dwarfed by the great control board which soared a hundred feet above him. The steady hum. of the machine, the slow drift of lights across the face of the panel, brought a sense of security which he recognized as false, but which soothed him all the same. He had just started to doze off when the * pattern of lights changed. He sat up with a start and rubbed his face. A paper tape inched from a slot in the panel. The Chief Programmer tore it off and scanned it. He nodded sourly to himself and walked quickly out of the room. GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER Fifteen minutes later, he entered the meeting room of the World Planning Council. Summoned there by his order, the five representatives of the Federated Districts of Earth were seated around the long table, waiting for him. There was a new member this year, Roger Beatty, from the Americas. He was tall and angular and his bushy brown hair was just beginning to thin on top. He appeared eager, earnest and ill at ease. He was reading a procedural handbook and taking short, quick sniffs from his oxygen inhaler. James knew the other members well. Lan.il from Pan-Asia, looking as small, wrinkled and indestructible as ever, was engaged in intense conversation with large, blond Dr. Sveg from Europe. Miss Chandragore, beautiful and sleek, was playing her inevitable game of chess with Aaui of Oceania. James turned up the room's oxygen supply and the members gratefully put away their inhalers. "Sorry to keep you waiting," James said, taking his seat at the head of the table. "The current prediction just came through." He took a notebook from his pocket and opened it. "At our last meeting, we selected Alternate Probability Line BCC, which began in the year . The factor we were selecting for was the life of Albert Levinsky. In the Main Historic Line, Levinsky died in of an automobile accident. By switching into Alternate Probability Line BCC, Levinsky avoided this accident and lived to the age of sixty-two, completing his work. The result now, in our own time, in the opening up of Antartica." 'What about side effects?" asked Janna Chandragore. "Those are discussed in the paper you will be given later. Briefly, though, BCC adhered closely to the Historic Main Line. All important events remained constant. There were, of course, some effects which the prediction did not cover. They include an oil-well explosion in Patagonia, a flu epidemic in Kansas and an increase in smog over Mexico City." "Have all injured parties been compensated?" Lan II wanted to know. "They have. And the colonization of Antartica is already begun." i The Chief Programmer unfolded the paper tape he had taken from the Probabilities Calculator. "But now we face a dilemma. As predicted, the Historic Main Line leads into unpleasant complications. But there are no good alternate lines to switch into!" The Members murmured to each other. GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION James said, "Let me explain the situation." He walked to a wall and pulled down a large chart. "The crisis-point occurs on April , , and our problem centers around an individual named Ben Baxter. The circumstances are as follows . . ." VENTS, by their very nature, evoke alternate possibilities, each of which produces its own continuum of history. In other spatial-temporal worlds, Spain lost at Lepanto, Normandy at Hastings, England at Waterloo. Suppose Spain had lost at Lepanto . . . Spain did, disastrously. And Turkish sea power, invincible, swept the Mediterranean of European shipping. Ten years later, a Turkish fleet conquered Naples and paved the way for the Moorish invasion of Austria ... In another time and space, that is. This speculation became observable fact after the development of temporal selection and displacement. By , Oswald Meyner and his associates were able to show the theoretical possibility of Switching from the Historic Main Line so named for convenience to alternate lines. Within definite limits, however. It would be impossible, for example, to Switch into a past where William of Normandy lost the battle of Hastings. The world developing from that event would be too different, alien in every way. Switching was found possible only into closely adjacent lines. The theoretical possibility became a practical necessity in . In that year, the Sykes-Raborn Calculator at Harvard predicted the complete sterilization of Earth's atmosphere by the ac. cretion of radioactive by-products. The process was irreversible and inevitable. It could be stopped only in the past, where the poisoning had begun. The first Switch was made with * L the newly developed Adams-HoltMaartens Selector. The World Planning Council chose a line which involved the early death of Vassily Ouchenko (and the obliteration of his erroneous radiationdamage theories). A large part of the subsequent poisoning was avoided, although at the cost of seventy-three lives descendants of Ouchenko for whom no Switchparents could be found. After that, there was no turning back. Line Switching became as necessary to the world as disease prevention. But the process had its limitations. A time had to come when no available line would be usable, when all futures looked unfavorable. * i i When that happened, the PlanTHE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER *T < L * ' T ning Council was prepared to use more direct means. <? ND those are the conseEdwin A ** quences for us," James concluded. "That is the outcome if we allow the Main Historic Line to continue." Lan II said, "Meaning that you predict serious trouble for Earth, Mr. Programmer." "With regret, I do." The Programmer poured himself a glass of water and turned a before they have grown to any sequences. Then comes the great blight of ', which the few remaining woodlands cannot withstand. And at last the present, with the natural carbon-dioxideoxygen cycle disrupted by the destruction of the trees, with all combustion devices banned, with oxygen inhalers a necessity merely to survive." "We've started the forests again," Aaui said. "It will be hundreds of years page in his notebook. "Our pivotal point is Ben Baxter, who dies on April , . He must live at least another ten years for his work to have the desired effect upon world events. In that time, Ben Baxter will purchase Yellowstone National Park from the government. He will continue to maintain it as a park, but will farm the trees. This enterprise will be highly successful. He will buy other great tracts of land in North and South America. The Baxter heirs will be lumber kings for the next two hundred years and will own huge standings throughout the world. Due to their efforts, there will be great forests in the world, up to and including our own time. But if Baxter dies " James gestured wearily. "With Baxter dead, the forests will be cut before the governments of the world are fully aware of the consignificant size, even with forced growing methods. In the meantime, the balance may become further upset. That is the importance of Ben Baxter to us. He holds the key to the air we breathe!" "Very well," said Dr. Sveg. "The Main Line, in which Baxter dies, is clearly unusable. But there are Alternates " "Many," James said. "As usual, most of them cannot be selected. Counting the Main Line, we have a total of three choices. But, unfortunately, each of them results in the death of Ben Baxter on April , ." The Programmer wiped his forehead. "To be more specific, Ben Baxter dies on the afternoon of April , , as a result of a business meeting with a man named Ned Brynne." The new member, Roger Beatty, cleared his throat nervously. GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION "This event takes place in all three probability worlds? " "Yes. In every one of them, Brynne is the cause of Baxter's death." Dr. Sveg came ponderously to his feet. "Formerly, this Council has avoided any direct interference with the existing lines of probability. But this situation seems to call for interference." The council members nodded their agreement. "Let's get down to cases," said Aaui. "For the good of Earth, can this Ned Brynne be Switched Out?" i "No," replied the Programmer. "Brynne himself plays a vital role in our future. He has an option on almost a hundred square miles of forest. He needs Baxter's backing to purchase it. If Brynne could be kept from that meeting with Baxter -" "How?" asked Beatty. "Take your pick," James suggested. "Threats, persuasion, bribery, kidnaping any means short of murder. We have three worlds to work in. If we can restrain Brynne in just one of them, our problem is solved." "What would be our best method?" asked Aaui. "Try several, a different one in each probability world," said Miss Chandragore. "Our chances would be best that way. Shall we go ourselves?" "We are best suited for the job," Edwin James said. "We know the factors involved. And politics gives one a certain skill in improvising which will be sorely needed in this job. Each team will be absolutely on its own. There is no way for them to check on each other's progress across the time lines." "Each team then," Dr. Sveg summed up, "will have to assume that the other teams fail." "Probably with good reason," James said wryly. "Let's organize the teams and select our methods." I ON THE morning of April , , Ned Brynne awakened and washed and dressed. At : that afternoon, he had an appointment with Ben Baxter, president of Baxter Industries. Brynne's entire future hinged upon the outcome of that meeting. If he could get the backing of the gigantic Baxter enterprises, and do so on favorable terms . . . Brynne was a tall, darkly handsome man of thirty-six. There was a hint of fanatic pride in his carefully bland eyes, a suggestion of unreasoning stubbornness in his tightly held mouth. His movements had the controlled strength of a man who is constantly watching and judging himself. He was almost ready to leave. THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER He tucked a swagger stick under his arm and slipped a copy of Somerset's American Peerage into his jacket pocket. He was never without that infallible guide. Finally he fixed to his lapel the golden sunburst decoration of his station. Brynne was a Chamberlain, second class, and properly proud of the fact. Some people thought him too young for so exalted a position. But they had to agree that Brynne carried the prerogatives and requirements of his office with a dignity quite beyond his years. He locked his apartment and walked to the elevator. There was a small crowd waiting, mostly commoners, but two Equerries as well. All made way for him when the elevator came. "Pleasant day, Chamberlain Brynne," the operator said as the car started down. Brynne inclined his head an inch in the usual response to a commoner. He was deep in thought about Ben Baxter. But at the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the occupants of the car, a tall, strongly built fellow with golden-brown Polynesian features and tilted dark eyes. Brynne wondered what a man like that was doing in his apartment building. He knew the other tenants by sight, although their lower status naturally made them unworthy of his recognition. The elevator reached the lobby and Brynne forgot about the Polynesian fellow. He had a lot on his mind today. There were some problems connected with Ben Baxter, problems he hoped to resolve before the meeting. He strode outside, into a dismal gray April morning, and decided to go to the Prince Charles Coffee Shop for a late breakfast. It was : a.m. UTSTHAT do you think?" Aaui asked. "Looks like a tough customer," said Roger Beatty. He inhaled deeply, savoring the rich air. It was a delightful luxury, breathing all the oxygen he wanted. In his time even the very wealthy turned down the oxygen tanks at night. They were following half a block behind Brynne. There was no losing Brynne's tall, swaggering figure, even in New York's morning rush. "He looked at you in the elevator," Beatty said. "I know." Aaui grinned. "Give him something to worry about." "He doesn't look like a worrying type," Beatty said. "I wish we had more time." Aaui shrugged. "This was the closest we could come to the event. Our next choice would have been eleven years ago. And we would still have to wait until GALAXY SCIENCE FICTIO now before taking direct action." "At least we'd know something about Brynne. He doesn't look as though he'll frighten easily." "No, he doesn't," Aaui admitted. "But that's the course of action we selected." They continued to follow, noticing how the crowds parted to make way for Brynne, who marched straight ahead, not looking to right or left. Then it happened. Brynne, his attention turned inward, collided with a portly, florid-faced man, who wore in his lapel the dazzling purple and silver medallion of a First Order Crusader. "Can't you watch where you're going, imbecile?" the Crusader barked. RYNNE noticed the man's rank, swallowed and muttered, "I beg your pardon, sir." The Crusader wasn't so easily placated. "Do you make a habit of bumping into your betters, sirrah?" "I do not," Brynne said, his face growing red, fighting hard to restrain his rage. A crowd of commoners had gathered to watch. They ringed the brilliantly dressed men, grinning and nudging each other. "Then suppose you watch yourself!" the portly Crusader roared. "Stop cluttering the streets like a sleepwalker, before you are taught a lesson in manners!" Brynne said, with deadly quiet, "Sir, if you feel the necessity of giving me such a lesson, I should be pleased to meet you at a place of your choosing, with such weapons as you elect " "Me? Meet you?" the Crusader asked incredulously. "My rank permits it, sir." "Your rank? You're a good five degrees beneath me, you simple idiot! Enough of this or I'll send my servants who outrank you to teach you a lesson in manners. I'll remember your face, young man. Now get out of my way!" ' And with that, the Crusader pushed past him and stalked away. "Coward!" said Brynne, his face a mottled red. But he said it softly, and the commoners noticed. Brynne turned to them, his hands tightening on his swagger stick. Grinning cheerfully, the crowd broke up. Beatty said, "Dueling is permitted here?" Aaui nodded. "The legal precedent came in , when Alexander Hamilton killed Aaron Burr i in a duel." "I guess we'd better get to work," Beatty said. "But I wish we had more equipment." "We took all we could carry. Let's get on with it." THE DEATHS OF REN BAXTER NSIDE the Prince Charles Coffee Shop, Brynne sat at a table far in the rear. His hands were trembling; with an effort, he controlled them. Damn that First Order Crusader! Lousy, overbearing blowhard! But would he accept a duel? No, of course not. Had to hide behind the privileges of his station. was rising in Brynne, black and ominous. He should have killed the man and the blazes with the consequences! The blazes with everything! No man could step on him that way . . . Stop it, he told himself. There was nothing he could do about it. He had to think about Ben Baxter and the all-important meeting. Looking at his watch, he saw it was nearly eleven o'clock. In two and a half hours, he would be in Baxter's office and "Your order, sir?" a waiter asked him. i "Hot chocolate, toast and a poached egg." "French fries?" "If I wanted French fries, I'd have told you!" Brynne shouted. The waiter went pale, gulped, said, "Yes, sir, sorry, sir," and hurried off. Now, Brynne thought, I'm reduced to yelling at commoners. Control I must get myself under control. "Ned Brynne!" Brynne started and looked around. He had distinctly heard someone whisper his name. But there was no one within twenty feet of him. "Brynne!" "What is this?" Brynne muttered in unwilling reply. "Who's speaking?" "You're nervous, Brynne, losing control oi yourself. You need a rest, a vacation, a change" Brynne went dead whitje under his tan and looked around the cafe. It was almost empty. There were three old ladies near the front. Beyond them he could see two men, talking together earnestly. "Go home, Brynne, and get some rest. Take some time off while you can." "I have an important business appointment," Brynne said, his voice shaky. "Business before sanity," the voice pointed out mockingly. "Who's talking to me?" "What makes you think someone is talking to you?" the voice asked silkily. "You mean I'm talking to myself?" "You should know."' "Your egg, sir," the waiter said. "What?" Brynne roared. The waiter stepped hastily back, slopping hot chocolate into the saucer. "Sir?" he quavered. "Don't creep around that way, idiot." GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION The waiter looked at Brynne incredulously, deposited the food and fled. Brynne stared after him suspiciously. "You are in no condition to see anyone," the voice told him. "Go home, get into bed, take a pill, sleep, heal!" "But what's the matter? Why?" "Because your sanity is at stake! This external voice is your mind's last frantic attempt at stability. You can't afford to ignore this warning, Brynne!" "It can't be true!" protested Brynne. "I'm sane. I'm " "Beg pardon, sir," said a voice at his elbow. Brynne whirled, prepared to chastise this further intrusion on his privacy. He saw the blue uniform of a policeman looming over him. The man was wearing the white shoulder epaulets of a Noble Lieutenant. RYNNE swallowed hard and said, "Anything wrong, Officer?" "Sir, the waiter and manager tell me you are talking to yourself and threatening violence." "Preposterous," snapped Brynne. "Ifs true! Ifs true! You're going crazy!" the voice screamed in his head. Brynne stared at the great square bulk of the policeman. Surely he heard the voice! But didn't, for he continued to look somberly down at him. "It's not true," Brynne said, feeling secure in staking his word against a commoner's. "I heard you myself," the Noble Lieutenant said. "Well, sir, it's this way," Brynne began, choosing his words with care. "I was" The voice shrieked in his head, "Tell him to go to hell, Brynne! Who's he to question you? Who's anyone to question you? Hit him! Blast him! Kill him! Destroy him!" Brynne said, through the barrage of noise in his head, "I was talking to myself, perfectly true, Officer. I frequently think out loud. It helps me to organize my thoughts." The Noble Lieutenant gave a half nod. "But you offered violence, sir, at no provocation." "No provocation! I ask you, sir, I are cold eggs no provocation? Are limp toast and spilled chocolate no provocation?" The waiter, called over, insisted, "Those eggs were hot " "They were not and that is all. I do not expect to sit here and argue a point of fact with a commoner." "Quite right," the Noble Lieutenant said, nodding emphatically now. "But might I ask you, sir, to curb your anger somewhat, even apparently the Noble Lieutenant though it may be perfectly justiTHE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER tm t ' fied? Not too much can be expected of commoners, after all." "I know," Brynne agreed. "By the way, sir the purple edging on your epaulets are you related to O'Donnel of Moose Lodge, by any chance?" "My third cousin on my mother's side," said the Noble Lieutenant, looking intently now at Brynne's sunburst medallion. "My son has entered the Chamberlain Halls as a probationary. A tall boy named Callahan." "I will remember the name," Brynne promised. "The eggs were hot!" said the waiter. "Don't dispute the word of a gentleman," ordered the officer. "It could get you into serious trouble. Pleasant day to you, sir." The Noble Lieutenant saluted and left. Brynne paid and left shortly after him. He deposited a sizable tip for the waiter, but determined never to come into the Prince Charles again. * ^DESOURCEFUL fellow," "^ Aaui said bitterly, putting the tiny microphone back in his pocket. "For a moment, I thought we had him." "We would have, if he'd had any latent doubts about his sanity. Well, now for something more direct. Got the equipment?" Aaui took two pairs of brass knuckles out of his pocket and handed one to Beatty. "Try not to lose it," he said. "We're supposed to return it to the Primitive Museum." "Right. It fits over the fist, doesn't it? Oh, yes, I see." They paid and hurried out. * * * Brynne decided to take a stroll along the waterfront to quiet his nerves. The sight of the great ships lying calm and steadfast in their berths never failed to soothe him. He walked steadily along, trying to reason out what had happened to him. Those voices in his head . . . Was he really losing his grip? An uncle on his mother's side had spent his last years in an institution. Involutional melancholia. Was there some explosive hidden factor at work in him? He stopped and looked at the bow of a great ship. The Theseus . . Where was it going? Italy, perhaps. He thought of blue skies, brilliant sunshine, wine and relaxation. Those things would never be his. Work, frantic effort, that was the life he had set for himself. Even if it meant losing his mind, he would continue to labor under the iron-gray skies of New York. But why, he asked himself. He was moderately well off. His business could take care of itself. What was to stop him from GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION ' boarding that ship, dropping everything, spending a year in the sun? Excitement stirred in him as he realized that nothing was stopping him. He was his own man, a determined, strong man. If he had the guts to succeed in business, he also had the guts to leave it, to drop everything and go away. "To hell with Baxter!" he said to himself. His sanity was more important than anything. He would board that ship, right now, wire his associates from sea, tell them npVO men were walking toward him down the deserted street. He recognized one by his goldenbrown Polynesian features. "Mr. Brynne?" inquired the other, a rangy fellow with a shock of brown hair. "Yes?" said Brynne. Without warning, the Polynesian threw both arms around him, pinning him, and the shock-haired man swung at him with a fist that glinted golden! Brynne's keyed-up nerves reacted with shattering speed. He had been a Knight Rampant duri ing the Second World Crusade. Now, years later, all the reaction patterns were still there. He ducked the shock-haired man's blow and drove his elbow into the Polynesian's stomach. The man second. Brynne broke free. He chopped at the Polynesian with the back of his hand, hitting the nerve trunk in the throat. The man went down, gasping for breath. At the same time, the shock-haired man was on him, raining brass-knuckled blows. Brynne lashed out, missed, caught a solid punch in the solar plexus. He fought for air. Blackness began edging into the periphery of his vision. He was hit again and went down, fighting for consciousness. Then his opponent made a mistake. The shock-haired man tried to finish him with a kick, but he didn't know how to kick. Brynne caught his foot and jerked. Off balance, the man crashed to the pavement, striking his head. Brynne staggered to his feet, breathing hard. The Polynesian was sprawled in the road, his face purple, making feeble swimming movements with his arms and legs. The other man lay motionless, blood seeping slowly through his hair. He should report this incident to the police, Brynne thought. But suppose he had killed the shockhaired man? He would be held on a manslaughter charge, at least. And the Noble Lieutenant would report his earlier irrational behavior. He looked around. No one had grunted and his grip relaxed for a witnessed the incident. It was THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER best to simply walk away. Let his assailants report it, if they wanted to. Things were falling into place now. These men must have been hired by one of his many business competitors, men who were also trying for an affiliation with Ben Baxter. Even the voice in his head might have been a clever trick. f Well, let them try to stop him! Still breathing heavily, he began walking toward Ben Baxter's office. All thoughts of a cruise to Italy were gone now. ?? A RE you all right?" a voice ** asked from somewhere up above. Beatty returned slowly to consciousness. For a short, alarmed while, he thought he had a fractured skull. But, touching it gently, he decided it was still in one piece. 'What did he hit me with?" he asked. "The pavement, I think," Aaui said. "Sorry I couldn't help. He put me out of action pretty early." Beatty sat up, clutching his aching head. "What a fighter!" "We underestimated him," said Aaui. "He must have had some kind of training. Do you think you can walk?" "I think so," Beatty said, letting Aaui help him to his feet. "What time is it?" "Nearly one o'clock. His appointment's at one-thirty. Maybe we can stop him at Baxter's office." In five minutes, they caught a taxi and sped to Baxter's building. The receptionist was young and pretty, and she stared at them open-mouthed. They had managed to clean up some of the damage in the taxi, but what remained looked pretty bad. Beatty had an improvised bandage over his head and Aaui's complexion bordered on green. "What do you want?" the receptionist asked. "I believe Mr. Baxter has a one-thirty appointment with Mr. Brynne," said Aaui in his most businesslike tone. "Yes The wall clock read one-seventeen. Aaui said, "We must see Mr. Brynne before he goes in. It's very urgent. So if you don't mind, we'll wait here for him." "You can wait," the girl said. "But Mr. Brynne has already gone in." "But it isn't one-thirty yet!" "Mr. Brynne was early. Mr. Baxter decided to see him at once." "I must speak to him," Aaui said. "I have orders not to disturb them." The girl looked frightened and her finger hovered over a button on her desk. GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION Aaui knew that the button would probably summon help. A man like Baxter would have protection near at all times. The meeting was taking place now, and he didn't dare interfere. Perhaps his actions had changed the course of events. It seemed likely. The Brynne in that office was a different man, a man altered by his adventures of the morning. "It's all right," Aaui said to the receptionist. "We'll just sit here and wait." EN BAXTER was short, solid, bull-chested. He was totally bald and his eyes, behind gold pince-nez, were expressionless. His business suit was severe, and affixed to the lapel was the small ruby-and-pearls emblem of the Wall Street House of Lords. For half an hour, Brynne had talked, spread papers on Baxter's desk, quoted figures, mentioned trends, predicted movements. He was perspiring anxiously now, waiting for a word out of Baxter. "Hmm," said Ben Baxter. Brynne waited. His temples were pounding with a steady, dull ache and he was having trouble with the tight knots in his stomach. It was years since he had fought in anger; he wasn't used to it. He hoped he could control himself until the meeting was over. 'The terms you request," said Baxter, "are just short of preposterous." "Sir?" "Preposterous was the word, Mr. Brynne. You are, perhaps, hard of hearing?" "No," said Brynne. "Excellent. These terms you present might be suitable for negotiation between two companies of equal holdings. But such is not the case, Mr. Brynne. It amounts * to presumption that a company of your size should offer such terms to Baxter Enterprises." Brynne's eyes narrowed. He had heard about Baxter's reputation for in-fighting. This was not personal insult, he reminded himself. It was the kind of business maneuver that he himself had often used. It must be dealt with as such. "Let me point out," Brynne said, "the key nature of this forest area I have an option on. With sufficient capitalization, we could extend the holding enormously, to say nothing " "Hopes, dreams, promises," Baxter sighed. "You may have something worth while. As yet, it is inadequately demonstrated." This is business, Brynne reminded himself. He does want to back me I can tell. I expected to come down in the bargaining. Naturally. All he's doing is beating down the terms. Nothing personal . . . THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER But too much had happened to Brynne in one day. The red-faced Crusader, the voice in the restaurant, his short-lived dream of freedom, the fight with the two men he knew he couldn't take much more. "Suppose, Mr. Brynne," said Baxter, "you make a more reasonable offer. One in keeping with the modest and subsidiary status of your holdings." H e's testing me, Brynne thought. But it was too much. He was as way," said Baxter. "And frankly, Mr. Brynne, I had hoped to do business with you. I will try to speak in a reasonable manner, if you will try to react in an equally reasonable manner. I ask you to withdraw your request for an apology and let us get on." "I can't!" Brynne said, wishing passionately he could. "Apologize, sir!" Baafter stood up, short and powerfully built. He stepped out from behind the desk, his face dark nobly born as Baxter; how dare with anger. "Get out of here then, the man treat him this way? "Sir," he said through numb lips, "I take exception." "Eh?" said Baxter, and Brynne thought he glimpsed amusement in the cold eyes. "What do you take exception to?" "Your statements, sir, and the manner in which you say them. I suggest you apologize." ^TANDING up stiffly, Brynne ^ waited. His head was pounding inhumanly now and his stomach refused to unknot itself. "I see nothing for which to apologize, sir," said Baxter. "And I see no reason to deal with a man who cannot keep personalities out of a business discussion." He's right, Brynne thought. I'm the one who should apologize. But he could not stop. Desperately he said, "I warn you apologize, sir!" "We can do no business this you insolent young dog! Get out or I'll have you thrown out, you hot-headed fool! Get out!" Brynne, wishing to apologize, thought of the red-faced Crusader, the waiter, his two assailants. Something snapped in him. He lashed out with all his strength, the weight of his body behind the blow. It caught Baxter full in the neck and slammed him against the desk. Eyes glazed, Baxter slumped to the floor. "I'm sorry!" Brynne cried. "I apologize! I apologize!'' He knelt beside Baxter. "Are you all right, sir? I'm truly sorry. I apologize ..." A part of his mind, coldly functioning, told him that he had been caught in an unresolvable ambivalence. His need for action had been as strong as his need to apologize. And so he had solved the GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION dilemma by trying to do both things, in the usual ambivalent muddle. He had struck then apologized. "Mr. Baxter?" he called in alarm. Ben Baxter's features were congested and blood drooled from a corner of his mouth. Then Brynne Norsted's Guide to the Gentle Way into his pocket. He was never without that infallible guide. Finally he fixed to his lapel the silver moon decoration of his station. Brynne was a Restrainer, second class, of the Western Buddhist Congregation, and he allowed himself a carefully renoticed that Baxter's head lay at strained pride over the fact. Some a queer angle from his body. "Oh . . ." Brynne said. He had served three years with the Knights Rampant. It was not the first broken neck he had seen. II ON THE morning of April , , Ned Brynne awakened and washed and dressed. At : that afternoon, he had an appointment with Ben Baxter, the president of Baxter Industries. Brynne's entire future hinged upon the outcome of that meeting. If he could get the backing of the gigantic Baxter enterprises, and do so on favorable terms . . . |
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Brynne was a tall, darkly handsome man of thirty-six. There was a hint of deep gentleness in his carefuly bland eyes, a suggestion of uncompromising piety in his expressive mouth. His movements had the loose grace of an unselfconscious man. He was almost ready to leave. He tucked a prayer stick under his arm and slipped a copy of THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER people thought him too young for lay-priestly duties. But they had to agree that Brynne carried the prerogatives and requirements of his office with a dignity quite beyond his years. He locked his apartment and walked to the elevator. There was a small crowd waiting, mostly Western Buddhists, but two Lamaists as well. All made way for him when the elevator came. "Pleasant day, Brother Brynne," the operator said as the car started down. Brynne inclined his head an inch in the usual modest response to a member of the flock. He was deep in thought about Ben Baxter. But at the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the occupants of the car, a slim, beautiful, blackhaired woman with a piquant golden face. Indian, Brynne thought, wondering what a woman like that was doing in his apartment building. He knew the other tenants by sight, though, of course, he would not be sufficiently immodest to recognize them. ' The elevator reached the lobby and Brynne forgot about the Indian woman. He had a lot on his mind today. There were some problems connected with Ben Baxter, problems he hoped to resolve before the meeting. He stepped outside, into a dismal gray April morning, and decided to go to the Golden Lotus Coffee Shop for a late breakfast. It was : a.m. T COULD stay here and breathe this air forever!" said Janna Chandragore. Lan II smiled faintly. "Perhaps we can breathe it in our own age. How does he seem to you?" "Smug and over-righteous," she said. They were following half a block behind Brynne. There was no losing Brynne's tall, stooped figure, even in New York's morning rush. "He absolutely stared at you in the elevator," said Lan II. "I know." She smiled. "He's rather nice-looking, don't you think?" Lan II raised both eyebrows, but didn't comment. They continued to follow, noticing how the crowds parted out of respect for Brynne's rank. Then it happened. Brynne, his attention turned inward, collided with a portly, florid-faced man who wore the yellow robe of a Western Buddhist priest. "My apologies for violating your meditation, Young Brother," said the priest. "My fault entirely, Father," Brynne said. "For it is written, 'Youth should know its footsteps.' " The priest shook his head. "In youth," he said, "resides the dream of the future; and age must make way." "Age is our guide and signposts along the Way," Brynne objected humbly but insistently. "The writings are clear on the point." "If you accept age," said the priest, his lips tightening slightly, "then accept the dictum of age: youth must forge ahead! Kindly do not contradict me, Dear Brother." Brynne, his eyes carefully bland, bowed deeply. The priest bowed in return and the men continued their separate ways. Brynne walked more quickly, his hands tight on his prayer stick. Just like a priest using his age as a support for arguments in favor of youth. There were some strange contradictions in Western Buddhism, but Brynne did not care to think about them at the moment. He went into the Golden Lotus Coffee Shop and sat down at a table far in the rear. He fingered the intricate carvings on his prayer stick and felt anger wash away from him. Almost immediately, GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION he regained that serene and unruffled union of mind with emotions so vital to the Gentle Way. Now was the time to think about Ben Baxter. After all, a man had to perform his temporal duties as well as his religious ones. Looking at his watch, he saw it was nearly eleven o'clock. In two and a half hours, he would be in Baxter's office and "Your order, sir?" a waiter asked him. "A glass of water and some dried fish, if you please," said Brynne. ^French fries?" "Today is Visya. It is not allowed," Brynne murmured softly. The waiter went pale, gulped, said, "Yes, sir, sorry, sir," and hurried off. SHOULDN'T have made him feel ridiculous, thought Brynne. I should simply have refused the French fries. Should I apologize to the man? tiny lace handkerchief. She was the woman he had seen earlier in his apartment building. With her was a small, wizened old man, who was trying in vain to console her. .As the woman wept, she cast a despairing glance at Brynne. There was only one thing a Restrainer could do under the circumstances. He walked over to their table. "Excuse the intrusion," he said. "I couldn't help notice your distress. Perhaps you are strangers in the city. Can I help?" "We are past help!" the woman wailed. The old man shrugged his shoulders fatalistically. Brynne hesitated, then sat down at their table. "Tell me," he begged. "No problem is unsolvable. It is written that there is a path through all jungles and a trail over the steepest mountains." "Truly spoken," the old man assented. "But sometimes the feet He decided it would simply of Man cannot reach the trail's embarrass him. Resolutely Brynne put the thought out of his mind and concentrated on Ben Baxter. With Baxter's power behind the forest area Brynne had optioned, and its potential, there was no telling He became conscious of a disturbance at a nearby table. He turned and saw a golden-featured end." "At such times," Brynne replied, "each helps each and the deed is done. Tell me your trouble. I will serve you in any way I can." In actual fact, this was more than a Restrainer was required to do. Total service was the obligation of higher-ranking priests. But woman weeping bitterly into a Brynne was swept away by the THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER woman's need and beauty, and the words were out before he could consider them. " 'In the heart of a young man is strength,' " quoted the old man, " 'and a staff for weary arms.' But tell me, sir, are you a believer in religious toleration?" "Absolutely!" said Brynne. "It is one of the essential tenets of Western Buddhism." "Very well. Then know, sir, that my daughter Janna and I are from Lhagrama in India, where we serve the Daritria Incarnation of the Cosmic Function. We came here to America hoping to found a small temple. Unfortunately, the schismatics of the Marii Incarnation have arrived before us. My daughter must return to her home. But our lives are threatened momentarily by these Marii fanatics, who are sworn to stamp out the Daritria faith." "But your lives can't be in danger here!" Brynne exclaimed. "Not in the heart of New York." "Here more than anywhere else," said Janna. "For crowds are cloak and mask to the assas"You will do as you are told!" the old man said. sin." "I shall not live long in any event," the old man said with serene unconcern. "I must remain here and complete my work. It is so written. But I wish my daughter to return safely to her home." "I won't go without you!" Janna cried. JANNA looked meekly away from his steely black eyes. The old man turned to Brynne. "Sir, this afternoon a ship sails for India. My daughter needs a man, a strong, true man, to guide and protect her, to bring her home. My fortune must go to the man who performs this sacred duty for me." "I can hardly believe this," said Brynne, suddenly struck with doubt. "Are you sureAs if in answer, the old man pulled a small chamois bag from his pocket and spilled its contents on the tablecloth. Brynne was not an expert in gems, though he had had some dealings with them as a religious-instruction officer in the Second World Jehad. Still, he was sure he recognized the true fire of ruby, sapphire, diamond and emerald. "They are yours," said the old man. "Take them to a jewelry store. When their authenticity is verified, perhaps you will believe the rest of my story. Or if these are not sufficient proof" From another pocket, he pulled a thick billfold and handed it to Brynne. Opening it, Brynne saw that it was stuffed with high-denomination bills. "Any bank will verify their authenticity," said the old man. "No, GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION please, I insist. Keep it all. Believe me, it is only a portion of what I would like to bestow upon you for rendering me this sacred trust." It was overwhelming. Brynne tried to remind himself that the gems could conceivably be clever fakes and the bills could be superb forgeries. But he knew they were not. They were real. And if this wealth, so casually given, was real, then didn't the rest of the story have to be true? It would not be the first time a miraculous fairy-tale adventure happened in real life. Wasn't the Book of Golden Replies filled with similar incidents? He looked at the beautiful, sorrowful, golden-featured woman. A I assure you. You can even acgreat desire came over him to company me there. Or better yet, there's no time to lose. Even now, the enemy lurks in the shadows." "But my clothes -" "Unimportant. I will provide you with a wardrobe." " and friends, business appointments. Wait! Hold on a minute!" Brynne took a deep breath. Haroun al Rashid adventures were all very well, but they had to be undertaken in a reasonable fashion. "I have a business appointment this afternoon," Brynne said. "I must keep it. After that, I'm completely at your service." "The danger to Janna is too great!" cried the old man. "You'll both be perfectly safe, bring joy to those exquisite features, to make that tragic mouth smile. And in the way she looked a bodyguard I've got a cousin on the police force. I'm sure I can arrange for w Janna turned her beautiful sad face away from him. The old man said, "Sir, the ship sails at one p.m. at one precisely." "Those ships leave every day or so," Brynne pointed out "Lef s catch the next one. This appointment is very important. Crucial, you might say. I've worked for years to arrange it. And it's not him, but he had the sensation of just me. I have a business, emat him, Brynne perceived more than simply the interest one gives to a protector. "Sir!" cried the old man. "Is it possible that you might that you might consider" art I'll do it!" said Brynne. HP HE old man clasped Brynne's -* hand. Janna simply looked at being enfolded into a warm embrace. "You must leave at once," the old man said briskly. "Come, ployees, associates. For their sake, I have to keep that appointment." "Business before life," the old man said bitterly. THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER "You'll be all right," Brynne assured him. "It is written, you know, that the beast of the jungle shies from the tread " "I know what is written. The word of death is painted large upon my forehead, and upon my daughter's, unless you aid us now. She will be on the Theseus in stateroom A. The next stateroom, A, will be yours. The ship sails at one this afternoon. If you value her life, sir, you will be there." The old man and his daughter stood up, paid and left, ignoring Brynne's pleas for reason. As she went out the door, Janna turned for a moment and gazed at him. "Your dried fish, sir," said the waiter. He had been hovering near, waiting for a chance to serve it. "To hell with it!" Brynne shouted. "Oh, sorry, sorry," he said in dismay to the shocked waiter. "No fault of yours." He paid, leaving a sizable tip for the waiter, and hurried out. He had a lot of thinking to do. ii A LL the energy expended on that one scene," Lan II complained, "has probably cost me ten years of my life." brought to the stateroom. "The question now is will he give up his appointment with Baxter and come?" "He does seem to like me," Janna said. "Which shows his excellent taste." She inclined her head mockingly. "But really, that story! Was it necessary to make it so so outrageous?" "Absolutely necessary. Brynne is a strong and dedicated man, but he has his romantic streak. Nothing less than a fairy tale to match his gaudiest dream could pull him from duty's path." "Perhaps even a fairy tale won't," Janna said thoughtfully. "We'll see," said Lan II. "Personally, I believe he will come." "I don't." "You underestimate your attractiveness and acting ability, my dear. Wait and see." "I have no choice," said Janna, settling back in an arm chair. The desk clock read :. * * * Brynne decided to take a stroll along the waterfront to quiet his nerves. The sight of the great ships lying calm and steadfast in their berths never failed to soothe "You loved every minute of it," him. He walked steadily along, said Janna Chandragore. "True, true," Lan II admitted, nodding vigorously. He sipped a trying to reason out what had happened to him. That magnificent sorrowful glass of wine that a steward had girl . . . GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER But what about his duty, the labor of faithful employees, to be culminated and completed this afternoon at the desk of Ben Baxter? He stopped and looked at the bow of a great ship. The Theseus. He thought of India, its blue skies, brilliant sunshine, wine, relaxation. Those things would never be his. Work, frantic effort, that was the life he had set for himself. Even if it meant losing the most beautiful woman in the world, he would continue to labor under the iron-gray skies of New York. But why, he asked himself, touching the chamois bag in his pocket. He was moderately well off. His business could take care t of itself. What was to stop him from boarding that ship, dropping everything, spending a year in the sun? Excitement stirred in him as he realized that nothing was stopping him. He was his own man, a strong, determined man. If he had the faith and will to succeed in business, he also had the faith and will to leave it, drop everything, and follow his heart. "To hell with Baxter!" he said to himself. The girl's safety was more important than anything. He would board that ship, and right now, wire his associates from sea, tell them The decision was made. He (( whirled and marched to the gangplank and resolutely climbed it. An officer on the deck smiled and said, "Name, sir?" "Ned Brynne." "Brynne, Brynne." The officer checked his list. "I don't seem to Oh, yes, right here. Yes, Mr. Brynne. You're on A deck, cabin . Let me wish you a most pleasant trip." "Thank you," Brynne said, glancing at his watch. It read a quarter to one. "By the way," he said to the officer, "what time does the ship sail?" "At four-thirty sharp, sir." Four -thirty? Are you sure?" "Quite sure, Mr. Brynne." "But I was told you sailed at one o'clock." "That was the original time, sir. But sailing time is often advanced a few hours. We'll easily make it up at sea." Four-thirty! Yes, he had enough time! He could go back, see Ben Baxter and still return in time to catch the ship! Both problems were solved! Murmuring a blessing to a mysterious but benevolent fate, Brynne turned and sprinted down the gangplank. He was fortunate enough to catch a taxi at once. EN BAXTER was short, solid, bull-chested. He was totally bald and his eyes, behind gold GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION pince-nez, were expressionless. His business suit was severe and affixed to the lapel was the small ruby-and-pearls emblem of the Humble Servitors of Wall Street. For half an hour, Brynne had talked, mentioned trends, predicted movements. He was perspiring anxiously now, waiting for a word out of Baxter. "Hmm," said Ben Baxter. Brynne waited. His pulse was pounding heavily and his empty distance telephone. He wouldn't stomach was beginning to churn. Half his mind was on the Theseus, "My lawyers will draw up the papers," Baxter said, "in accordance with this discussion. You should have them by the end of the week." "Excellent." Brynne hesitated, wondering if he should tell Baxter he was going to India. He decided not to. It would be simple to arrange for receipt of the papers on the Theseus and he could carry out the final details by longsailing soon. He wanted to end this meeting and get aboard. "The merger terms you request," said Baxter, "are quite satisfactory." "Sir?" breathed Brynne. "Satisfactory, I said. Haven't got trouble with your hearing, have you, Brother Brynne?" "Not for news like that," said * Brynne, grinning. "Our affiliation," Baxter said, smiling, "promises a great future for us both. I'm a direct man, Brynne, and I want to tell you this directly: I like the way you've handled the surveys and data and I like the way you've handled this meeting. Moreover, I like you personally. I am most happy about this and believe our association will prosper." "I sincerely believe so, sir." They shook hands and both men stood up. be gone too long, anyhow just long enough to see the girl safely home; then he would fly back. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, shook hands again and Brynne turned to leave. "That's a fine-looking prayer stick," Baxter said. "Eh? Oh, yes," said Brynne. "I got it from Sinkiang just this week. They make the finest prayer sticks there, in my unworthy * m opinion." "I know. May I look at it?" "Of course. Please be careful, though. It opens rather fast." Baxter took the intricately carved prayer stick and pressed the handle. A blade shot out of the other end, narrowly grazing his leg. "It is fast!" Baxter said. "Fastest I've seen." * "Did you cut yourself?" "A mere scratch. Beautiful damascene work on that blade" They talked for a few minutes THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER about the threefold significance of the knife blade in Western Buddhism and of recent developments in the Western Buddhist spiritual center in Sinkiang. Then Baxter carefully closed the prayer stick and returned it to Brynne. "A truly beautiful thing. Good day again, Dear Brother Brynne, and -" Baxter halted in mid-sentence. His mouth was open and he seemed to be staring at a point just in back of Brynne's head. Brynne turned, but nothing was there except the wall. When he turned back, Baxter's features were congested and a light froth had gathered at the corners of his mouth. "Sir!" cried Brynne. Baxter tried to speak, but couldn't. He took two tottering steps forward and collapsed to the floor. Brynne rushed to the receptionist's office. "Call a doctor! Quick! Quick!" he shouted to the frightened girl. Then he rushed back to Baxter. He was looking at the first American case of the mutated disknown than those of measles. But Brynne was looking at the first casualty. With horror, he stared at the hard, brilliant apple-green shine of Baxter's hands and face. Ill i~N THE morning of April , ^-^ , Ned Brynne awakened and washed and dressed. At : that afternoon, he had an appointment with Ben Baxter, the president of Baxter Industries. Brynne's entire future hinged upon the outcome of that meeting. If he could get the backing of the gigantic Baxter enterprises and do so on favorable terms . . . Brynne was a tall, darkly handsome man of thirty-six. There was a hint of thoughtfulness in his carefully bland eyes, a look of reason and willingness to compromise in his relaxed mouth. His movements had the careless surety of a man who knows his place in the world. He was almost ready to leave. He tucked an umbrella under his arm and slipped a paperbound ease that was to be called the copy of Murder on the Metro into S'nkiang Plague. Transmitted on a hundred contaminated prayer sticks, it would go through New York like a flash fire, leaving a million dead in its wake. Within the week, the symptoms of Sinhis pocket. He was never without a good mystery of some sort. Finally he fixed to his lao^l the small onyx pin of a Commodore the Ocean Cruising Club. Some people thought him too young for kiang Plague would be better such an honor. But they had to GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION agree that Brynne carried the prerogatives and requirements of his office with a dignity quite beyond his years. He locked his apartment and walked to the elevator. There was a small crowd waiting, mostly shopkeepers, but two businessmen as well. "Pleasant day, Mr. Brynne," the operator said as the car started down. "Hope so," Brynne said, deep in thought about Ben Baxter. At the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the occupants of the car, a great blond Viking of a man, talking to a tiny, half-bald fellow. Brynne wondered what they were doing in his apartment building. He knew most of the tenants by sight, though he hadn't lived in they saw Brynne collide with a reasonable. We'll find out." They were following half a block behind Brynne. There was no losing Brynne's tall, erect figure, even in New York's morning rush. "I am certainly not one to advocate violence," said Dr. Sveg. "But this time why don't we knock him over the head and be done with it?" "That method was selected by Aaui and Beatty. Miss Chandragore and Lan II decided to try bribery. We are committed to a course of reason." "But suppose he can't be reasoned with, what then?" James shrugged his shoulders. "I don't like it," Dr. Sveg said. Following half a block behind, the building long enough to get acquainted with them. The elevator reached the lobby and Brynne forgot about the Viking. He had a lot on his mind today. There were some problems connected with Ben Baxter, problems he hoped to resolve before the meeting. He stepped outside, into a dismal gray April morning, and decided to go to Childs' for breakfast. It was : A.M. UWHAT do you think?" asked " Dr. Sveg. "He looks ordinary enough," said Edwin James. "He even looks portly, florid-faced businessman. "Sorry," said Brynne. "Sorry," said the portly businessman. They exchanged perfunctory nods and went on. Brynne went into Childs' and sat down at an empty table in the rear. Now was the time to think of Ben Baxter and of what the f best approach would be "Your order, sir?" a waiter asked him." "Scrambled eggs, toast, coffee," Brynne said. "French fries?" "No, thanks." The waiter hurried off. Brynne THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER * concentrated on Ben Baxter. With Baxter's financial and political backing of the forest deal, there was no telling "Excuse me, sir," a voice said. "May we talk to you?" Brynne looked up and saw the blond man and his small friend whom he had seen in the elevator. "What about?" i "A matter of the utmost urgency, sir," said the small man. Brynne glanced at his watch. It was almost :. He had two and a half hours before his meeting with Baxter. "Sure, sit down," he invited. "What's on your mind?" The men looked at each other and exchanged embarrassed smiles. Finally the small man cleared his throat. "Mr. Brynne," he said, "I am Edwin James. This is my associate, Dr. Sveg. We have a preposterous sounding story to tell, which I hope you will hear to the end without interruptions. i After that, we have certain proofs that may or may not convince you of the story's authenticity." Brynne frowned, wondering what kind of crackpots he had met. But both men were well dressed, quietly spoken. "Sure, go ahead," Brynne said. "I know," Dr. Sveg said apolo N HOUR and twenty minutes later, Brynne was saying, "Wow! That's quite a little yarn!" getically. "Our proofs "are impressive. Let me see that first gadget again." Sveg handed it to him. Brynne stared reverently at the small, shining object. "Boys, if a thing that size can really turn out heat or cold in those quantities the electrical corporations would give a couple of billion to get it!" "It is a product of our technology," said Chief Programmer James, "as are the other gadgets. With the exception of the motrifier, they are all straight-line developments, refinements of present trends." "And that thallasator. Nice, simple, inexpensive way of extracting fresh water from salt." He looked at the two men. "It is possible, of course, that these items are a hoax." Dr. Sveg raised both eyebrows. "But I'm not exactly untrained in science. Even if they're a hoax, they'd have to be every bit as ad* vanced as the real thing. I guess you've sold me. Men from the future! Well, well!" "Then you accept what we say about you?" James asked. "And about Ben Baxter and time-line selection?" "Well . . ." Brynne thought hard. "Tentatively." "Will you cancel your appointment with Baxter?" GALAXY SCIENCE CTIO N "I don't know." "Sir?" "I said I don't know. You've got a lot of nerve," Brynne said angrily. "I've worked like a galley slave, driving toward this goal. This meeting is the biggest chance I've ever had or ever will have. And you ask me to give up all that because of some nebulous prediction "The prediction isn't nebulous," James said. "It is very explicit and most precise." "Look, there's more involved than just me. I have a business, f> pointment for a single day," Dr. Sveg suggested, "that might " "You don't postpone appointments with Ben Baxter. Either you keep the one he's given you or you wait maybe forever until he gives you another." Brynne stood up. "Look, I don't know what I'm going to do. I've heard you, I more or less believe you, but I just don't know. I'll have to make up my own mind." Dr. Sveg and James also stood up. "That is your privilege," said Chief Programmer James. "Goodemployees, associates, stockholdby. I hope you make the right ers. I have to keep this meeting for their sake, too." "Mr. Brynne," said Sveg, "consider the larger issues at stake!" "Yeah, sure," Brynne said sourly. "How about those other teams you talked about? Maybe I've been stopped in some other probability world." "You haven't." "How do you know?" "I couldn't say so to the teams," Chief Programmer James said, "but the probability of their success was vanishingly small just as the probability of my success with you is small, statistically." "Hell," said Brynne, "you guys come dropping out of the future and casually ask a man to change his entire life. You haven't got the right!" decision, Mr. Brynne." They shook hands. Brynne hurried out. Dr. Sveg and James watched him go. Sveg said, "What do you think? It looks favorable, doesn't it? Don't you think so?" "I can't guess," James said. "The possibility of altering events within a time-line is never favorable. I honestly have no idea of what he's going to do." Dr. Sveg shook his head, then sniffed. "Some air, eh?" "Quite," said Chief Programmer James. DRYNNE decided to take a -"-^ stroll along the waterfront to quiet his nerves. The sight of the great ships lying calm and steadfast in their berths never failed to "If you could postpone the apsoothe him. He walked steadily THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER * GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION along, trying to reason out what had happened to him. That ridiculous story . . . In which he believed. But what about his duty, the years spent working his way up to optioning that huge forest tract, its tremendous possibilities to be culminated and completed this afternoon at the desk of Ben Baxter? He stopped and looked at the bow of a great ship. The Thesetts . . . He thought of the Caribbean, its blue skies, brilliant sunshine, wine, relaxation. Those things would never be his. Work, frantic effort, that was the life he had set for himself. No matter what the loss, he would continue to work under the iron-gray skies of New York. But why, he asked himself. He was moderately well off. His business could take care of itself. What was to stop him from boarding that ship, dropping everything, spending a year in the sun? Excitement stirred in him as he realized that nothing was stopping him. He was his own man, a strong, determined man. If he had the guts to succeed in business, he also had the guts to leave it, drop everything, and follow his heart. And in that way, the ridiculous damned future would be safe. "To hell with Ben Baxter!" he said to himself. But he didn't mean it. The future was just too uncertain, too far away. This whole thing might well be an elaborate hoax, arranged by a business competitor. Let the future take care of itself! Ned Brynne turned abruptly away from the Theseus. He had to hurry to make his appointment with Baxter on time. In Baxter's building, riding up in the elevator, Brynne tried not to think. It was enough simply to act. He got off at the th floor and walked up to the receptionist. "My name is Brynne. I have an appointment with Mr. Baxter." "Yes, Mr. Brynne. Mr. Baxter is expecting you. You can go right in. Brynne didn't move. A wave of doubt flooded his mind and he thought of the future generations, whose chances he was damaging by his act. He thought of Dr. Sveg and Chief Programmer Edwin James, earnest, well-meaning men. They wouldn't ask him to make such a sacrifice unless it was absolutely essential. And he considered one thing more Among those future generations would be descendants of his own. "You may go in, sir," the girl said. Abruptly, something snapped in Brynne's mind. THE DEATHS OF BEN BAXTER "I've changed my mind," he said, in a voice he hardly recognized. "I'm canceling the appointment, fell Baxter I'm sorry about everything." He turned, before he could change his mind, and ran down sixteen flights of stairs. TN THE meeting room of the -World Planning Council, the five representatives of the Federated Districts of Earth were seated around a long table, waiting for Edwin James. He entered, a small man, impressively ugly. "Reports," he said. Aaui, looking somewhat the worse for wear, told about their attempt at violence and its result. "Perhaps," he concluded, "if we had been conditioned to use more violence faster we could have stopped him." "And perhaps not," said Beatty, who looked considerably worse than Aaui. Lan II reported the partial success and total failure of his mission with Miss Chandragore. Brynne had agreed to accompany them to India, even if it meant giving up the meeting with Baxter. Unfortunately, Brynne had found himself able to do both things. Lan II ended with several philosophical comments about the shockingly flexible schedules of steamship companies. Chief Programmer James stood up. "The future we were selecting for was one in whose past Ben Baxter lived to complete his work of buying forests. That, unfortunately, is not to be. Our best line, under the circumstances, is the Main Historic Line, in which Dr. Sveg and I bent our efforts." "You haven't reported yet," Miss Chandragore said. "What happened?" "Reason," said Edwin James, "and an appeal to the intelligence seem to be the best operating procedures. After due thought, Brynne decided not to keep his appointment with Ben Baxter. But -" * *> EN BAXTER was short, solid, bull-chested. He was totally bald and his eyes, behind gold pince-nez, were expressionless. His business suit was severe and affixed to the lapel was the small ruby-andrpearls emblem of the Wall Street Club. He had been sitting motionless for half an hour now, thinking about figures, trends, movements. His buzzer sounded. "Yes, Miss Cassidy?" "Mr. Brynne was here. He just left." "What do you mean?" "I really don't understand it,. Mr. Baxter. He came up and said he wanted to cancel his appointment." GALAXY SCIENCE FICTION "What did he say? Repeat it exactly, Miss Cassidy." "He said he had an appointment with you and I said he could go right in. And he stood there looking at me very strangely, frowning. He seemed angry and upset. I told him again he could go in. Then he said " "Word for word now, Miss Cassidy." though the man should at least have talked to him. But perhaps not. Maybe it was best this way. But how had he found out? Who had broken the news to him that the Baxter industrial empire was hollow, decaying, crumbling at the foundations? If only the news could have been concealed for another day, another few hours! He would have "Yes, sir. He said, 'I've changed signed with Brynne. A fresh venmy mind. I'm canceling the appointment. Tell Baxter I'm sorry for everything.' " "That's all he said?" "Every last word, Mr. Baxter." "And then?" "He turned and hurried downstairs." "Stairs?" "Yes, Mr. Baxter. He didn't wait for the elevator." "I see." "Is there anything else, Mr. Baxter?" "No, nothing else, Miss Cas.nly. Thank you." Rrn Baxter turned off the inter< <m mid slumped wearily behind his flrsk. So Miynne knew! Ii w the only possible explain^ ion. Word must have gotten out . mchow, somewhere. He had thought it was safely hidden for Mother day, at least. But there inn . have been a leak. Hixtn smiled grimly to himII He couldn't blame Brynne, ture would have pumped new blood into the Baxter holdings. By the time people found out, he would once again have had a solid base from which to operate. Brynne knew and had been scared off. That meant everyone knew. There was no holding things together now. The wolves would be at him. His friends, his wife, his partners and all the little people who had depended upon him . . . Well, he had decided years ago what to do in this eventuality. Without hesitation, Baxter opened his desk drawer and took out a small bottle. He extracted two white tablets. He had always lived by his own rules. Now was the time to die by them. Ben Baxter popped the pills into his mouth. In two minutes, he slumped forward on the desk. His death precipitated the great stock market crash of '59. |
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