"All You Zombies-" Read Free

Pop - there's no such job. --    "Okay, put it this way: I hand him to you, you settle with him, then try my job. If it's not all I claim - well, I can't hold you. --    He was wavering; the last drink did it "When d'yuh d'liver "im? -- he said thickly.    He shoved out his hand. -- It's a deal! "    "If it's a deal-right now! "    I nodded to my assistant to watch both ends, noted the time - 2300 - started to duck through the gate under the bar - when the juke box blared out: "I'm My Own Grandpaw! " The service man had orders to load it with Americana and classics because I couldn't stomach the "music" of 1970, but I hadn't known that tape was in it. I called out, "Shut that off! Give the customer his money back. -- I added, "Storeroom, back in a moment, " and headed there with my Unmarried Mother following.    It was down the passage across from the johns, a steel door to which no one but my day manager and myself had a key; inside was a door to an inner room to which only I had a key. We went there.    He looked blearily around at windowless walls. -- Where is he? --    "Right away. -- I opened a case, the only thing in the room; it was a U. S. F. F. Coordinates Transformer Field Kit, series 1992, Mod. II - a beauty, no moving parts, weight twenty-three kilos fully charged, and shaped to pass as a suitcase. I had adjusted it precisely earlier that day; all I had to do was to shake out the metal net which limits the transformation field.    Which I did. -- What's that? -- he demanded.    "Time machine, " I said and tossed the net over us.    "Hey! " he yelled and stepped back. There is a technique to this; the net has to be thrown so that the subject will instinctively step back onto the metal mesh, then you close the net with both of you inside completely-else you might leave shoe soles behind or a piece of foot, or scoop up a slice of floor. But that's all the skill it takes. Some agents con a subject into the net; I tell the truth and use that instant of utter astonishment to flip the switch. Which I did.

        1030-VI-3 April 1963 - Cleveland, Ohio-Apex Bldg.: "Hey! " he repeated. -- Take this damn thing off! "    "Sorry, " I apologized and did so, stuffed the net into the case, closed it. -- You said you wanted to find him. --    "But - you said that was a time machine! "    I pointed out a window. -- Does that look like November? Or New York? -- While he was gawking at new buds and spring weather, I reopened the case, took out a packet of hundred-dollar bills, checked that the numbers and signatures were compatible with 1963. The Temporal Bureau doesn't care how much  you spend (it costs nothing) but they don't like unnecessary anachronisms. Too many mistakes, and a general court-martial will exile you for a year in a nasty period, say 1974 with its strict rationing and forced labor. I never make such mistakes; the money was okay.    He turned around and said, "What happened? --    "He's here. Go outside and take him. Here's expense money. -- I shoved it at him and added, "Settle him, then I'll pick you up. --    Hundred-dollar bills have a hypnotic effect on a person not used to them. He was thumbing them unbelievingly as I eased him into the hall, locked him out. The next jump was easy, a small shift in era.

        7100-VI-10 March 1964 - Cleveland-Apex Bldg.: There was a notice under the door saying that my lease expired next week; otherwise the room looked as it had a moment before. Outside, trees were bare and snow threatened; I hurried, stopping only for contemporary money and a coat, hat, and topcoat I had left there when I leased the room. I hired a car, went to the hospital. It took twenty minutes to bore the nursery attendant to the point where I could swipe the baby without being noticed. We went back to the Apex Building. This dial setting was more involved, as the building did not yet exist in 1945. But I had precalculated it.

        0100-VI-20