The wrong end of time Read Free Page B

him to say that it oughtn't to work. Enclosed isolated, offensively conceited, the Americans were still human, and what they did among themselves was ipso facto to be respected as part of the vast repertoire of human potential.
     
Drawing a deep breath. he closed his eyes for a moment. Words formed in memory; they said, "O Dhananjaya,
     
     
abandoning attachment and regarding success and failure alike, be steadfast in Yoga and perform thy duties."
     
And his duty at present was to be Donald Paton Holtzer, who had never heard of the Blessed Lord's Song.
     
     
There was considerable traffic on the move. He saw hundreds of cars, mostly as they were left behind. because Turpin had clearance for the fastest lanes, but two or three times howling monsters tore past them illegally on the inside, and once they were overtaken by a patrolman on a racer with his siren howling like a soul in torment.
     
The roads, while still in usable condition, were being torn up and re-made. So too the cars were destined for a short, short life. Everything about this silent limousine of Turpin's was ultra-modern, including its schedule of obsolescence. Approximately six months old, it was already as close to the scrap yard as to the factory.
     
And from the scrap yard its elements would go to the factory again.
     
Talk about taking in each other's washing .... But he slapped that down in his mind, too.
     
Now and then they passed-in sight of enormous housing developments, and Sheklov also studied these carefully. Apartments stacked in towering blocks. Gardens around them, or parks. Trees in neat lines, force-grown with Para gibberellins. He found them attractive, but somehow flawed-perhaps by the way they resembled one another, as though they had been mass-produced complete with occupants. They were becoming shabby. His briefings had included a thorough conspectus of the cycle of American fads and fashions, and he was able to date them as having been built about twenty-five years ago-just about the time, indeed, that Turpin was planted in the States. ,
     
Reminded of his companion, he turned his head. Turpin's eyes were on him.
     
"You're very quiet," Sheklov said.
     
Turpin gave a plump-jowled grin. "I figured you'd start talking in your own good time. Make the most of this ride, though. I do have a bug-free room at home, of course, but this car is even safer. And we're coming pretty close to Lakonia now."
     
He seemed to have recovered completely from his earlier nervousness.
     
"Frankly," Sheklov said, "I was expecting you to ask
     
what brought me here. I gather you weren't informed of the details." He spoke easily in the language he had practiced non-stop during his briefing period.
     
"I didn't question the decision," Turpin said stiffly. "After all, I've been thoroughly absorbed by now, and your people" He bit something back.
     
"Go on," Sheklov encouraged.
     
"All right I'll have to get around to it sooner or later. Your people don't seem to set much store by me nowadays."
     
Sheklov displayed genuine surprise. "I don't know where you got that impression! I've always heard that your complete assimilation has made you the most valuable single agent we've ever had here. Why else would they have called on you to cushion my arrival?"
     
Turpin didn't answer but pressed his lips together in a thin line. Sheklov could gloss that expression easily enough. Because you'd have been told I was good, to bolster your own confidence; or because I'm to be eliminated and you're to replace me; or because you're expendable yourself, and meant to bring about our joint downfall; or because I'm suspect and you've been assigned to investigate me .
     
Turpin sighed. "Oh, what's the point of worrying? I do as I'm told. that's all. I laid on exactly the cover for you that was requested-you're Canadian, timber-salesman, been down here sounding out a new pulp contract, recommended to Energetics General by your parent firm, looking for a supplier of-