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and not its motivation was what counted. He wished now he had read
some of the novels out of Time that Finge had mentioned scornfully.
Harlan's fists clenched at a sudden thought. If Noys had come to
_him_, to _Harlan_, for immortality, it could only mean that she had
not yet fulfilled the requirement for that gift. She could have made
love to no Eternal previously. That meant that her relationship to
Finge had been nothing more than that of secretary and employer.
Otherwise what need would she have had for Harlan?
Yet Finge surely must have tried--must have attempted. . .
(Harlan could not complete the thought even in the secrecy of his own
mind.) Finge could have proved the superstition's existence on his
own person. Surely he could not have missed the thought with Noys
an everpresent temptation. Then she must have refused him.
He had had to use Harlan and Harlan had succeeded. It was for
that reason that Finge had been driven into the jealous revenge of
torturing Harlan with the knowledge that Noys's motivation had been
a practical one, and that he could never have her.
Yet Noys had refused Finge even with eternal life at stake and
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_had_ accepted Harlan. She had that much of a choice and she had
made it in Harlan's favor. 'So it wasn't calculation entirely. Emotion
played a part.
Harlan's thoughts were wild and jumbled, and grew more
heated with every moment.
He _must_ have her, and _now_. Before any Reality Change.
What was it Finge had said to him, jeering: _The now does not last,
even in Eternity_.
Doesn't it, though? Doesn't it?
Harlan had known exactly what he must do. Finge's angry
taunting had goaded him into a frame of mind where he was ready for
crime and Finge's final sneer had, at least, inspired him with the
nature of the deed he must commit.
He had not wasted a moment after that. It was with excitement
and even joy that he left his quarters, at all but a run, to commit a
major crime against Eternity.
8 Crime
No one had questioned him. No one had stopped him. There was
that advantage, anyway, in the social isolation of a Technician. He
went via the kettle channels to a door to Time and set its controls.
There was the chance, of course, that someone would happen along
on a legitimate errand and wonder why the door was in use. He
hesitated, and then decided to stamp his seal on the marker. A sealed
door would draw little attention. An unsealed door in active use
would be a nine-day wonder.
Of course, it might be Finge who stumbled upon the door. He
would have to chance that.
Noys was still standing as he had left her. Wretched hours
(physiohours) had passed since Harlan had left the 482nd for a lonely
Eternity, but he returned now to the same Time, within a matter of
seconds, that he had left. Not a hair on Noys's head had stirred.
She looked startled. "Did you forget something, Andrew?"
Harlan stared at her hungrily, but made no move to touch her.
He remembered Finge's words, and he dared not risk a repulse. He
said stiffly, "You've got to do as I say."
She said, "But is something wrong, then? You just left. You just
this minute left."
"Don't worry," said Harlan. It was all he could do to keep from
taking her hand, from trying to soothe her. Instead he spoke harshly.
It was as though some demon were forcing him to do all the wrong
things. Why had he come back at the first available moment? He was
only disturbing her by his almost instantaneous return after leaving.
(He knew the answer to that, really. He had a two-day margin of
grace allowed by the spatio-temporal chart. The earlier portions of
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that period of grace were safer and yielded least chance of discovery.
It was a natural tendency to crowd it as far downwhen as he could. A
foolish risk, too, though. He might easily have miscalculated and
entered Time before he had left it physiohours earlier. What then? It
was one of the first rules he had learned as an Observer: One person
occupying two points in the same Time of the same Reality runs a risk
of meeting himself.
Somehow that was something to be avoided. Why? Harlan knew
he didn't want to meet himself. He didn't want to be staring into the
eyes of another and earlier (or later) Harlan. Beyond that it would be
a paradox, and what was it Twissell was fond of saying? "There are no
paradoxes in Time, but only because Time deliberately avoids
paradoxes.")
All the time Harlan thought dizzily of all this Noys stared at him
with large, luminous eyes.
Then she came to him and put cool hands on either burning
cheek and said softly, "You're in trouble."
To Harlan her glance seemed kindly, loving. Yet how could that
be? She had what she wanted. What else was there? He seized her
wrists and said huskily, "Will you come with me? Now? Without
asking any questions? Doing exactly as I say?"
"Must I?" she asked.
"You must, Noys. It's very important."
"Then I'll come." She said it matter-of-factly, as though such a
request came to her each day and was always accepted.
At the lip of the kettle Noys hesitated a moment, then stepped
in.
Harlan said, "We're going upwhen, Noys."
"That means the future, doesn't it?"
The kettle was already faintly humming as she entered it and
she was scarcely seated when Harlan unobtrusively moved the contact
at his elbow.
She showed no signs of nausea at the beginnings of that
indescribable sensation of "motion" through Time. He was afraid she
might.
She sat there quietly, so beautiful and so at ease that he ached,
looking at her, and gave not the particle of a damn that, by bringing a
Timer, unauthorized, into Eternity, he had committed a felony.
She said, "Does that dial show the numbers of the years,
Andrew?"
"The Centuries."
"You mean we're a thousand years in the future? Already?"
"That's right."
"It doesn't feel like it."
"I know."
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She looked about. "But how are we moving?"
"I don't know, Noys."
"You _don't?_"
"There are many things about Eternity that are hard to
understand."
The numbers on the temporometer _marched_. Faster and
faster they moved till they were a blur. With his elbow Harlan had
nudged the speed stick to high. The power drain might cause some
surprise in the power plants, but he doubted it. No one had been
waiting for him in Eternity when he returned with Noys, and that was
nine tenths the battle. Now it was only necessary to get her to a safe
place.
Again Harlan looked at her. "Eternals don't know everything."
"And I'm not an Eternal," she murmured. "I know so little."
Harlan's pulse quickened. _Still_ not an Eternal? But Finge said
. . .
Leave it at that, he pleaded with himself. Leave it at that. She's
coming with you. She smiles at you. What more do you want?
But he spoke anyway. He said, "You think an Eternal lives
forever, don't you?"
"Well, they call them Etemals, you know, and everyone says they
do." She smiled at him brightly. "But they don't, do they?"
"You don't think so, then?"
"After I was in Eternity a while, I didn't. People didn't talk as
though they lived forever, and there were old men there."
"Yet you told me I lived forever--that night."
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