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Simak, Cliffard D - Our children's children
Title: Our children's children
Author: Clifford D. Simak
Original copyright year: 1974
Genre: science fiction
Book price (of scanned edition): US$ 2.50
Comments: to my knowledge, this is the only available e-text of this book
Source: scanned and OCR-read from a paperback edition with Xerox TextBridge Pro
9.0, proofread in MS Word 2000.
Date of e-text: July 17, 1999
Prepared by: Anada Sucka
Anticopyright 1999. All rights reversed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Our children's children
Clifford D. Simak
1
Bentley Price, photographer for Global News Service, had put a steak on the
broiler and settled down in a lawn chair, with a can of beer in hand, to watch
it, when the door opened underneath an ancient white oak tree and people started
walking out of it.
It had been many years since Bentley Price had been astounded. He had come,
through bitter experience, to expect the unusual and to think but little of it.
He took pictures of the unusual, the bizarre, the violent, then turned around
and left, sometimes most hurriedly, for there was competition such as the AP and
the UPI, and an up-and-coming news photographer could allow no grass to grow
beneath his feet, and while picture editors certainly were not individuals to be
feared, it was often wise to keep them mollified.
But now Bentley was astounded, for what was happening was not something that
could easily be imagined, or ever reconciled to any previous experience. He sat
stiff in his chair, with the beer can rigid in his hand and with a glassy look
about his eyes, watching the people walking from the door. Although now he saw
it wasn't any door, but just a ragged hole of darkness which quivered at the
edges and was somewhat larger than any ordinary door, for people were marching
out of it four and five abreast.
They seemed quite ordinary people, although they were dressed a bit
outlandishly, as if they might be coming home from a masquerade, although they
weren't masked. If they all had been young, he would have thought they were from
a university or a youth center or something of the sort, dressed up in the crazy
kind of clothes that college students wore, but while some of them were young,
there were a lot of them who weren't.
One of the first who had walked out of the door onto the lawn was a rather tall
and thin man, but graceful in his thinness when he might have gangled. He had a
great unruly mop of iron-gray hair and his neck looked like a turkey's. He wore
a short gray skirt that ended just above his knobby knees and a red shawl draped
across one shoulder and fastened at his waist by a belt that also held the skirt
in place and he looked, Bentley told himself, like a Scot in kilts, but without
the plaid.
Beside him walked a young woman dressed in a white and flowing robe that came
down to her sandaled feet. The robe was belted and her intense black hair, worn
in a ponytail, hung down to her waist. She had a pretty face, thought
Bentley-the kind of prettiness that one very seldom saw, and her skin, what
little could be seen of it, was as white and clear as the robe she wore.
The two walked toward Bentley and stopped in front of him.
"1 presume," said the man, "that you are the proprietor." There was something
wrong with the way he talked. He slurred his words around, but was entirely
understandable.
"I suppose," said Bentley, "you mean do I own the joint."
"Perhaps I do," the other said. "My speech may not be of this day, but you seem
to hear me rightly."
"Sure I do," said Bentley, "but what about this day? You mean to tell me you
speak different every day?"
"I do not mean that at all," said the man. "You must pardon our intrusion. It
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Simak, Cliffard D - Our children's children
must appear unseemly. We'll endeavor not to harm your property."
"Well, I tell you, friend," said Bentley, "I don't own the place. I'm just
holding down the homestead for an absent owner. Will you ask those people not to
go tramping over flower beds? Joe's missus will be awful sore if she comes home
and finds those flowers messed up. She sets store by them."
All the time that they'd been talking, people had been coming through the door
and now they were all over the place and spilling over into the yards next door
and the neighbors were coming out to see what was going on.
The girl smiled brightly at Bentley. "I think you can be easy about the
flowers," she said. "These are good people, well-intentioned folks, and on their
best behavior."
"They count upon your sufferance," said the man. "They are refugees."
Bentley took a good look at them. They didn't look like refugees. In his time,
in many different parts of the world, he had photographed a lot of refugees.
Refugees were grubby people and they usually packed a lot of plunder, but these
people were neat and clean and they carried very little, a small piece of
luggage, perhaps, or a sort of attaché case, like the one the, man who was
speaking with him had tucked underneath one arm.
"They don't look like refugees to me," he said. "Where are they refugeeing
from?"
"From the future," said the man. "We beg utmost indulgence of you. What we are
doing, I assure you, is a matter of life and death."
That shook Bentley up. He went to take a drink of beer and then decided not to
and, reaching down, set the beer can on the lawn. He rose slowly from his chair.
"I tell you, mister," he said, "if this is some sort of publicity stunt I won't
lift a camera. I wouldn't take no shot of no publicity stunt, no matter what it
was."
"Publicity stunt?" asked the man, and there could be no doubt that he was
plainly puzzled. "I am sorry, sir. What you say eludes me."
Bentley took a close look at the door. People still were coming out of it, still
four and five abreast, and there seemed no end to them. The door still hung
there, as he first had seen it, a slightly ragged blob of darkness that quivered
at the edges, blotting out a small section of the lawn, but behind and beyond it
he could see the trees and shrubs and the play set in the back yard of the house
next door.
If it was a publicity stunt, he decided, it was a top-notch job. A lot of PR
jerks must have beat their brains out to dream up one like this. How had they
rigged that ragged hole and where did all the people come from?
"We come," said the man, "from five hundred years into the future. We are
fleeing from the end of the human race. We ask your help and understanding."
Bentley stared at him. "Mister," he asked, "you wouldn't kid me, would you? If I
fell for this, I would lose my job."
"We expected, naturally," said the man, "to encounter disbelief. I realize there
is no way we can prove our origin. We ask you, please, to accept us as what we
say we are."
"I tell you what," said Bentley. "I will go with the gag. I will take some
shots, but if I find it's publicity..."
"You are speaking, I presume, of taking photographs.'-'
"Of course I am," said Bentley. "The camera is my business."
"We didn't come to have photographs taken of us. If you have some compunctions
about this matter, please feel free to follow them. We will not mind at all."
"So you don't want your pictures taken," Bentley said fiercely. "You're like a
lot of other people. You get into a jam and then you scream because someone
snaps a picture of you."
"We have no objections," said the man. "Take as many pictures as you wish."
"You don't mind?" Bentley asked, somewhat confused.
"Not at all."
Bentley swung about, heading for the back door. As he turned, his foot caught
the can of beer and sent it flying, spraying beer out of the hole.
Three cameras lay on the kitchen table, where he had been working with them
before he'd gone out to broil the steak. He grabbed up one of them and was
turning back toward the door when he thought of Molly. Maybe he better let Molly
know about this, he told himself. The guy had said all these people were coming
from the future and if that were true, it would be nice for Molly to be in on it
from the start. Not that he believed a word of it, of course, but it was mighty
funny, no matter what was going on.
He picked up the kitchen phone and dialed. He grumbled at himself. He was
wasting time when he should be taking pictures. Molly might not be home. It was
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Sunday and a nice day and there was no reason to expect to find her home.
Molly answered.
"Molly, this is Bentley. You know where I live?"
"You're over in Virginia. Mooching free rent off Joe while he is gone."
"It ain't like that at all. I'm taking care of the place for him. Edna, she has
all these flowers..."
"Ha!" said Molly.
"What I called about," said Bentley, "is would you come over here?"
"I will not," said Molly. "If you have in mind making passes at me, you have to
take me out."
"I ain't making passes at no one," Bentley protested. "I got people walking out
of a door all over the back yard. They say they're from the future, from five
hundred years ahead."
"That's impossible," said Molly.
"That's what I think, too. But where are they coming from? There must be a
thousand of them out there. Even if they're not from the' future, it ought to be
a story. You better haul your tail out here and talk with some of them. Have
your byline in all the morning papers."
"Bentley, this is on the level?"
"On the level," Bentley said. "I ain't drunk and I'm not trying to trick you out
here and. . .
"All right," she said. "I'll be right out. You better call the office. Manning
had to take the Sunday trick himself this week and he's not too happy with it,
so be careful how you greet him. But he'll want to get some other people out
there. If this isn't just a joke ."
"It's not any joke," said Bentley. "I ain't crazy enough to joke myself out of
any job."
"I'll be seeing you," said Molly.
She hung up.
Bentley had started to dial the office number when the screen door slammed. He
looked around and the tall, thin man stood just inside the kitchen.
"You'll pardon me," the tall man said, "but there seems to be a matter of some
urgency. Some of the little folks need to use a bathroom. I wonder if you'd
mind. . ."
"Help yourself," said Bentley, making a thumb in the direction of the bath. "If
you need it, there's another one upstairs."
Manning answered after a half a dozen rings.
"I got a story out here," Bentley told him. "Out where?"
"Joe's place. Out where I am living."
"O.K. Let's have it."
"I ain't no reporter," said Bentley. "I ain't supposed to get you stories. All I
do is take the pictures. This is a big story and I might make mistakes and I
ain't paid to take the heat..."
"All right," said Manning wearily. "I'll dig up someone to send out. But Sunday
and overtime and all, it better be a good one."
"I got a thousand people out in the backyard, coming through a funny door. They
say they're from the future. . ."
"They say they're from the what!" howled Manning.
"From the future. From five hundred years ahead."
"Bentley, you are drunk."
"It don't make no never mind to me," said Bentley. "It's no skin off me. I told
you. You do what you want."
He hung up and picked up a camera.
A steady stream of children, accompanied by some adults, were coming through the
kitchen door.
"Lady," he said to one of the women, "there's another one upstairs. You better
form two lines."
2
Steve Wilson, White House press secretary, was heading for the door of his
apartment and an afternoon with Judy Gray, his office secretary, when the phone
rang. He retraced his steps to pick it up.
"This is Manning," said the voice at the other end.
"What can I do for you, Tom?" "You got your radio turned on?"
"Hell no. Why should I have a radio turned on?"
"There's something screwy going on," said Manning. "You should maybe know about
it. Sounds like we're being invaded."
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"Invaded!"
"Not that kind of invasion. People walking out of nothing. Say they're from the
future."
"Look here-if this is a gag. . ."
"I thought so, too," said Manning. "When Bentley first called in..."
"You mean Bentley Price, your drunken photographer?"
"That's the one," said Manning, "but Bentley isn't drunk. Not this time. Too
early in the day. Molly's out there now and I have sent out others. AP is on it
now and. . ."
"Where is this all going on?"
"One place is over across the river. Not far from Falls Church."
"One place, you say. . ."
"There are others. We have it from Boston, Chicago, Minneapolis. AP just came in
with a report from Denver."
"Thanks, Tom. I owe you."
He hung up, strode across the room and snapped on a radio.
"...so far known," said the radio. "Only that people are marching out of what
one observer called a hole in the landscape. Coming out five and six abreast.
Like a marching army, one behind the other, a solid stream of them. This is
happening in Virginia, just across the river. We have similar reports from
Boston, the New York area, Minneapolis, Chicago, Denver, New Orleans, Los
Angeles. As a rule, not in the cities themselves, but in the country just beyond
the cities. And here is another one-Atlanta, this time."
There was a quiver in the deadpan voice, betraying momentary unprofessional
excitement.
"No one knows who they are or where they come from or by what means they are
coming. They are simply here, walking into this world of ours. Thousands of them
and more coming every minute. An invasion, you might call it, but not a warlike
invasion. They are coming empty-handed. They are quiet and peaceable. They're
not bothering anyone. One unconfirmed report is that they are from the future,
but that, on the face of it, is impossible. . ."
Wilson turned the radio to a whisper, went back to the phone and dialed.
The White House switchboard answered.
"That you, Della? This is Steve. Where is the President?"
"He's taking a nap."
"Could you get someone to wake him? Tell him to turn on the radio. I am coming
in."
"But, Steve, what is going on? What is. . ."
He broke the connection, dialed another number. After a time, Judy came on the
line.
"Is there something wrong, Steve? I was just finishing packing the picnic
basket. Don't tell me. . ."
"No picnic today, sweetheart. We're going back to work."
"On Sunday!"
"Why not on Sunday? We have problems. I'll be right along. Be outside, waiting
for me."
"Damn," she said. "There goes my plan. I had planned to make you, right out in
the open, on the grass, underneath the trees."
"I shall torture myself all day," said Wilson, "thinking what I missed."
"All right, Steve," she said. "I'll be outside waiting on the curb."
He turned up the radio. " . . . fleeing from the future. From something that
happened in their future. Fleeing back to us, to this particular moment. There
is, of course, no such thing as time travel, but there are all these people and
they must have come from somewhere.
3
Samuel J. Henderson stood at the window, looking out across the rose garden,
bright in the summer sun.
Why the hell, he wondered, did everything have to happen on Sunday, when,
everyone was scattered and it took no end of trouble to get hold of them? It had
been on another Sunday that China had exploded and on still another that Chile
had gone down the drain and here it was again-whatever this might be.
The intercom purred at him and, turning from the window, he went back to the
desk and flipped up the key.
"The Secretary of Defense," said his secretary, "is on the line."
"Thank you, Kim," he said.
He picked up the phone. "Jim, this is Sam. You've heard?"
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"Yes, Mr. President. Just a moment ago. On the radio. Just a snatch of it."
"That's all I have, too. But there seems no doubt. We have to do something, do
it fast. Get the situation under control."
"I know. We'll have to take care of them. Housing. Food."
"Jim, the armed forces have to do the job. There is no one else who can move
fast enough. We have to get them under shelter and keep them together. We can't
let them scatter. We have to keep some sort of control over them, for a time at
least. Until we know what is going on."
"We may have to call out the guard."
"I think," said the President, "perhaps we should. Use every resource at your
command. You have inflatable shelters. How about transportation and food?"
"We can handle things for a few days. A week, maybe. Depends upon how many there
are of them. In a very short time, we'll need help. Welfare. Agriculture.
Whoever can lend a hand. We'll need a lot of manpower and supplies."
"You have to buy us some time," said the President. "Until we have a chance to
look at what we have. You'll have to handle it on an emergency basis until we
can settle on some plan. Don't worry too much about procedures. If you have to
bend a few of them, we'll take care of that. I'll be talking to some of the
others. Maybe we can all get together sometime late this afternoon or early
evening. You are the first to call in. I've heard from none of the others."
"The CIA? The FBI?"
"I would imagine they both might be moving. I haven't heard from either. I
suppose they'll be reporting in."
"Mr. President, do you have any idea. . ."
"None at all. I'll let you know as soon as possible. Once you get things moving,
get in touch again. I'll need you, Jim."
"I'll get on it immediately," said the Secretary. "Fine, then. I'll be seeing
you."
The intercom purred.
"Steve is here," said the President's secretary. "Send him in."
Steve Wilson came through the door.
Henderson motioned toward a chair. "Sit down, Steve. What have we got?"
"It's spreading, sir. All over the United States and Europe. Up in Canada. A few
places in South America. Russia. Singapore. Manila. Nothing yet from China or
Africa. So far, no explanation. It's fantastic, sir. Unbelievable. One is
tempted to say it can't be happening. But it is. Right in our laps."
The President removed his glasses, placed them on the desk top, pushed them back
and forth with his fingertips.
"I've been talking with Sandburg. The army will have to get them under shelter,
feed them, care for them. How's the weather?"
"I didn't look," Wilson said, "but if I remember correctly from the morning
broadcasts, good everywhere except the Pacific Northwest. It's raining there.
It's always raining there."
"I tried to get State," said the President. "But, hell, you never can get State.
Williams is out at Burning Tree. I left word. Someone's going 'out to get him.
Why does everything always have to happen on Sunday? I suppose the press is
gathering."
"The lounge is filling up. In another hour they'll be pounding at the door. I
will have to let them in, but I can hold them for a while. By six o'clock, at
the latest, they'll expect some sort of statement."
"Tell them we're trying to find out. The situation is under study. You can tell
them the armed services are moving rapidly to help these people. Stress the
help. Not detention - help. The guard may have to be called out to do the job.
That is up to Jim."
"Maybe, sir, in another hour or two we'll know more of what is going on."
"Maybe. You have any thoughts on the matter, Steve?" The press secretary shook
his head. '
"Well, we'll find out. I expect to be hearing from a lot of people. It seems
incredible we can sit here, knowing nothing."
"You'll probably have to go on TV, sir. The people will expect it." '
"I suppose so."
"I'll alert the networks."
"I suppose I had better talk with London and Moscow. Probably Peking and Paris.
We're all in this together; we should act together. Williams, soon as he calls
in, will know about that. I think I'd better phone Hugh, at the UN. See what he
thinks."
"How much of this for the press, sir?"
"The TV, I guess. Better keep the rest quiet for the moment. You have any idea
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how many of these people are invading us?"
"UPI had an estimate. Twelve thousand an hour. That's in one place. There may be
as many as a hundred places. The count's not in."
"For the love of God," said the President, "a million an hour. How will the
world take care of them? We have too many people now. We haven't got the housing
or the food. Why, do you suppose, are they coming here? If they are from the
future, they would have historical data. They would know the problems they'd
create."
"A compelling reason," said the secretary. "Some sort of desperation. Certainly
they'd know we are limited in our capacity to put them up and keep them. It
would have to be life or death for them to do it."
"Children of our children," said the President, "many times removed. If they're
truly from the future, they are our descendants. We can't turn our backs on
them."
"I hope everyone feels the same about it," said Wilson. "They'll create an
economic pinch if they keep coming and in an economic pinch there will be
resentment. We talk about the present generation gap. Think of how much greater
that gap will be when not two generations, but a number are involved."
"The churches can help a lot," said the President, "if they will. If they don't,
we could be in trouble. Let one loudmouthed evangelist start some pulpit
thumping and we've had it.''
Wilson grinned. "You're talking about Billings, sir. If you think it would be
all right, I could get in touch with him. We knew one another back in college
days. I can talk with him, but I don't know what good I'll do."
"Do what you can," said the President. "Reason with him. If he refuses to see
reason, we'll find someone who can really lean on him. What really bothers me is
the welfare population. Bread out of their mouths to feed all these extra
mouths. It'll take fast footwork to keep them in line. The labor unions may be
scared by all the extra manpower, but they are hardheaded people, all of them. A
man can talk to them. They understand economics and you can make some sense to
them."
The intercom came to life. The President thumbed the lever.
"Secretary Williams on the line, sir."
Wilson stood up to leave. The President reached for the phone. He looked up at
Wilson.
"Stay close," said the President.
"I intend to, sir," said Wilson.
4
All the buttons on Judy's phone were blinking. She was talking quietly into the
transmitter. The spindle on her desk was festooned with notes.
When Wilson came into the office, she hung up. The lights kept on with their
blinking.
"The lounge is full," she said. "There is one urgent message. Tom Manning has
something for you. Said it is top important. Shall I ring him?"
"You carry on," said Wilson. "I'll get him." He sat down at his desk, hauled the
phone close and dialed. "Tom, this is Steve. Judy said it is important." "I
think it is," said Manning. "Molly has someone. Seems to be a sort of leader of
the gang out in Virginia. Don't know how his credentials run, if there are
credentials. But the thing is, he wants to talk with the President. Says he can
explain. In fact, he insists on explaining."
"Has he talked with Molly?"
"Some. But not important stuff. He is reserving that."
"It has to be the President?"
"He says so. His name is Maynard Gale. He has a daughter with him. Name of
Alice."
"Why don't you ask Molly to bring them along. Back way, not out in front. I'll
notify the gate. I'll see what can be done."
"There's just one thing, Steve."
"Yes?"
"Molly found this guy. She has him hidden out. He is her exclusive."
"No," said Wilson.
"Yes," insisted Manning. "She sits in on it. It has to be that way. God damn it,
Steve, it is only fair. You can't ask us to share this. Bentley snagged him
first and Molly hung onto him."
"What you're asking me to do would ruin me. You know that as well as I do. The
other press associations, the Times, the Post, all the rest of them..."
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"You could announce it," said Manning. "You'd get the information. All we want
is an exclusive interview with Gale. You owe us that much, Steve."
"I'd be willing to announce that Global brought him in," said Wilson. "You'd be
given full credit for it."
"But no exclusive interview."
"You have the man right now. Get your interview. Get it first, then bring him
in. That would be your privilege. I might not like it, Tom, but there's not a
thing I could do to stop it."
"But he won't talk until he's seen the President. You could release him to us
once he's talked."
"We have no hold on him. Not at the moment, anyhow. We would have no right to
release him to anyone. And how do you know he's what he says he is?"
"I can't be sure, of course," said Manning. "But he knows what is going on. He's
part of what is going on. He has things all of us need to know. You wouldn't
have to buy his story. You could listen, then exercise your judgment."
"Tom, I can't promise anything at all. You know I can't. I'm surprised you
asked."
"Call me back after you've thought it over." Manning said.
"Now, wait a second, Tom."
"What is it now?"
"It seems to me you might be running on thin ice. You're withholding vital
information."
"We have no information."
"A vital source of information, then. Public policy may be at issue. And what is
more, you are holding the man against his will."
"We're not holding him. He's sticking tight to us. He figures we are the only
ones who can get him to the White House."
"Well, impeding him. Refusing to give him the assistance that he needs. And - I
can't be sure of this, I can only guess - you might be dealing with the
equivalent of an ambassador."
"Steve, you can't lean on me. We've been friends too long. . .
"Let me tell you something, Tom. I'm not going along with this. Friendship or
not. I have a hunch I could get a court order within the hour."
"You couldn't get away with it."
"You'd better talk to your lawyer. I'll look forward to hearing from you."
He slammed down the phone and stood up.
"What was that all about?" asked Judy.
"Tom tried to bluff me."
"You were pretty rough on him."
"Damn it, Judy, I had to be. If I had knuckled under - I couldn't knuckle under.
In this job, you don't make any deals."
"They're getting impatient out there, Steve."
"OK. You better let them in."
They came in with a rush, quietly, orderly, finding their accustomed seats. Judy
closed the doors.
"You have anything for us, Steve?" AP asked.
"No statement," said Wilson. "Really not anything at all. I guess all I have to
say is that I'll let you know as soon as there is anything to tell. As of less
than half an hour ago, the President knew no more about this than you do. He
will have a statement later, as soon as he has some data to base a statement on.
I guess the only thing I can tell you is that the armed forces will be assigned
the job of getting these people under shelter and providing food and other
necessities for them. This is only an emergency measure. A more comprehensive
plan will be worked out later, perhaps involving a number of agencies."
"Have you any idea," asked the Washington Post, "who our visitors are?"
"None at all," said Wilson. "Nothing definite. Not who they are, or where they
come from, or why they came or how."
"You don't buy their story they are coming from the future?"
"I didn't say that, John. We maintain the open mind of ignorance. We simply do
not know."
"Mr. Wilson," said the New York Times, "has any contact been made with any of
the visitors who can supply us facts? Have any, conversations been initiated
with these people?"
"At the moment, no."
"Can we assume from your answer that such a conversation may be imminent?"
"Actually, no such assumption would be justified. The administration is anxious,
naturally, to learn what it's all about, but this event began happening not a
great deal longer than an hour ago. There simply has been no time to get much
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done. I think all of you can understand that."
"But you do anticipate there'll be some conversations."
"I can only repeat that the administration is anxious to know what is going on.
I would think that sometime soon we may be talking with some of the people. Not
that I know of any actual plans to do so, but simply that it seems it would be
an early logical course of action to talk with some of them. It occurs to me
that members of the press may already have talked with some of them; you may be
way ahead of us."
"We have tried," said UPI, "but none of them is saying much. It's almost as if
they had been coached to say as little as possible. They will simply say they
have come from the future of five hundred years ahead and they apologize for
disturbing us, but explain it was a matter of life and death for them to come.
Beyond that nothing. We are simply getting nowhere with them. I wonder, Steve,
will the President be going on television?"
"I would think he might. I can't tell you when. I'll let you know immediately
that a time is set."
"Mr. Wilson," asked the Times, "can you say whether the President will talk with
Moscow or London or some of the other governments?"
"I'll know more about that after he talks with State."
"Has he talked with State?"
"By now, perhaps he may have. Give me another hour or so and I may have
something for you. All I can do now is assure you I'll give you what I have as
soon as the situation develops."
"Mr. Press Secretary," said the Chicago Tribune, "I suppose it has occurred to
the administration that the addition to the world's population of some two and a
half million an hour..."
"You're ahead of me there," said Wilson. "My latest figure was something over a
million an hour."
"There are now," said the Tribune, "about two hundred of the tunnels or openings
or whatever you may call them. Even if there should be no more than that, it
means that within less than forty-eight hours more than a billion people will
have emerged upon the earth. My question is how is the world going to be able to
feed that many additional people?"
"The administration," Wilson told the Tribune, "is very acutely aware of the
problem. Does that answer your question?"
"Partially, sir. But how is it proposed to meet the problem?"
"That will be a matter for consultation," said Wilson, stiffly.
"You mean you won't answer it?"
"I mean that, at the moment, I can't answer it."
"There is another similar question," said the Los Angeles Times, "concerning the
advanced science and technology that must exist in a world five hundred years
ahead. Has there been any consideration given. . ."
"There has not," said Wilson. "Not yet."
The New York Times arose. "Mr. Wilson," he said, "we seem now to be moving far
afield. Perhaps later some similar questions will be possible to answer."
"I would hope so, sir," said Wilson.
He stood and watched the press corps file back into the lobby.
5
The army was having trouble.
Lieutenant Andrew Shelby phoned Major Marcel Burns. "Sir, I can't keep these
people together," he reported. "They are being kidnapped."
"What in hell are you talking about, Andy? Kidnapped?"
"Well, maybe not being kidnapped, actually. But people are taking them in. There
is one big house full of them. There must be twenty or more of them inside of
it. I talked with the owner. Look here, I told him, I have to keep these people
together. I can't let them get scattered. I've got to load them up and take them
where they have shelter and food. Lieutenant, said this man, you don't have to
worry about the people I have here. If food and shelter is your only worry, you
can stop your worrying. They are my house guests, sir, and they have food and
shelter. And he was not the only one. That was only one house. Other houses, all
up and down the street, they have them, too. The whole neighborhood has them.
Everyone is taking them in. That's not the whole story, either. People are
driving in from miles away to load them up and take them off to take care of
them. They're being scattered all over the countryside and I can't do a thing
about it."
"Are they still coming out of that door or whatever it is?"
Side 8
Simak, Cliffard D - Our children's children
"Yes, sir, they are still coming out of it. They have never stopped. It's like a
big parade. They just keep marching out of it. I try to keep them together, sir,
but they wander and they scatter and they are taken up by all the people in the
neighborhood and I can't keep track of them."
"You've been transporting some of them?"
"Yes, sir. As fast as I can load them up."
"What kind of people are they?"
"Just ordinary people, sir. Far as I can see. No different from us, except that
they got a sort of funny accent. They dress funny. Some of them in robes. Some
of them in buckskins. Some of them in - oh, hell, they have all kinds of
clothes. Like they were at a masquerade. But they are polite and cooperative.
They don't give us no trouble. It's just that there are so many of them. More of
them than I can haul away. They scatter, but that ain't their fault. It's the
people who invite them home. They are friendly and real nice, but there are just
too many of them."
The major sighed. "Well, carry on," he said. "Do the best you can."
6
The buttons on Judy's telephone had never stopped their blinking. The lounge was
jammed with waiting newsmen. Wilson got up from his desk and moved over to the
row of clacking teletypes.
Global News was coming up with its fifth new lead.
WASHINGTON (GN)-Millions of visitors who say they are from 500 years in the
future continued to come to the present world this afternoon, pouring in steady
streams from more than 200 "time tunnels."
There has been general public reluctance to accept their explanation that they
are from the future, but it is now beginning to gain some acceptance in official
quarters, not so much in Washington as in some capitals abroad. Beyond the
assertion that they are from the future, however, the refugees will add little
else in the way of information. It is confidently expected that in the next few
hours more information may be forthcoming. So far, in the confusion of the
situation, no one who can be termed a leader or a spokesman has emerged from the
hordes of people pouring from the tunnels. But there are some indications that
such a spokesman may now have been located and that soon his story will be told.
The distribution of the tunnels are worldwide and have been reported from every
continent.
An unofficial estimate places the number of people passing through them at close
to two million an hour. At this rate . . .
"Steve," said Judy, "Tom Manning is on the phone." Wilson went back to his desk.
"Have you got your court order yet?" Manning asked. "Not yet. I gave you time."
"Well, you can get it any time you want to. Our attorney says you can."
"I don't think I'll need it."
"Matter of fact, you won't. Molly is already on her way. With Gale and his
daughter. She'll be there in twenty minutes, more or less, depending on the
traffic. It is getting hairy out there. Sightseers pouring in and a slew of army
trucks."
"Tom," said Wilson, "there is something I want to say. I know why you had to do
it. You simply had to try."
"Steve, there's one thing more."
"What is it, Tom?"
"Gale talked a little to Molly. Not much. There was one thing he asked her to
pass along. Something that he said couldn't wait."
"You're passing it along?"
"He said to station an artillery piece in front of each of the time tunnels.
High explosive rounds. If anything happens, fire straight into the tunnel. Don't
pay any attention to the people who may be in it, but fire. If necessary, keep
on firing."
"Any idea of what could happen?"
"He wouldn't say. Just that we would know. Said the explosion would knock out
the tunnel, collapse it, put an end to it. You'll take it from here?"
"I'll take it from here."
"I'm not going to use it now," said Manning. "Not right away."
Wilson hung up, picked up the Presidential phone.
"Kim," he asked. "when can I get in?"
"He's on the phone now. There are other calls holding. There are people with
Side 9
Simak, Cliffard D - Our children's children
him. How important is this, Steve?"
"Top important. I have to see the man."
"Come on in. I'll slip you in as soon as possible."
"Judy," said Wilson, "Molly Kimball is coming in the back way. She'll have two
of the refugees with her."
"I'll call the gate," said Judy. "And security. When they get here?"
"If I'm not back; send them in to Kim."
7
Sandburg, Secretary of Defense, and. Williams, Secretary of State, sat on a
davenport in front of the President's desk. Reilly Douglas, Attorney General,
was in a chair at its corner. They nodded to Wilson when he came into the room.
"Steve," said the President, "I know that what you have must be important." It
was just short of a rebuke.
"I think so, Mr. President," said Wilson. "Molly Kimball is bringing in one of
the refugees who says he is a spokesman for at least the Virginia group. I
thought you might want to see him, sir."
"Sit down, Steve," said the President. "What do you know about this man? Is he
really a spokesman? An accredited spokesman?"
"I don't know," said Wilson. "I would suppose he might have some credentials."
"In any case," said the Secretary of State, "we should listen to what he has to
say. God knows, no one else has been able to tell us anything."
Wilson took a chair next to the Attorney General and settled into it.
"The man sent a message ahead," he said. "He thought we should know as soon as
possible. He suggested an artillery piece, firing high explosive rounds, be
placed in front of every door or time tunnel or whatever the people are coming
out of."
"There is some danger, then?" asked the Secretary of Defense.
Wilson shook his head. "I don't know. He apparently was not specific. Only if
anything happened at any tunnel we should fire an explosive charge directly into
it. Even if there were people in it. To disregard the people and fire. He said
it would collapse the tunnel."
"What could happen?" asked Sandburg.
"Tom Manning passed on the word from Molly. Quoted the spokesman as saying we
would know. I got the impression it was precautionary only. He'll be here in a
few minutes. He could tell us."
"What do you think?" the President asked the others. "Should we see this man?"
"I think we have to," said Williams. "It's not a matter of protocol, because in
the situation as it stands we have no idea what protocol might be. Even if he
isn't what he says he is, he can give us information, and so far we have none at
all. It isn't as if we were accepting him as an ambassador or official
representative of those people out there. We could use our judgment as to how
much of his story we'd accept."
Sandburg nodded gravely. "I think we should have him in."
"I don't like the idea of a press association bringing him in," said the
Attorney General. "They'd not be particularly disinterested parties. There would
be a tendency to palm their own man off on us."
"I know Tom Manning," said Wilson. "Molly, too, for that matter. They won't
trade on it. Maybe they would have if he had talked to Molly, but he wouldn't
talk to anyone. The President, he said, was the only man he'd talk with."
"The act of a public-spirited citizen," said the Attorney General.
"If you're talking about Manning and Molly," said Wilson, "yes, I think so. Your
opinion may differ from mine."
"After all," said the Secretary of State, "we'd not be seeing him in any
official capacity unless we made it so. We'd not be bound by anything we say."
"And," said the Secretary of Defense,' "I want to hear more about blowing up
those tunnels. I don't mind telling you they have bothered me. I suppose it is
all right so long as only people are coming out of them. But what would we do if
something else started coming through?"
"Like what?" asked Douglas.
"I don't know," said Sandburg.
"How deeply, Reilly, does your objection go?" the President asked the Attorney
General.
"Not deeply," said Douglas. "Just a lawyer's reaction against irregularity."
"Then I think," said the President, "that we should see him." He looked at
Wilson. "Do you know, has he got a name?"
"Maynard Gale," said Wilson. "He has his daughter with him. Her name is Alice."
Side 10
摘要:

Simak, Cliffard D - Our children's childrenTitle: Our children's childrenAuthor: Clifford D. SimakOriginal copyright year: 1974Genre: science fictionBook price (of scanned edition): US$ 2.50Comments: to my knowledge, this is the only available e-text of this bookSource: scanned and OCR-read from a p...

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