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All You Zombies 2217 Time Zone V (EST) 7 Nov. 1970-NTC-
"Pop's Place": I was polishing a brandy snifter when the Unmarried
Mother came in. I noted the time-10: 17 P. M. zone five, or eastern time,
November 7th, 1970. Temporal agents always notice time and date; we must. The Unmarried Mother was a man twenty-five
years old, no taller than I am, childish features and a touchy temper. I
didn't like his looks - I never had - but he was a lad I was here to recruit,
he was my boy. I gave him my best barkeep's smile. Maybe I'm too critical. He wasn't swish; his
nickname came from what he always said when some nosy type asked him his
line: "I'm an unmarried mother. -- If he felt less than murderous he
would add: "at four cents a word. I write confession stories. -- If he felt nasty, he would wait for somebody
to make something of it. He had a lethal style of infighting, like a female
cop - reason I wanted him. Not the only one. He had a load on, and his face showed that
he despised people more than usual. Silently I poured a double shot of Old
Underwear and left the bottle. He drank it, poured another. I wiped the bar top. -- How's the
"Unmarried Mother" racket? -- His fingers tightened on the glass and he
seemed about to throw it at me; I felt for the sap under the bar. In temporal
manipulation you try to figure everything, but there are so many factors that
you never take needless risks. I saw him relax that tiny amount they teach
you to watch for in the Bureau's training school. -- Sorry, " I said. --
Just asking, "How's business? " Make it "How's the weather? He looked sour. -- Business is okay. I write
'em, they print 'em, I eat. -- I poured myself one, leaned toward him. --
Matter of fact, " I said, "you write a nice stick - I've sampled a
few. You have an amazingly sure touch with the woman's angle. -- It was a slip I had to risk; he never
admitted what pen-names he used. But he was boiled enough to pick up only the
last: "'Woman's angle! "" he repeated with a snort. -- Yeah, I
know the woman's angle. I should. -- "So? -- I said doubtfully. -- Sisters?
-- "No. You wouldn't believe me if I told
you. -- "Now, now, " I answered mildly,
"bartenders and psychiatrists learn that nothing is stranger than truth.
Why, son, if you heard the stories I do-well, you'd make yourself rich.
Incredible. -- "You don't know what
"incredible" means! " "So? Nothing astonishes me. I've always
heard worse. -- He snorted again. -- Want to bet the rest of
the bottle? -- "I'll bet a full bottle. -- I placed
one on the bar. "Well-" I signaled my other
bartender to handle the trade. We were at the far end, a single-stool space
that I kept private by loading the bar top by it with jars of pickled eggs
and other clutter. A few were at the other end watching the fights and
somebody was playing the juke box-private as a bed where we were. "Okay, " he began, "to start
with, I'm a bastard. -- "No distinction around here, " I
said. "I mean it, " he snapped. -- My
parents weren't married. -- "Still no distinction, " I
insisted. -- Neither were mine. -- "When-" He stopped, gave me the
first warm look I ever saw on him. -- You mean that? -- "I do. A one-hundred-percent bastard.
In fact, " I added, "no one in my family ever marries. All
bastards. "Oh, that. -- I showed it to him. -- It
just looks like a wedding ring; I wear it to keep women off. -- It is an
antique I bought in 1985 from a fellow operative - he had fetched it from
pre-Christian He barely glanced at it. -- if you're really
a bastard, you know how it feels. When I was a little girl" "Wups! " I said. -- Did I hear you
correctly? -- "'Who's telling this story? When I was
a little girl-Look, ever hear of Christine Jorgenson? Or Roberta Cowell? "Uh, sex-change cases? You're trying to
tell me-" "Don't interrupt or swelp me, I won't
talk. I was a foundling, left at an orphanage in "I know " "-I made a solemn vow that any kid of
mine would have both a pop and a mom. It kept me "pure, " quite a
feat in that vicinity - I had to learn to fight to manage it. Then I got
older and realized I stood darn little chance of getting married - for the
same reason I hadn't been adopted --. He scowled. I was horse-faced and
buck-toothed, flat-chested and straight-haired. "You don't look any worse than I do. -- "Who cares how a barkeep looks? Or a
writer? But people wanting to adopt pick little blue-eyed golden-haired
moron. Later on, the boys want bulging breasts, a cute face, and an
Oh-you-wonderful-male manner. -- He shrugged. I couldn't compete. So I
decided to join the W. E. N. C. H. E. S. -- Eh? -- "Women's Emergency National Corps,
Hospitality & Entertainment Section, what they now call "Space
Angels'-Auxiliary Nursing Group, Extraterrestrial Legions. -- I knew both terms, once I had them
chronized. We use still a third name, it's that elite military service corps:
Women's Hospitality Order Refortifying & Encouraging Spacemen. Vocabulary
shift is the worst hurdle in time-jumps - did you know that "service
station" once fractions? Once on an assignment in the Churchill Era, a
woman said to me, "Meet me at the service station next door -- - which
is not what it sounds; a service station" (then) wouldn't have a bed in
it. He went on: "It was when they first
admitted you can't send men into space for months and years and not relieve
the tension. You remember how the wowsers screamed? - that improved my
chance, since volunteers were scarce. A gal had to be respectable, preferably
virgin (they liked to train them from scratch), above average mentally, and
stable emotionally. But most volunteers were old hookers, or neurotics who
would crack up ten days off Earth. So I didn't need looks; if they accepted
me, they would fix my buck teeth, put a wave in my hair, teach me to walk and
dance and how to listen to a man pleasingly, and everything else - plus
training for the prime duties. They would even use plastic surgery if it
would help - nothing too good for our Boys. "Best yet, they made sure you didn't
get pregnant during your enlistment - and you were almost certain to marry at
the end of your hitch. Same way today, A. N. G. E. L. S. marry spacers - they
talk the language. "When I was eighteen I was placed as a
`mother's helper'. This family simply wanted a cheap servant, but I didn't
mind as I couldn't enlist till I was twenty-one. I did housework and went to
night school - pretending to continue my high school typing and shorthand but
going to a charm class instead, to better my chances for enlistment. "Then I met this city slicker with his
hundred-dollar bills. -- He scowled. The no-good actually did have a wad of hundred-dollar
bills. He showed me one night, told me to help myself. "But I didn't. I liked him. He was the
first man I ever met who was nice to me without trying games with me. I quit
night school to see him oftener. It was the happiest time of my life. "Then one night in the park the games
began. -- He stopped. I said, "And then? -- "And then nothing! I never saw him
again. He walked me home and told me he loved me-and kissed me good-night and
never came back. -- He looked grim. -- If I could find him, I'd kill him!
" "Well, " I sympathized, "I
know how you feel. But killing him-just for doing what comes naturally -
hmm... Did you struggle? -- "Huh? What's that got to do with it? -- "Quite a bit. Maybe he deserves a
couple of broken arms for running out on you, but-" "He deserves worse than that! Wait till
you hear. Somehow I kept anyone from suspecting and decided it was all for
the best. I hadn't really loved him and probably would never love anybody-and
I was more eager to join the WE. N. C. H. E. S. than ever. I wasn't
disqualified, they didn't insist on virgins. I cheered up. "It wasn't until my skirts got tight
that I realized. "Pregnant? -- "He had me higher "n a kite! Those
skinflints I lived with ignored it as long as I could work-then kicked me
out, and the orphanage wouldn't take me back. I landed in a charity ward
surrounded by other big bellies and trotted bedpans until my time came. "One night I found myself on an
operating table, with a nurse saying, "Relax. Now breathe deeply. " "I woke up in bed, numb from the chest
down. My surgeon came in. "How do you feel? " he says cheerfully. "Like a mummy. -- "Naturally. You're wrapped like one and
full of dope to keep you numb. You'll get well-but a Cesarean isn't a
hangnail. " Cesarean" I said. "Doc -
did I lose the baby? " Oh, no. Your baby's fine. " Oh. Boy or girl? " "'A healthy little girt. Five pounds,
three ounces. " "I relaxed. It's something, to have
made a baby. I told myself I would go somewhere and tack "Mrs. " on
my name and let the kid think her papa was dead -no orphanage for my kid! "But the surgeon was talking.
"Tell me, uh-" He avoided my name. "did you ever think your
glandular setup was odd? " "I said, "Huh? Of course not. What
are you driving at?" "He hesitated. I'll give you this in
one dose, then a hypo to let you sleep off your jitters. You'll have 'em.
" "'Why? I demanded. Ever hear of that Scottish physician who was
female until she was thirty-five? -then had surgery and became legally and
medically a man? Got married. All okay. " 'What's that got to do with me? " "'That's what I'm saying. You're a man.
" "I tried to sit up. What? " "Take it easy. When I opened you, I
found a mess. I sent for the Chief of Surgery while I got the baby out, then
we held a consultation with you on the table-and worked for hours to salvage
what we could. You had two full sets of organs, both immature, but with the
female set well enough developed for you to have a baby. They could never be
any use to you again, so we took them out and rearranged things so that you
can develop properly as a man. He put a hand on me. "Don't worry. You're
young, your bones will readjust, we'll watch your glandular balance - and
make a fine young man out of you. " "I started to cry. "What about my
baby? " "Well, you can't nurse her, you haven't
milk enough for a kitten. If I were you, I wouldn't see her-put her up for
adoption. " "'No! " "He shrugged. "The choice is
yours; you're her mother - well, her parent. But don't worry now; we'll get
you well first. " "Next day they let me see the kid and I
saw her daily - trying to get used to her. I had never seen a brand-new baby
and had no idea how awful they look - my daughter looked like an orange
monkey. My feelings changed to cold determination to do right by her. But
four weeks later that didn't mean anything. -- "Eh? -- "She was snatched. -- "'Snatched? -- The Unmarried Mother almost knocked over the
bottle we had bet. -- Kidnapped - stolen from the hospital nursery! " He
breathed hard. -- How's that for taking the last a man's got to live for? -- "A bad deal, " I agreed. -- Let's
pour you another. No clues? -- "Nothing the police could trace.
Somebody came to see her, claimed to be her uncle. While the nurse had her
back turned, he walked out with her. -- "Description? -- "Just a man, with a face-shaped face,
like yours or mine. -- He frowned. -- I think it was the baby's father. The
nurse swore it was an older man but he probably used makeup. Who else would
swipe my baby? Childless women pull such stunts - but whoever heard of a man
doing it? -- "What happened to you then? -- "Eleven more months of that grim place
and three operations. In four months I started to grow a beard; before I was
out I was shaving regularly... and no longer doubted that I was male. -- He
grinned wryly. -- I was staring down nurses necklines. -- "Well, " I said, "seems to me
you came through okay. Here you are, a normal man, making good money, no real
troubles. And the life of a female is not an easy one. -- He glared at me. -- A lot you know about it!
" "So? -- "Ever hear the expression "a
ruined woman'? -- "Mmm, years ago. Doesn't mean much
today. -- "I was as ruined as a woman can be;
that bum really ruined me - I was no longer a woman... and I didn't know how
to be a man. -- "Takes getting used to, I suppose. -- "You have no idea. I don't mean
learning how to dress, or not walking into the wrong rest room; I learned
those in the hospital. But how could I live? What job could I get? Hell, I
couldn't even drive a car. I didn't know a trade; I couldn't do manual
labor-too much scar tissue, too tender. "I hated him for having ruined me for
the W. E. N. C. H. E. S., too, but I didn't know how much until I tried to
join the Space Corps instead. One look at my belly and I was marked unfit for
military service. The medical officer spent time on me just from curiosity;
he had read about my case. "So I changed my name and came to an unmarried-mother story... through the
only version I haven't sold - the true one. Do I win the bottle? -- I pushed it toward him. I was upset myself,
but there was work to do. I said, "Son, you still want to lay hands on
that so-and-so? -- His eyes lighted up-a feral gleam. "Hold it! " I said. -- You
wouldn't kill him? -- He chuckled nastily. -- Try me. -- "Take it easy. I know more about it than
you think I do. I can help you. I know where he is. -- He reached across the bar. -- Where is he?
-- I said softly, "Let go my shirt,
sonny-or you'll land in the alley and we'll tell the cops you fainted. -- I
showed him the sap. He let go. -- Sorry. But where is he? -- He
looked at me. -- And how do you know so much? -- "All in good time. There are records -
hospital records, orphanage records, medical records. The matron of your
orphanage was Mrs. Fetherage - right? She was followed by Mrs. Gruenstein -
right? Your name, as a girl, was "Jane" - right? And you didn't
tell me any of this - right? -- I had him baffled and a bit scared. --
What's this? You trying to make trouble for me? -- "No indeed. I've your welfare at heart.
I can put this character in your lap. You do to him as you see fit - and I
guarantee that you'll get away with it. But I don't think you'll kill him.
You'd be nuts to - and you aren't nuts. Not quite. -- He brushed it aside. -- Cut the noise. Where
is he? -- I poured him a short one; he was drunk, but
anger was offsetting it. -- Not so fast. I do something for you - you do
something for me. -- "Uh... what? -- "You don't like your work. What would
you say to high pay, steady work, unlimited expense account, your own boss on
the job, and lots of variety and adventure? -- He stared. -- I'd say, "Get those
goddam reindeer off my roof! " Shove it, 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 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 - "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 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 - 0100-VI-20 Sept. 1945 - No trouble. Jane was sleeping soundly; I
carried her out, put her in a grocery box on the seat of a car I had provided
earlier, drove to the orphanage, put her on the steps, drove two blocks to a
"service station" (the petroleum-products sort) and phoned the
orphanage, drove back in time to see them taking the box inside, kept going
and abandoned the car near the motel - walked to it and jumped forward to the
Apex Building in 1963. 2200-VI-24 April 1963 - Presently I spotted them down the street,
arms around each other. He took her up on the porch and made a long job of kissing
her good-night-longer than I thought. Then she went in and he came down the
walk, turned away. I slid into step and hooked an arm in his. -- That's all,
son, " I announced quietly. -- I'm back to pick you up. -- "You! " He gasped and caught his
breath. "Me. Now you know who he is - and after
you think it over you'll know who you are... and if you think hard enough,
you'll figure out who the baby is... and who I am. -- He didn't answer, he was badly shaken. It's
a shock to have it proved to you that you can't resist seducing yourself. I
took him to the 2300-VIII, 12 Aug. 1985-Sub Rockies Base: I
woke the duty sergeant, showed my I wrote it out. He raised his eyebrows. --
Like so, eh? Hmm-" "You just do your job, Sergeant. -- I
turned to my companion. "Son, your troubles are over. You're
about to start the best job a man ever held-and you'll do well. I know. -- "That you will! " agreed the
sergeant. -- Look at me - born in 1917-still around, still young, still
enjoying life. -- I went back to the jump room, set everything on preselected
zero. 2301-V-7 Nov. 1970-NYC -"Pop's
Place": I came out of the storeroom carrying a fifth of Drambuie to
account for the minute I had been gone. My assistant was arguing with the
customer who had been playing "I'm My Own Grand-paw! " I said,
"Oh, let him play it, then unplug it. -- I was very tired. It's rough, but somebody must do it, and
it's very hard to recruit anyone in the later years, since the Mistake of
1972. Can you think of a better source than to pick people all fouled up
where they are and give them well-paid, interesting (even though dangerous)
work in a necessary cause? Everybody knows now why the Fizzle War of 1963
fizzled. The bomb with But not the Mistake of "72; that one is
not our fault-and can't be undone; there's no paradox to resolve. A thing
either is, or it isn't, now and forever amen. But there won't be another like
it; an order dated "1992" takes precedence any year. I closed five minutes early, leaving a
letter in the cash register telling my day manager that I was accepting his
offer to buy me out, to see my lawyer as I was leaving on a long vacation.
The Bureau might or might not pick up his payments, but they want things left
tidy. I went to the room in the back of the storeroom and forward to 1993. 2200-VII- 12 Jan 1993-Sub I dictated my report; forty recruitments all
okayed by the Psych Bureau - counting my own, which I knew would be okayed. I
was here, wasn't I? Then I taped a request for assignment to operations; I
was sick of recruiting. I dropped both in the slot and headed for bed. My eye fell on "The By-Laws of Time,
" over my bed: Never Do Yesterday What Should Be Done
Tomorrow. If at Last You Do Succeed, Never Try Again. A Stitch in Time Saves Nine Billion. A Paradox May Be Paradoctored. It Is Earlier When You Think. Ancestors Are Just People. Even Jove Nods. They didn't inspire me the way they had when
I was a recruit; thirty subjective-years of time-jumping wears you down. I
undressed, and when I got down to the hide I looked at my belly. A Cesarean
leaves a big scar, but I'm so hairy now that I don't notice it unless I look
for it. Then I glanced at the ring on my finger. The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever
and Ever. I know where I came from - but where did all you zombies come from? I felt a headache coming on, but a headache
powder is one thing I do not take. I did once - and you all went away. So I crawled into bed and whistled out the
light. You aren't really there at all. There isn't
anybody but me - Jane - here alone in the dark. I miss you dreadfully! |