The Ugly Little Boy
Chapter Eleven. Going

52
PROJECT MIDDLE AGES-that was all that anyone was talking about at Stasis Technologies, Ltd. now. It was the beginning of an amazing new phase for the time-travel operation, everyone agreed. The unique process that Stasis Technologies controlled would open the gateway to the historical past-would bring new and astounding knowledge of antiquity pouring into the twenty-first century, an incredible intellectual treasure. And perhaps treasure of another kind, some said: if they could reach back into any century of historic times and bring people back, why not scoop up works of art, rare books and manuscripts, valuable objects of all sorts? Overnight the resources of the museums of the world could be doubled, tripled, quadrupled! And everything in perfect condition-and at no expense other than the energy costs.
Everyone in the company prayed that Project Middle Ages would come off without a hitch. Everyone but Edith Fellowes, who quietly prayed that it would fail. That Hoskins' theories would be wrong, or that die equipment would not be equal to the task. It was the only thing she could cling to, now-the only hope she had that Timmie would not die. If the attempt to bring a man forward from the fourteenth century turned out to be a flop, there'd be no need to vacate the Stasis bubble that Timmie occupied. Then everydiing could go on as before.
So she hoped for the failure of the project; but the rest of the world hoped for its success. And, irrationally, Miss Fellowes hated the world for it. Project Middle Ages was reaching a climax of white-hot publicity now. The media and die public both were obsessed with it. It was a long time since Stasis Technologies, Ltd. had had anything to catch their attention. A new rock or another ancient fish would hardly stir diem. The litde dinosaur had caused a ripple in its time, but then they had forgotten about it. As for Timmie the Neanderthal, little Timmie the cave-boy, well, he might have held the public fancy for a while longer if he had been anything like the ferocious ape-child that some people had anticipated. But Stasis Technologies' Neanderthal had turned out not to be an ape-child at all, just an ugly litde boy. An ugly litde boy who wore overalls and had learned to read picture-books -what was exciting about diat? There was nothing very prehistoric about him any longer. Maybe if he bellowed in anger and hammered his fists against his chest, yes, and roared some savage primordial gibberish, that might have held their interest a litde longer. But diat wasn't Timmie's style.
A historical human, though-a full-grown person stepping out of die past, someone who had looked with his own eyes upon Joan of Arc or Richard the Lion-Hearted or Saladin-someone who could speak a known language, someone who could bring the pages of history to lifeThe weeks went by. The time came closer.
And now the day of Zero Hour for Project Middle Ages was at hand.
Hoskins and his associates had learned a good deal about the techniques of public relations since the day of Timmie's arrival three years before. This time it wouldn't be a matter of a handful of onlookers on a balcony. This time the technicians of Stasis Technologies, Ltd., would play out their role before nearly all of mankind.
Miss Fellowes herself was all but savage with anticipation. She wanted the suspense to be over; she wanted to know whether the project would succeed or fail. She meant to be there in the assembly hall as the final switches were being thrown. If only the new relief orderly would show up so that she would be free to go over there- Mandy Terris was her name, she had been taken on last week, a replacement for Ms. Stratford, who had gone on to a better-paying job in another state"Miss Fellowes?"
She whirled, hoping it was Mandy Terris at last. But no, it was just Dr. Hoskins' secretary, bringingjerry Hoskins for his scheduled playtime with Timmie. The woman dropped Jerry off and hurried away. She, too, was rushing for a good place from which to watch the climax of Project Middle Ages.
Jerry sidled toward Miss Fellowes, looking embarrassed.
"Miss Fellowes?"
"What is it, Jerry?"
The boy took a ragged news-strip cutting from his pocket and held it out to her.
"This is a picture of Timmie, isn't it?"
Miss Fellows glanced at it quickly. It was Timmie, all right, grinning out from the page. The excitement over Project Middle Ages had brought about a pale revival of interest in Timmie on the part of the press. The newsstrip picture was a photo that had been taken not long ago, on the third anniversary of his arrival. Timmie's birthday party, they had called it-celebrating his "birth" into the twenty-first century, a few of the scientists and a few reporters and Jerry and Timmie. Timmie was holding one of his "birthday" presents, a shining robot toy.
"What about it?" Miss Fellowes asked.
Jerry watched her narrowly. "It says Timmie is an ape-boy. They aren't supposed to say that, are they?"
"What?"
She snatched the clipping from young Hoskins' hand and stared at it. There was 3 caption that she had not bothered to read before:
PREHISTORIC APE-BOY GETS TOY ROBOT FOR HIS BIRTHDAY
Ape-boy, Ape-boy, Prehistoric ape-boy. Miss Fellowes' eyes brimmed with hot tears of rage. With a vicious twist of the wrist, she tore the news-strip into a dozen pieces and threw them on the floor.
"Why'd you do that, Miss Fellowes? Because it said Timmie was an ape-boy? He isn't an ape-boy, is he? Or is he?"
She caught the youngster's wrist and repressed the impulse to shake him. "No, he isn't an ape-boy! And I don't want you ever to say those words again. Never, do you understand? It's a nasty thing to say and you mustn't do it."
Jerry struggled out of her grip, looking frightened.
Her heart was pounding. Miss Fellowes fought to get control of herself.
"Go inside and play with Timmie," she said. "He's got a new book to show you." "You hurt me." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." "I'll tell my fa-"
"Go inside! Quick! I told you I was sorry." The boy scurried away, through the door of the bubble, turning once to look back at her with anger in his eyes. Miss Fellowes heard footsteps from the other direction and turned to see Mandy Terris approaching. About time, she thought.
"You're a little late, aren't you?" she said, trying to keep querulousness out of her voice. "Jerry Hoskins is here already. Inside, playing with Timmie."
"I know, Miss Fellowes. I was trying to hurry, but there are crowds everywhere. There's just so much excitement."
"I know. Now, I want you-" Mandy said, "I guess you're in a rush to go off and watch, aren't you?" Her thin, vacuously pretty face filled with envy. "Of all times for me to have to be on duty-" "You can watch it on the evening news," Miss Fellowes said curtly. "Let's go inside, shall we?" It would be the first time she had left Mandy Terris alone with Timmie. "The boys won't give you any trouble. They've got milk handy and all the toys they'll need. In fact, it'll be better if you leave them alone as much as possible."
"I understand. And I'll be sure not to let him get out, either. I know how important that is." "Good. Now come in."
Miss Fellowes opened the Stasis door for her and showed her in. Timmie and Jerry were busy with their games in the back room and paid no attention. She showed Mandy Terris what needed to be done in the next couple of hours, the requisition forms to fill out, the record-keeping. v
As Miss Fellowes was about to leave, the girl called after her, "I hope you get a good seat! And, golly, I sure hope it works!"
Miss Fellowes did not trust herself to make a reasonable response. She hurried on without looking back.
But the delay meant that she did not get a good seat. She got no nearer than the wall-viewing-plate in the assembly hall. She regretted that bitterly. If only she could have been on the spot; if she could somehow have reached out for some sensitive portion of the instrumentation; if she were in some way able to sabotage the experimentNo. That was madness. She summoned her strength and beat the foolish ideas back.
Simple destruction would accomplish nothing. They would simply rebuild and reconstruct and make the effort again. And she would have cut herself off from Timmie forever.
Nothing would help.
Nothing but the failure of the experiment itself-its irretrievable breakdown, its fundamental impossibility- something of that sort.
So she waited through the countdown, watching every move on the giant screen, scanning the faces of the technicians as the focus shifted from one to the other, watching for the look of worry and uncertainty that would tell her that something had unexpectedly gone wrong.
Watching-watchingNobody looked uncertain. No one seemed particularly worried. They had tested the equipment many times. They had run a thousand simulations; they had already satisfied themselves that a close-range temporal fix was feasible.
The count ran all the way out, down to zero.
And-very quietly, very unspectacularly-the experiment succeeded.
In the new Stasis that had been established there stood a bearded, stoop-shouldered peasant of indeterminate age, in ragged dirty clothing and wooden shoes, staring in dull horror at the sudden mad change that had flung itself over him.
And while the world went mad with jubilation, Miss Fellowes stood frozen in sorrow, jostled and pushed, all but trampled. Surrounded on all sides by triumph while she herself was bowed down with defeat.
When the loudspeaker began to call her name with strident force, it sounded three times before she reacted.
"Miss Fellowes. Miss Fellowes. You are wanted in Stasis Section One immediately. Miss Fellowes. Miss Fell-"
What had happened?
"Let me through!" she cried, while the loudspeaker continued its repetitions without pause. With wild energy she cut a path for herself through the crowds, beating at the people in her way, striking out with closed fists, flailing desperately, moving toward the door in a nightmare slowness.
"Miss Fellowes, please-Miss Fellowes-urgent-"
53
Mandy Terris was in tears in the corridor outside the bubble. "I don't know how it happened. I just went down to the edge of the corridor to watch a pocket view-ing-plate they had set up. Just for a minute. And then before I could move or do anything-" She cried out in sudden accusation, "You said they wouldn't make any trouble; you said I should leave them alone-"
Miss Fellowes, disheveled and trembling uncontrollably, glared at her. "Where's Timmie?"
Mortenson had appeared from somewhere and was swabbing the arm of a wailing Jerry with disinfectant. Elliott was there, too, preparing an anti-tetanus shot. There was a bright bloodstain on Jerry's clothes.
"He bit me, Miss Fellowes," Jerry screamed in rage. "He bit me!"
But Miss Fellowes looked right through him.
"What did you do with Timmie?" she cried out.
"I locked him in the bathroom," Mandy Terris said. "I just threw the little monster in there and barricaded it with some chairs."
Miss Fellowes ran into the dollhouse, scarcely even noticing the ripple of disorientation as she entered Stasis. She pushed the chairs aside and fumbled at the bathroom door. It took an eternity to get it open.
At last. She looked down on the ugly little boy, cowering miserably in the corner.
"Don't whip me, Miss Fellowes," Timmie said huskily. His eyes were red. His lips were quivering. "I didn't mean to hurt him. You aren't going to whip me, are you?"
"Oh, Timmie, who told you about whips?" She drew him to her, hugging him wildly.
He said tremulously, "She did. The new one. She said you'd hit me with a long whip, that you would hit me and hit me."
"She was wicked to say that. You won't be whipped. -But what happened? What happened, Timmie?"
He stared up at her. His eyes looked enormous.
In a low voice he said, "He called me an ape-boy."
"What!"
"He said I wasn't a real boy. That he read it in the newspaper. He said I was just an animal." Timmie was fighting to hold back tears; and dien they came, a flood of them. His words grew indistinct as he snuffled, and yet she could make out every syllable all too clearly. "He said he wasn't going to play with a monkey any more. I said I wasn't a monkey. I'm not a monkey. I know what a monkey is."
"Timmie-Timmie-"
"He said I was all funny-looking. He said I was horrible and ugly. He kept saying and saying and I bit him." They were both crying now.
Miss Fellowes said, amid sobs, "It isn't true. You know that, Timmie. You're a real boy. You're a dear real boy and the best boy in the world. And no one, no one, will ever take you away from me."
She went outside again. Elliott and Mortenson were still busding around, patching Jerry up. Mandy Terris was nowhere to be seen.'
Miss Fellowes said, "Get that boy out of here. Take him to his father's office and finish whatever it is you need to do with him there. And if you see Ms. Terris, tell her she can pick up her paycheck and clear out."
They nodded. They backed away from her as if she had begun to breathe fire.
She turned and went back inside, to Timmie.
54
Her mind was made up, now. It had been very easy: the sudden awareness of what had to be done, die sudden resolve to do it right away, quickly, no hesitation possible. Maybe there were dangers in it that she didn't understand, but she had to take diat chance. If she didn't act at iall, Timmie would surely be sent back across time to die. If she did what she planned now to do, there was at least the hope that things would work out. On the one hand, the certainty of death-on the other, hope. An easy choice, that one. And there wasn't any time for considering and reconsidering, not now, not when Hoskins' own son had been mangled like this.
No, it would have to be done this night, this night, while the celebration over the success of Project Middle Ages still had everyone distracted.
She wished she could call Bruce Mannheim to let him know. But she didn't dare risk it. The switchboard computers might have some kind of security program in them; they might listen in and report what she was intending to do. She would have to get in touch with him after it was done. Mannheim wouldn't mind being awakened in the small hours of the night, not for this. And then he could get to work doing his part.
Midnight, she thought. That's the right time.
There would be no problem about her leaving and coming back that late. She often went there at night, even on nights when she had decided to sleep at her own apartment and had already left for the day. The guard knew her well and wouldn't dream of questioning her. He wouldn't think twice about why she happened to be carrying a suitcase, either. She rehearsed the noncommital phrase, "Some games for the boy," and the calm smile.
Games for the boy? Bringing them in at midnight?
But why should anyone doubt her? She lived only for Timmie. Everyone around here knew that. If she was bringing games for him in the middle of the night, well, that was the way she was. Why should he take any notice?
He didn't.
"Evening, Miss Fellowes. Big day today, wasn't it?"
"Very big, yes. -Some games for the boy," she said, waving the suitcase and smiling.
And went on past the security barrier.
Timmie was still awake when she entered the doll-house.
"Miss Fellowes-Miss Fellowes-"
She maintained a desperate pretense of normality to avoid frightening him. Had he been sleeping? A little, he said. He had had the dream again, and it had awakened him. So she sat with him for a rime, talking about his dreams with him, and listened to him ask wistfully about Jerry. She was as patient as she could force herself to be. There's no hurry, she told herself. Why should anyone be suspicious? I have every right to be in here.
And there would be few to see her when she left, no one to question the bundle she would be carrying. Timmie would be very quiet and then the thing would be done. It would be done and what would be the use of trying to undo it? They would let her be. They would let them both be. Even if what she was about to do blew every power line in six counties, there'd be no point afterward in bringing Timmie back to his place.
She opened the suitcase.
She took out die overcoat, the woolen cap with the ear-flaps, and the rest.
Timmie said, with a note of bewilderment and perhaps distress in his voice, "Why are you putting all these clothes on me, Miss Fellowes?"
She said, "I'm going to take you outside, Timmie. To where your dreams are."
"My dreams?" His face twisted in sudden yearning, yet fear was there, too.
"You don't need to be afraid. You'll be with me. You won't be afraid if you're with me, will you, Timmie?"
"No, Miss Fellowes." He buried his little misshapen head against her side, and under her enclosing arm she could feel his small heart thud.
She lifted him into her arms. She disconnected the alarm and opened the door softly.
And screamed.
Gerald Hoskins was standing there, facing her across the open door.
55
There were two men with Hoskins and he stared at her, looking as astonished as she was.
Miss Fellowes recovered first by a second, and made a quick attempt to push past him into the corridor; but even with the second's delay Hoskins had enough time to stop her. He caught her roughly and hurled her back through the door of the bubble and up against a chest of drawers. Then he waved the other two men in and confronted her, blocking the door.
"I didn't expect this. Are you completely insane?"
Miss Fellowes had managed to interpose her shoulder so that it, rather than Timmie, had struck the chest. Now she turned, clinging to Timmie tightly and glaring defiantly at Hoskins. But the defiance went out of her as she began to speak. In a pleading tone, she said, "What harm can it do if I take him, Dr. Hoskins? You can't put something like an energy loss ahead of a human life."
Hoskins nodded to the others, and they stepped in alongside her, looking ready to restrain her if it turned out to be necessary. Hoskins himself reached forward and took Timmie out of her arms.
He said, "A power surge of the size that doing what you were about to do would black out an immense area. It would cripple the whole city all the next day. Computers would be down, alarms wouldn't function, data would be lost, all kinds of trouble. There'd be a thousand lawsuits and we'd be on the receiving end of all of them.
The costs would run into the millions for us. Way up in the millions. We might even find ourselves facing bankruptcy. At the very minimum it would mean a terrible financial setback for Stasis Technologies, and a colossal public-relations fiasco. Imagine what people will say when they find out that all that trouble was caused by a sentimental nurse acting irrationally for the sake of an ape-boy."
"Ape-boy!" said Miss Fellowes, in helpless fury. "You know that that's what the reporters like to call him," said Hoskins. "And ordinary people all think of him that way. They still don't understand what a Neanderthal actually is. And I don't think they ever will."
One of the other men had gone out of the bubble. He returned now, looping a nylon rope through eyelets along the upper portion of the wall.
Miss Fellowes gasped. She remembered the rope attached to the pull-lever outside the room containing Professor Adamewski's rock specimen so long ago. She cried out, "No! You mustn't!" But Hoskins put Timmie down and gently removed the overcoat he was wearing. "You stay here, Timmie. Nothing will happen to you. We're just going outside for a moment. All right?"
Timmie, white-faced and wordless, managed to nod. Hoskins steered Miss Fellowes out of the dollhouse ahead of himself. For the moment she was beyond resistance. Dully she noticed the red-handled pull-lever being adjusted in the hallway outside. Odd how she had never paid attention to it before, never let it enter her consciousness.
The sword of the executioner, she thought. "I'm sorry, Miss Fellowes," Hoskins said. "I would have spared you this if I could. I planned it for midnight so that you'd find out only when it was over."
She said in a weary whisper, "You're doing this because your son was hurt. Don't you realize that jerry tormented this child into striking out at him?"
"This has nothing to do with what happened to Jerry."
"I'm sure it doesn't," Miss Fellowes said acidly.
"No. Believe me. I understand about the incident today and I know it was Jerry's fault. -Well, I suppose what happened today has speeded things up a little. The story has leaked out. No way that it wouldn't have, with the media crawling all over the lab today because of Project Middle Ages. And we'll be hearing stuff about 'negligence,' 'savage Neanderthalers,' all that nonsense, getting into the news, spoiling the coverage of today's successful experiment. Better to end the Timmie experiment right here and now. Timmie would have had to leave soon anyway. Better to send him back tonight and give the sensationalists as small a peg as possible on which they can hang their trash."
"It's not like sending a rock back. He's a human being, and you'll be killing him."
"Not killing. We've got no reason to think that the return trip is harmful. He'll arrive more or less in the same place we took him from, at a point in time that we calculate will be roughly ten weeks after his departure- plus or minus a couple of weeks, factoring in entropic drift and other little technicalities. And he won't feel a thing. He'll be back home-a Neanderthal boy in a Neanderthal world. He won't be a prisoner and an alien any more. He'll have a chance at a free life."
"What chance? He's seven years old at best, accustomed to be taken care of, fed, clothed, sheltered. Now he'll be alone in an ice age. Don't you think his tribe may have wandered off somewhere else in ten weeks* time? They don't simply sit still-they follow the game, they move along the trail. And even if by some miracle they were still there, do you think they'll recognize him? Three years older in ten weeks? They'd run screaming away. He'd be alone and he'd have to look after himself. How will he know how to do it?"
Hoskins shook his head. His expression was bleak, stony, implacable.
"He'll find his tribe again, and they'll take him in and welcome him back. I'm completely certain of it. Trust me, Miss Fellowes."
She looked at him in anguish.
"Trust you?"
"Please," he said, and suddenly there was anguish in his eyes too. "There's no way around this. I'm sorry, Miss Fellowes. Believe me, I am-sorrier than you'll ever give me credit for. But the boy has to go, and that's all there is to it. Don't make it any harder for me than it already is."
Her eyes were fixed on his. She stared steadily, in silence, for a long terrible moment.
At last she said, sadly, "Well, then. At least let me say goodbye to him. Give me five minutes alone with him. You can let me have that, can't you?"
Hoskins hesitated. Then he nodded.
"Go ahead," he said.
56
Timmie ran to her. For the last time he ran to her and for the last time Miss Fellowes clasped him in her arms.
For a moment, she hugged him blindly. She caught at a chair with the toe of one foot, moved it against the wall, set it down.
"Don't be afraid, Timmie." ^
"I'm not afraid if you're here, Miss Fellowes. -Is that man mad at me, the man out there?"
"No, he isn't. He just doesn't understand about us. -Timmie, do you know what a mother is?"
"Like Jerry's mother?"
"Well-yes. Like Jerry's mother. Do you know what a mother does?"
"A mother is a lady who takes care of you and who's very nice to you and who does good things."
"That's right. That's what a mother does. Have you ever wanted a mother, Timmie?"
Timmie pulled his head away from her so that he could look into her face. Slowly, he put his hand to her cheek and hair and stroked her, just as long, long ago she had stroked him.
He said, "Aren't you my mother?"
"Oh, Timmie."
"Are you angry because I said that?"
"No. Of course not."
"Because I know your name is Miss Fellowes, but- but sometimes, I call you 'Mother' inside. The way Jerry does his mother, only he does it out loud. Is that all right, that I was calling you that inside?"
"Yes. Yes, it's all right. And I won't leave you any more and nothing will hurt you. I'll be with you to care for you always. Call me Mother, so I can hear you."
"Mother," said Timmie contentedly, leaning his cheek against hers.
She rose, and still holding him, stepped up on the chair.
She remembered what Hoskins had said, about objects that weren't anchored being swept along in time with the transit object. A lot of the things in the room were anchored; some were not. Such as the chair she was standing on. Well, so be it: the chair would go. That wasn't important. Other things might go, too. She didn't know which would be caught in the time field and which would not. She didn't care. It was no problem of hers.
"Hey!" Hoskins shouted, from outside the bubble.
She smiled. She clutched Timmie tightly and reached up with her free hand, and yanked with all her weight at the cord where it hung suspended between two eyelets.
And Stasis was punctured and the room was empty.