VERSION 0.5 DTD 032600

One of the editors of this volume does not know that this
story is going into it. There has been collusion in high places.
The President of SFWA, Damon Knight, and the other editor
have overruled in advance any complaints that Brian W.
Aldiss might make. This story was one of three that tied for
the Best Short Story award and is, in its own right, a fine
piece of fiction. Here is art, in the interweaving of idea and
dialog, and here is something vital being  said about the
human condition. It has earned its place in this book.
H.H.

MAN IN HIS TIME

Brian W. Aldiss

His absence
Janet Westermark sat watching the three men in the office:
the administrator who was about to go out of her life, the
behaviourist who was about to come into it, and the husband
whose life ran parallel to but insulated from her own.
She was not the only one playing a watching game. The
behaviourist,  whose  name  was  Clement  Stackpole,  sat
hunched in his chair with his ugly strong hands clasped round
his knee, thrusting his intelligent and simian face forward, the
better to regard his new subject. Jack Westermark.
The administrator of the Mental Research Hospital spoke
in a lively and engaged way. Typically, it was only Jack
Westermark who seemed absent from the scene.
Your particular problem, restless
His hands upon his lap lay still, but he himself was restless,
though the restlessness seemed directed. It was as if he were
in another room with other people, Janet thought. She saw
that he caught her eye when in fact she was not entirely
looking at him, and by the time she returned the glance, he
was gone, withdrawn.
"Although Mr. Stackpole has not dealt before with your
particular problem," the administrator was saying, "he has
had plenty of field experience. I know"
"I'm sure we won't," Westermark said, folding his hands
and nodding his head slightly.
Smoothly, the administrator made a pencilled note of the
remark, scribbled the precise time beside it, and continued. "I
know Mr. Stackpole is too modest to say this, but he is a great
man for working in with people"
"If you feel it's necessary," Westermark said. "Though I've
seen enough of your equipment for a while."
The pencil moved, the smooth voice proceeded. "Good. A
great man for working in with people, and I'm sure you and
Mr. Westermark will soon find you are glad to have him
around. Remember, he's there to help both of you."
Janet smiled, and said from the island of her chair, trying
to smile at him and Stackpole, "I'm sure that everything will
work" She was interrupted by her husband, who rose to his
feet, letting his hands drop to his sides and saying, turning
slightly to address thin air, "Do you mind if I say good-bye to
Nurse Simmons?"

Her voice no longer wavered
"Everything will be all right, I'm sure," she said hastily.
And Stackpole nodded at her, conspiratorially agreeing to see
her point of view.
"We'll all get on fine, Janet," he said. She was in the swift
process of digesting that unexpected use of her Christian
name, and the administrator was also giving her the sort of
encouraging smile so many people had fed her since Wester-
mark was pulled out of the ocean off Casablanca, when her
husband, still having his lonely conversation with the air, said,
"Of course, I should have remembered."
His right hand went half way to his foreheador his heart
Janet wonderedand then dropped, as he added, "Perhap
she'll come round and see us some time." Now he turned an
was smiling faintly at another vacant space with just th
faintest nod of his head, as if slightly cajoling. "You'd lik
that, wouldn't you, Janet?"
She moved her head, instinctively trying to bring her eye
into his gaze as she replied vaguely, "Of course, darling." He
voice no longer wavered when she addressed his absen
attention.

There was sunlight through which they could see each other
"There was sunlight in one corner of the room, coming
through the windows of a bay angled towards the sun. For a
moment she caught, as she rose to her feet, her husband's
profile with the sunlight behind it. It was thin and withdrawn.
Intelligent: she had always thought him over-burdened with
his intelligence, but now there was a lost look there, and she
thought of the words of a psychiatrist who had been called in
on the case earlier: "You must understand that the waking
brain is perpetually lapped by the unconscious."

Lapped by the unconscious
Fighting the words away, she said, addressing the smile of
the administratorthat smile must have advanced his career
so much"You've helped me a lot. I couldn't have got
through these months without you. Now we'd better go."
She heard herself chopping her words, fearing Westermark
would talk across them, as he did: "Thank you for your help.
If you find anything . . ."
Stackpole walked modestly over to Janet as the administra-
tor rose and said. "Well, don't either of you forget us if you're
in any kind of trouble."
"I'm sure we won't."
"And, Jack, we'd like you to come back here to visit us
once a month for a personal check-up. Don't want to waste
all our expensive equipment, you know, and you are our star
er, patient." He smiled rather tightly as he said it, glancing
at the paper on his  desk to check Westermark's answer.
Westermark's back was already turned on him, Westermark
was already walking slowly to the door, Westermark had said
his good-byes, perched out on the lonely eminence of his
existence.
Janet looked helplessly, before she could guard against it, at
the administrator and Stackpole. She hated it that they were
too professional to take note of what seemed her husband's
breach of conduct. Stackpole looked kindly in a monkey way
and took her arm with one of his thick hands.
"Shall we be off then? My car's waiting outside."

Not saying anything, nodding, thinking, and consulting
watches
She nodded, not saying anything, thinking only, without the
need of the administrator's notes to think it, "Oh yes, this was
when he said, 'Do you mind if I say good-bye to Nurse'
who's-it?Simpson?" She was learning to follow her hus-
band's footprints across the broken path of conversation. He
was now out in the corridor, the door swinging to behind him,
and to empty air the administrator was saying, "It's her day
off today."
"You're good on your cues," she said, feeling the hand
tighten on her arm. She politely brushed his fingers away,
horrid Stackpole, trying to recall what had gone only four
minutes before. Jack had said something to her; she couldn't
remember, didn't speak, avoided eyes, put out her hand and
shook the administrator's firmly.
"Thanks," she said.
"Au revoir to both of you," he replied firmly, glancing
swiftly: watch, notes, her, the door. "Of course," he said. "If
we find anything at all. We are very hopeful. . . ."
He adjusted his tie, looking at the watch again.
"Your husband has gone now, Mrs. Westermark," he said,
his manner softening. He walked towards the door with her
and added, "You have been wonderfully brave, and I do
realisewe all realisethat you will have to go on being
wonderful. With time, it should be easier for you; doesn't
Shakespeare say in Hamlet that 'Use almost can change the
stamp of nature'? May I suggest that you follow Stackpole's
and my example and keep a little notebook and a strict check
on the time?"
They saw her tiny hesitation, stood about her, two men
round a personable woman, not entirely innocent of relish.
Stackpole cleared his throat, smiled, said, "He can so easily
feel cut off you know. It's essential that you of all people
answer his questions, or he will feel cut off."
Always a pace ahead
"The children?" she asked.
"Let's see you and Jack well settled in at home again, say
for a fortnight or so," the administrator said, "before we think
about having the children back to see him."
"That way's better for them and Jack and you, Janet,"
Stackpole said. 'Don't be glib,' she thought; 'consolation I
need, God knows, but that's too facile.' She turned her face
away, fearing it looked too vulnerable these days.
In the corridor, the administrator said, as valediction, "I'm
sure Grandma's spoiling them terribly, Mrs. Westermark, but
worrying won't mend it, as the old saw says."
She smiled at him and walked quickly away, a pace ahead
of Stackpole.
Westermark sat in the back of the car outside the adminis-
trative block. She climbed in beside him. As she did so, he
jerked violently back in his seat.
"Darling, what is it?" she asked. He said nothing.
Stackpole had not emerged from the building, evidently
having a last word with the administrator. Janet took the
moment to lean over and kiss her husband's cheek, aware as
she did so that a phantom wife had already,  from his
viewpoint, done so. His response was a phantom to her.
"The countryside looks green," he said. His eyes were
flickering over the grey concrete block opposite.
"Yes," she said.
Stackpole came bustling down the steps, apologising as he
opened the car door, settled in. He let the clutch back too fast
and they shot forward. Janet saw then the reason for Wester-
mark's jerking backwards a short while before. Now the
acceleration caught him again; his body was rolled helplessly
back. As they drove along, he set one hand fiercely on the
side grip, for his sway was not properly counterbalancing the
movement of the car.
Once outside the grounds of the institute, they were in the
country, still under a mid-August day.
His theories
Westermark, by concentrating, could bring himself to con-
form to some of the laws of the time continuum he had left.
When the car he was in climbed up his drive (familiar, yet
strange with the rhododendrons unclipped and no signs of
children) and stopped by the front door, he sat in his seat for
three and a half minutes before venturing to open his door.
Then he climbed out and stood on the gravel, frowning down
at it. Was it as real as ever, as material? Was there a slight
glaze on it?as if something shone through from the interior
of the earth, shone through all things? Or was it that there
was a screen between him and everything else? It was impor-
tant to decide between the two theories, for he had to live
under the discipline of one. What he hoped to prove was that
the permeation theory was correct; that way he was merely
one of the factors comprising the functioning universe, to-
gether with the rest of humanity. By the glaze theory, he was
isolated not only from the rest of humanity but from the
entire cosmos (except Mars?). It was early days yet; he had a
deal of thinking to do, and new ideas would undoubtedly
emerge after observation and cogitation. Emotion must not
decide the issue; he must be detached. Revolutionary theories
could well emerge from thissuffering.
He could see his wife by him, standing off in case they
happened embarrassingly or painfully to collide. He smiled
thinly at her through her glaze. He said, "I am, but I'd prefer
not to talk." He stepped towards the house, noting the
slippery feel of gravel that would not move under his tread
until the world caught up. He said, "I've every respect for
The Guardian, but I'd prefer not to talk at present."
Famous Astronaut Returns Home
As the party arrived, a man waited in the porch for them,
ambushing Westermark's return home with a deprecatory
smile. Hesitant but business-like, he came forward and looked
interrogatively at the three people who had emerged from the
car.
"Excuse me, you are Captain Jack Westermark, aren't
you?"
He stood aside as Westermark seemed to make straight for
him.
"I'm the psychology correspondent for The Guardian, if I
might intrude for a moment."
Westermark's mother had opened the front door and stood
there smiling welcome at him, one hand nervously up to her
grey hair. Her son walked past her. The newspaper man
stared after him.
Janet told him apologetically, "You'll have to excuse us.
My husband did reply to you, but he's really not prepared to
meet people yet."
"When did he reply, Mrs. Westermark? Before he heard
what I had to say?"
"Well, naturally notbut his life stream... . I'm sorry, I
can't explain."
"He really is living ahead of time, isn't he? Will you spare
me a minute to tell me how you feel now the first shock is
over?"
"You really must excuse me," Janet said, brushing past
him. As she followed her husband into the house, she heard
Stackpole say, "Actually, I read The Guardian, and perhaps I
could help you. The Institute has given me the job of
remaining with Captain Westermark. My name's Clement
Stackpoleyou may know my book. Persistent Human Rela-
tions, Methuen. But you must not say that Westermark is
living ahead of time. That's quite incorrect. What you can say
is that some of his psychological and physiological processes
have somehow been transposed forward"
"Ass!" she exclaimed to herself. She had paused by the
threshold to catch some of his words. Now she whisked in.

Talk hanging in the air among the long watches of supper
Supper that evening had its discomforts, although Janet
Westermark and her mother-in-law achieved an air of melan-
choly gaiety by bringing two Scandinavian candelabra, relics
of a Copenhagen holiday, onto the table and surprising the
two men with a gay-looking hors d'oeuvre. But the conversa-
tion was mainly like the hors d'oeuvre, Janet thought: little
tempting isolated bits of talk, not nourishing.
Mrs. Westermark senior had not yet got the hang of talking
to her son, and confined her remarks to Janet, though she
looked towards Jack often enough. "How are the children?"
he asked her. Flustered by the knowledge that he was waiting
a long while for her answer, she replied rather incoherently
and dropped her knife.
To relieve the tension, Janet was cooking up a remark on
the character of the administrator at the Mental Research
Hospital, when Westermark said, "Then he is at once thought-
ful and literate. Commendable and rare in men of his type. I
got the impression, as you evidently did, that he was as
interested in his job as in advancement. J suppose one might
say one even liked him. But you know him better, Stackpole;
what do you think of him?"
Crumbling bread to cover his ignorance of whom they were
supposed to be conversing, Stackpole said, "Oh, I don't know;
it's hard to say really," spinning out time, pretending not to
squint at his watch.
"The administrator was quite a charmer, didn't you think,
Jack?" Janet remarkedperhaps helping Stackpole as much
as Jack.
"He looks as if he might make a slow bowler," Westermark
 said, with an intonation that suggested he was agreeing with
something as yet unsaid.
"Oh, him"' Stackpole said. "Yes, he seems a satisfactory
sort of chap on the whole."
"He quoted Shakespeare to me and thoughtfully told me
where the quotation came from," Janet said.  
"No thank you, Mother," Westermark said.
"I don't have much to do with him," Stackpole continued.
"Though I have played cricket with him a time or two. He
makes quite a good slow bowler."
"Are you really?" Westermark exclaimed.
That stopped them. Jack's mother looked helplessly about,
caught her son's glazed eye, said, covering up, "Do have some
more sauce, Jack, dear," recalled she had already had her
answer, almost let her knife slide again, gave up trying to eat.
"I'm a batsman, myself," Stackpole said, as if bringing an
old pneumatic drill to the new silence. When no answer came,
he doggedly went on, expounding on the game, the pleasure
of it. Janet sat and watched, a shade perplexed that she was
admiring Stackpole's performance and wondering at her slight
perplexity; then she decided that she had made up her mind
to dislike Stackpole, and immediately dissolved the resolution.
Was he not on their side? And even the strong hairy hands
became a little more acceptable when you thought of them
gripping the rubber of a bat handle; and the broad shoulders
swinging.... She closed her eyes momentarily, and tried to
concentrate on what he was saying.

A batsman himself
Later, she met Stackpole on the upper landing. He had a
small cigar in his mouth, she had two pillows in her arms. He
stood in her way.
"Can I help at all, Janet?"
"I'm only making up a bed, Mr. Stackpole."
"Are you not sleeping in with your husband?"
"He would like to be on his own for a night or two, Mr.
Stackpole. I shall sleep in the children's room for the time
being."
"Then please permit me to carry the pillows for you. And
do please call me Clem. All my friends do."
Trying to be pleasanter, to unfreeze, to recall that Jack was
not moving her out of the bedroom permanently, she said,
"I'm sorry. It's just that we once had a terrier called Clem."
But it did not sound as she had wished it to do.
He put the pillows on Peter's blue bed, switched on the
bedside lamp, and sat on the edge of the bed, clutching his
cigar and puffing at it.
"This may be a bit embarrassing, but there's something I
feel I should say to you, Janet." He did not look at her. She
brought him an ashtray and stood by him.
"We feel your husband's mental health may be endangered,
although I hasten to assure you that he shows no signs of
losing his mental equilibrium beyond what we may call an
inordinate absorption in phemomenaand even there, we
cannot say, of course we can't, that his absorption is any
greater than one might expect. Except in the totally unprece-
dented circumstances, I mean. We must talk about this in the
next few days."
She waited for him to go on, not unamused by the play
with the cigar. Then he looked straight up at her and said,
"Frankly, Mrs. Westermark, we think it would help your
husband if you could have sexual relations with him."
A little taken aback, she said, "Can you imagine" Cor-
recting herself, she said, "That is for my husband to say. I am
not unapproachable."
She saw he had caught her slip. Playing a very straight bat,
he said,"l'm sure you're not, Mrs. Westermark."
With the light out, living, she lay in Peter's bed
She lay in Peter's bed with the light out. Certainly she
wanted him: pretty badly, now she allowed herself to dwell on
it. During the long months of the Mars expedition, while she
had stayed at home and he had got farther from home, while
he actually had existence on that other planet, she had been
chaste. She had looked after the children and driven round
the countryside and enjoyed writing those articles for wom-
en's magazines and being interviewed on TV when the ship
was reported to have left Mars on its homeward journey. She
had been, in part, dormant.
"Then came the news, kept from her at first, that there was
confusion in communicating with the returning ship. A sensa-
tional tabloid broke the secrecy by declaring that the nine-
man crew had all gone mad. And the ship had overshot its
landing area, crashing into the Atlantic. Her first reaction had
been a purely selfish oneno, not selfish, but from the self:
He'll never lie with me again. And infinite love and sorrow.
At his rescue, the only survivor, miraculously unmaimed,
her hope had revived. Since then, it had remained embalmed,
as he was embalmed in time. She tried to visualise love as it
would be now, with everything happening first to him, before
she had begun toWith his movement of pleasure even
before sheNo, it wasn't possible! But of course it was, if
they worked it out first intellectually; then if she just lay
flat.... But what she was trying to visualise, all she could
visualise, was not love-making, merely a formal prostration to
the exigencies of glands and time flow.
She sat up in bed, longing for movement, freedom. She
jumped out and opened the lower window; there was still a
tang of cigar smoke in the dark room.
// they worked it out intellectually
Within a couple of days, they had fallen into routine. It was
as if the calm weather, perpetuating mildness, aided them.
They had to be careful to move slowly through doors, keeping
to the left, so as not to bump into each othera tray of
drinks was dropped before they agreed on that. They devised
simple knocking systems before using the bathroom. They
conversed in bulletins that did not ask questions unless
questions were necessary. They walked slightly apart. In
short, they made detours round each other's lives.
"It's really  quite  easy  as  long  as  one  is  careful,"  Mrs.
Westermark senior said to Janet. "And dear Jack is so
patient!"
"I even get the feeling he likes the situation."
"Oh, my dear, how could he like such an unfortunate
predicament?"
"Mother, you realise how we all exist together, don't you?
No, it sounds too terrible1 daren't say it."
"Now don't you start getting silly ideas. You've been very
brave, and this is not the time for us to be getting upset, just
as things are going well. If you have any worries, you must
tell Clem. That's what he's here for."
"I know."
"Well then."
She saw Jack walk in the garden. As she looked, he glanced
up, smiled, said something to himself, stretched out a hand,
withdrew it, and went, still smiling, to sit on one end of the
seat on the lawn. Touched, Janet hurried over to the french
windows, to go and join him.
She paused. Already, she saw ahead, saw her sequence of
actions, for Jack had already sketched them into the future.
She would go onto the lawn, call his name, smile, and walk
over to him when he smiled back. Then they would stroll
together to the seat and sit down, one at each end.
The knowledge drained all spontaneity from her. She might
have been working a treadmill, for what she was about to do
had already been done as far as Jack was concerned, yddi his
head start in time. Then if she did not go, if she mutinied,
turned back to the discussion of the day's chores with her
mother-in-law. . . That left Jack mouthing like a fool on the
lawn, indulging in a fantasy there was no penetrating. Let him
do that, let Stackpole see; then they could drop this theory
about Jack's being ahead of time and would have to treat him
for a more normal sort of hallucinatory insanity. He would be
safe in Clem's hands.
But Jack's actions proved that she would go out there. It
was insane for her not to go out there. Insane? To disobey a
law of the universe was impossible, not insane. Jack was not
disobeyinghe had simply tumbled over a law that nobody
knew was there before the first expedition to Mars; certainly
they had discovered something more momentous than anyone
had expected, and more unforeseen. And she had lostNo,
she hadn't lost yet! She ran out onto the lawn, calling to him,
letting the action quell the confusion in her mind.
And in the repeated event there was concealed a little
freshness,  for  she  remembered  how  his  smile,  glimpsed
through the window, had held a special warmth, as if he
sought to reassure her. What had he said? That was lost. She
walked over to the seat and sat beside him.
He had been saving a remark for the statutory and unvary-
ing time lapse.
"Don't worry, Janet," he said. "It could be worse."
"How?" she asked, but he was already answering: "We
could be a day apart. 3.3077 minutes at least allows us a
measure of communication."
"It's wonderful how philosophical you are about it," she
said. She was alarmed at the sarcasm in her tone.
"Shall we have a talk together now?"
"Jack, I've been wanting to have a private talk with you for
some time."

"I?"
The tall beeches that sheltered the garden on the north side
were so still that she thought, "They will look exactly the
same for him as for me."
He delivered a bulletin, looking at his watch. His wrists
were thin. He appeared frailer than he had done when they
left hospital. "I am aware, my darling, how painful this mus<
be for you. We are both isolated from the other by this
amazing shift of temporal function, but at least I have the
consolation of experiencing the new phenomenon, whereas
you"
"I?"

Talking of interstellar distances
"I was going to say that you are stuck with the same old
world all of mankind has always known, but I suppose you
don't see it that way." Evidently a remark of hers had caught
up with him, for he added inconsequentially, "I've wanted a
private talk with you."
Janet bit off something she was going to say, for he raised a
finger irritably and said, "Please time your statements, so that
we do not talk at cross purposes. Confine what you have to
say to essentials. Really, darling. I'm surprised you don't do as
Clem suggests, and make notes of what is said at what time."
"That1 just wantedwe can't act as if we were a board
meeting. I want to know your feelings, how you are thinking,
so that I can help you, so that eventually you will be able to
live a normal life again."
He was timing it so that he answered almost at once, "I am
not suffering from any mental illness, and I have completely
recovered my physical health after the crash. There is no
reason to foresee that my perceptions will ever lapse back into
phase with yours. They have remained an unfluctuating
3.3077 minutes ahead of terrestrial time ever since our ship
left the surface of Mars "
He paused. She thought. It is now about 11.03 by my
watch, and there is so much I long to say. But it's 11.06 and a
bit by his time, and he already knows I can't say anything. It's
such an effort of endurance, talking across this three and a bit
minutes; we might just as well be talking across an interstellar
distance.'
Evidently he too had lost the thread of the exercise, for he
smiled and stretched out a hand, holding it in the air. Janet
looked round. Clem Stackpole was coming out towards them
with a tray full of drinks. He set it carefully down on the
lawn, and picked up a martini, the stem of which he slipped
between Jack's fingers.
"Cheers!" he said, smiling, and, "Here's your tipple," giving
Janet her gin and tonic. He had brought himself a bottle of
pale ale.
"Can you make my position clearer to Janet, Clem? She
does not seem to understand it yet."
Angrily, she turned to the behaviourist. "This was meant to
be a private talk, Mr. Stackpole, between my husband and
myself."
"Sorry you're not getting on too well, then. Perhaps I can
help sort you out a bit. It is difficult, I know."
3.3077
Powerfully, he wrenched the top off the beer bottle and
poured the liquid into the glass. Sipping, he said, "We have
always been used to the idea that everything moves forward in
time at the same rate. We speak of the course of time,
presuming it only has one rate of flow. We've assumed, too,
that anything living on another planet in any other part of our
universe might have the same rate of flow. In other words,
although we've long been accustomed to some oddities of
time, thanks to relativity theories, we have accustomed our-
selves, perhaps, to certain errors of thinking. Now we're going
to have to think differently. You follow me."
"Perfectly."
"The universe is by no means the simple box our predeces-
sors' imagined. It may be that each planet is encased in its own
time field, just as it is in its own gravitational field. From the
evidence, it seems that Mars's time field is 3.3077 minutes
ahead of ours on Earth. We deduce this from the fact that
your husband and the eight other men with him on Mars
experienced no sensation of temporal difference among them-
selves, and were unaware that anything was untoward until
they were away from Mars and attempted to get into com-
munication again with Earth, when the temporal discrepancy
at once showed up. Your husband is still living in Mars time.
Unfortunately, the other members of the crew did not survive
the crash; but we can be sure that if they did, they too would
suffer from the same effect. That's clear, isn't it?"
"Entirely. But I still cannot see why this effect, if it is as
you say'"
"It's not what / say, Janet, but the conclusion arrived at
by much cleverer men than 1." He smiled as he-said that,
adding parenthetically, "Not that we don't develop and even
alter our conclusions every day."
"Then why was a similar effect not noticed when the
Russians and Americans returned from the moon?"
"We don't know. There's so much we don't know. We
surmise that because the moon is a satellite of Earth's, and
thus within its gravitational field, there is no temporal discrep-
ancy. But until we have more data, until we can explore
further, we know so little, and can only speculate so much.
It's like trying to estimate the runs of an entire innings when
only one over has been bowled. After the expedition gets back
from Venus, we shall be in a much better position to start
theorising."
"What expedition to Venus?" she asked, shocked.
"It may not leave for a year yet, but they're speeding up
the programme. That will bring us really invaluable data."
Future time with its uses and abuses
She started to say, "But after this surely they won't be fool
enough" Then she stopped. She knew they would be fool
enough. She thought of Peter saying, "I'm going to be a
spaceman too. I want to be the first man on Saturn!"
The men were looking at their watches. Westermark trans-
ferred his gaze to the gravel to say, "This figure of 3.3077 is
surely not a universal constant. It may vary1 think it will
varyfrom planetary body to planetary body. My private
opinion is that it is bound to be connected with solar activity
in some way. If that is so, then we may find that the men
returning from Venus will be perceiving on a continuum
slightly in arrears of Earth time."
He stood up suddenly, looking dismayed, the absorption
gone from his face.
"That's a point that hadn't occurred to me," Stackpole said,
making a note. "If the expedition to Venus is primed with
these points beforehand, we should have no trouble about
organising their return. Ultimately, this confusion will be
sorted out, and I've no doubt that it will eventually vastly
enrich the culture of mankind. The possibilities are of such
enormity that . . ."
"It's awful! You're all crazy!" Janet exclaimed. She jumped
up and hurried off towards the house.

Or then again
Jack began to move after her towards the house. By his
watch, which showed Earth time, it was 11.18 and twelve
seconds; he thought, not the first time, that he would invest in
another watch, which would be strapped to his right wrist and
show Martian time. No, the one on his left wrist should show
Martian time, for that was the wrist he principally consulted
and the time by which he lived, even when going through the
business of communicating with the earth-bound human race.
He realised he was now moving ahead of Janet, by her
reckoning. It would be interesting to have someone ahead of
him in perception; then he would wish to converse, would
want to go to the labour of it. Although it would rob him of
the sensation that he was perpetually first in the universe, first
everywhere, with everything dewy in that strange light
Marslight! He'd call it that, till he had it classified, the
romantic vision preceding the scientific, with a touch of the
grand permissible before the steadying discipline closed in. Or
then again, suppose they were wrong in their theories, and the
perceptual effect was some freak of the long space journey
itself;  supposing  time  were  quantal....  Supposing  all  time
were quantal. After all, ageing was a matter of steps, not a
smooth progress, for much of the inorganic world as for the
organic.
Now he was standing quite still on the lawn. The glaze was
coming through the grass, making it look brittle, almost
tingeing each blade with a tiny spectrum of light. If his
perceptual time were further ahead than it was now, would
the Marslight be stronger, the Earth more translucent? How
beautiful it would look! After a longer star journey one would
return to a cobweb of a world, centuries behind one in
perceptual time, a mere embodiment of light, a prism. Hun-
grily, he visualised it. But they needed more knowledge.
Suddenly he thought, If I could get on the Venus expedi-
tioni If the Institute's right, I'd be perhaps six, say five and a
halfno, one can't saybut I'd be ahead of Venerean time. I
must go. I'd be valuable to them. I only have to volunteer,
surely.'
He did not notice Stackpole touch his arm in cordial
fashion and go past him into the house. He stood looking at
the ground and through it, to the stoney vales of Mars and the
unguessable landscapes of Venus.
The figures move
Janet had consented to ride into town with Stackpole. He
was collecting his cricket shoes, which had been restudded;
she thought she might buy a roll of film for her camera. The
children would like photos of her and Daddy together. Stand-
ing together.
As the car ran beside trees, their shadows flickered red and 
green before her vision. Stackpole held the wheel very capa-
bly, whistling under his breath. Strangely, she did not resent a
habit she would normally have found irksome, taking it as a
sign that he was not entirely at his ease.
"I have an awful feeling you now understand my husband
better than I do," she said.
He did not deny it. "Why do you feel that?"
"I believe he does not mind the terrible isolation he must be
experiencing."
"He's a brave man."
Westermark had been home a week now. Janet saw that
each day they were more removed from each other, as he
spoke less and stood frequently as still as a statue, gazing at
the ground raptly. She thought of something she had once
been afraid to utter aloud to her mother-in-law; but with
Clem Stackpole she was safer.
"You know why we manage to exist in comparative har-
mony," she said. He was slowing the car, half-looking at her.
"We only manage to exist by banishing all events from our
lives, all children,  all seasons.  Otherwise we'd be faced at
every moment with the knowledge of how much at odds we
really are."
Catching the note in her voice, Stackpole said soothingly,
"You are every bit as brave as he is, Janet."
"Damn being brave. What I can't bear isnothing!"  .
Seeing the sign by the side of the road, Stackpole glanced
into his driving mirror and changed gear. The road was
deserted in front as well as behind. He whistled through his
teeth again, and Janet felt compelled to go on talking.
"We've already interfered with time too muchall of us, I
mean. Time is a European invention. Goodness knows how
mixed up in it we are going to get ifwell, if this goes on."
She was irritated by the lack of her usual coherence.
As Stackpole spoke next, he was pulling the car into a
lay-by, stopping it by overhanging bushes. He turned to her
smiling tolerantly. "Time was God's invention, if you believe
in God, as I prefer to do. We observe it, tame it, exploit it
where possible."
"Exploit it!"
"You mustn't think of the future as if we were all wading
knee deep in treacle or something." He laughed briefly,
resting his hands on the steering wheel. "What lovely weather
it is! I was wonderingon Sunday I'm playing cricket over in
the village. Would you like to come and watch the match?
And perhaps we could have tea somewhere afterwards."
All events, all children, all seasons
She had a letter next morning from Jane, her five-year-old
daughter, and it made her think. All the letter said was: "Dear
Mummy, Thank you for the dollies. With love from Jane,"
but Janet knew the labour that had gone into the inch-high
letters. How long could she bear to leave the children away
from their home and her care?
As soon as the thought emerged, she recalled that during
the previous evening she had told herself nebulously that if
there was going to be 'anything' with Stackpole, it was as well
the children would be out of the waypurely, she now
realised, for her convenience and for Stackpole's. She had not
thought then about the children; she had thought about
Stackpole who, despite the unexpected delicacy he had shown,
was not a man she cared for.
'And another intolerably immoral thought,' she muttered
unhappily to the empty room, 'what alternative have I to
Stackpole?'
She knew Westermark was in his study. It was a cold day,
too cold and damp for him to make his daily parade round
the garden. She knew he was sinking deeper into isolation, she
longed to help, she feared to sacrifice herself to that isolation,
longed to stay outside it, in life. Dropping the letter, she held
her head in her hands, closing her eyes as in the curved bone
of her skull she heard all her possible courses of action jar
together, future lifelines that annihilated each other.
As Janet stood transfixed, Westermark's mother came into
the room.
"I was looking for you," she said. "You're so unhappy, my
dear, aren't you?"
"Mother, people always try and hide from others how they
suffer. Does everyone do it?"
"You don't have to hide it from mechiefly, I suppose,
because you can't."
"But I don't know how much you suffer, and it ought to
work both ways. Why do we do this awful covering up? What-
are we afraid ofpity or derision?"
"Help, perhaps."
"Help! Perhaps you're right.... That's a disconcerting
thought."
They stood there staring at each other, until the older
woman said, awkwardly, "We don't often talk like this,
Janet."
"No." She wanted to say more. To a stranger in a train,
perhaps she would have done; here, she could not deliver.
Seeing nothing more was to be said on that subject, Mrs.
Westermark said, "I was going to tell you, Janet, that I
thought perhaps it would be better if the children didn't come
back here while things are as they are. If you want to go and
see them and stay with them at your parents' house, I can
look after Jack and Mr. Stackpole for a week. I don't think
Jack wants to see them."
"That's very kind, Mother. I'll see. I promised Clemwell,
I told Mr. Stackpole that perhaps I'd go and watch him play
cricket tomorrow afternoon. It's not important, of course, but
I did sayanyhow, I might drive over and see the children on
Monday, if you could hold the fort."
"You've still plenty of time if you feel like going today. I'm
sure Mr. Stackpole will understand your maternal feelings."
"I'd prefer to leave it till Monday," Janet saida little
distantly,  for  she  suspected  now  the  motive  behind, her
mother-in-law's suggestion.

Where the Scientific American did not reach
Jack Westermark put down the Scientific American and
stared at the table top. With his right hand, he felt the beat of
his heart. In the magazine was an article about him, illus-
trated with photographs of him taken at the Research Hospi-
tal. This thoughtful article was far removed from the sensa-
tional pieces that had appeared elsewhere, the shallow things
that referred to him as The Man That Has Done More Than
Einstein To Wreck Our Cosmic Picture; and for that very
reason it was the more startling, and presented some aspects
of the matter that Westermark himself had not considered.
As he thought over its conclusions, he rested from the
effort of reading terrestrial books, and Stackpole sat by the
fire, smoking a cigar and waiting to take Westermark's dicta-
tion. Even reading a magazine represented a feat in space-
time,  a collaboration,  a conspiracy.  Stackpole turned the
pages at timed intervals, Westermark read when they lay flat.
He was unable to turn them when, in their own narrow
continuum, they were not being turned; to his fingers, they lay
under the jelly-like glaze, that visual hallucination that repre-
sented an unconquerable cosmic inertia.
The inertia gave a special shine to the surface of the table
as he  stared  into  it and  probed  into his  own  mind  to
determine the truths of the Scientific American article.
The writer of the article began by considering the facts and
observing that they tended to point towards the existence of
local times' throughout the universe; and that if this were so,
a new explanation might be forthcoming for the recession of
the galaxies and different estimates arrived at for the age of
the universe (and of course for its complexity). He then
proceeded to deal with the problem that vexed other writers
on the subject; namely, why, if Westermark lost Earth time
on Mars, he had not reciprocally lost Mars time back on
Earth. This, more than anything, pointed to the fact that
local times' were not purely mechanistic but to some extent at
least a psycho-biological function.
In the table top, Westermark saw himself being asked to
travel again to Mars, to take part in a second expedition to
those continents of russet sand where the fabric of space-time
was in some mysterious and insuperable fashion 3.3077 min-
utes ahead of Earth norm. Would his interior clock leap
forward again? What then of the sheen on things earthly?
And what would be the effect of gradually drawing away
from the iron laws under which, since its scampering pleisto-
cene infancy, humankind had lived?
Impatiently he thrust his mind forward to imagine the day
when Earth harboured many local times, gleaned from
voyages across the vacancies of space; those vacancies lay
across time, too, and that little-understood concept (McTag-
gart had denied its external reality, hadn't he?) would come to
lie within the grasp of man's understanding. Wasn't that the
ultimate secret, to be able to understand the flux in which
existence is staged, as a dream is staged in the primitive
reaches of the mind?
And But Would not that day bring the annihilation of
Earth's local time? That was what he had started. It could
only mean that local time' was not a product of planetary
elements; there the writer of the Scientific American article
had not dared to go far enough; local time was entirely a
product of the psyche. That dark innermost thing that could
keep accurate time even while a man lay unconscious was a
mere provincial; but it could be educated to be a citizen of the
universe.  He saw that he  was  the first of a new race,
unimaginable in the wildest mind a few months previously.
He was independent of the enemy that, more than Death,
menaced contemporary man: Time. Locked within him was
an entirety new potential. Superman had arrived.
Painfully, Superman stirred in his seat. He sat so wrapt for
so long that his limbs grew stiff and dead without his noticing
it.

Universal thoughts may occur if one times carefully enough
one's circumbendibus about a given table
"Dictation," he said, and waited impatiently until the com-
mand had penetrated backwards to the limbo by the fire
where Stackpole sat. What he had to say was so terribly
importantyet it had to wait on these people. . . .
As was his custom, he rose and began to walk round the
table, speaking in phrases quickly delivered. This was to be
the testament to the new way of life. . . .
"Consciousness is not expendable but concurrent. ... There
may have been many time nodes at the beginning of the
human race.... The mentally deranged often revert to
different time rates. For some, a day seems to stretch on for
ever.... We know by experience that for children time is
seen in the convex mirror of consciousness, enlarged and
distorted beyond its focal point...." He was momentarily
irritated by the scared face of his wife appearing outside the
study window, but he brushed it away and continued.
". . . its  focal  point. . . .  Yet  man  in  his  ignorance  has
persisted in pretending time was some sort of uni-directional
flow, and homogenous at that . . . despite the evidence to the
contrary. . . . Our conception of ourselvesno, this erroneous
conception has become a basic life assumption. . . ."
Daughters of daughters
Westermark's mother was not given to metaphysical specu-
lation, but as she was leaving the room, she turned and said to
her daughter-in-law, "You know what I sometimes think?
Jack is so strange, I wonder at nights if men and women
aren't getting more and more apart in thought and in their
ways with every generationyou know, almost like separate
species. My generation made a great attempt to bring the two
sexes together in equality and all the rest, but it seems to have
come to nothing."
"Jack will get better." Janet could hear the lack of
confidence in her own voice.
"I thought the same thingabout men and women getting
wider apart I meanwhen my husband was killed."
Suddenly ail Janet's sympathy was gone. She had recog-
nised a familiar topic drifting onto the scene, knew well the
careful tone that ironed away all self-pity as her mother-in-
law said, "Bob was dedicated to speed, you know. That was
what killed him really, not the fool backing into the road in
front of him."
"No blame was attached to your husband," Janet said.
"You should try not to let it worry you still."
"You see the connection though.... This progress thing.
Bob so crazy to get round the next bend first, and now
Jack. . . . Oh well, there's nothing a woman can do."
She closed the door behind her. Absently, Janet picked up
the message from the next generation of women: "Thank you
for the dollies."

The resolves and the sudden risks involved
He was their father. Perhaps Jane and Peter should come
back, despite the risks involved. Anxiously, Janet stood there,
moving herself with a sudden resolve to tackle Jack straight
away. He was so irritable, so unapproachable, but at least she
could observe how busy he was before interrupting him.
As she slipped into the side hall and made for the back
door, she heard her mother-in-law call her. "Just a minute!"
she answered.
The sun had broken through, sucking moisture from the
damp garden. It was now unmistakably autumn. She rounded
the corner of the house, stepped round the rose bed, and
looked into her husband's study.
Shaken, she saw he leaned half over the table. His hands
were over his face, blood ran between his fingers and dripped
onto an open magazine on the table top. She was aware of
Stackpole sitting indifferently beside the electric fire.
She gave a small cry and ran round the house again, to be
met at the back door by Mrs. Westermark.
"Oh, I was justJanet, what is it?"
"Jack, Mother! He's had a stroke or something terrible!"
"But how do you know?"
"Quick, we must phone the hospital1 must go to him."
Mrs. Westermark took Janet's arm. "Perhaps we'd better
leave it to Mr. Stackpole, hadn't we. I'm afraid"
"Mother, we must do what we can. I know we're amateurs.
Please let me go."
"No. Janet, we'reit's their world I'm frightened. They'll
come if they want us." She was gripping Janet in her fright.
Their wild eyes stared momentarily at each other as if seeing
something else, and then Janet snatched herself away. "I must
go to him," she said.
She hurried down the hall and pushed open the study door.
Her husband stood now at the far end of the room by the
window, while blood streamed from his nose.
"Jack!" she exclaimed. As she ran towards him, .a blow
from the empty air struck her on the forehead, so that she
staggered aside, falling against a bookcase. A shower of
smaller volumes from the upper shelf fell on her and round
her. Exclaiming, Stackpole dropped his notebook and ran
round the table to her. Even as he went to her aid, he noted
the time from his watch: 10.24.

Aid after 10.24 and the tidiness of bed
Westermark's mother appeared in the doorway.
"Stay where you are," Stackpole shouted, "or there will be
more trouble! Janet, you see what you've done. Get out of
here, will you? Jack, I'm right with youGod knows what
you've felt, isolated without aid for three and a third min-
utes!" Angrily, he went across and stood within arm's length
of his patient. He threw his handkerchief down onto the table.
"Mr. Stackpole" Westermark's mother said tentatively
from the door, an arm round Janet's waist.
He looked back over his shoulder only long enough to say,
"Get towels! Phone the Research Hospital for an ambulance
and tell them to be here right away."
By midday, Westermark was tidily in bed upstairs and the
ambulance staff, who had treated him for what after all was
only nosebleed, had left. Stackpole, as he turned from closing
the front door, eyed the two women.
"I feel it is my duty to warn you," he said heavily, "that
another incident such as this might well prove fatal. This time
we escaped very lightly. If anything else of this sort happens,
I shall feel obliged to recommend to the board that Mr.
Westermark is moved back to the hospital."  .
Current way to define accidents
"He wouldn't want to go," Janet said. "Besides, you are
being absurd; it was entirely an accident. Now I wish to go
upstairs and see how he is."
"Just before you go, may I point out that what happened
was not an accidentor not as we generally define accidents,
since you saw the results of your interference through the
study window before you entered. Where you were to
blame"
"But that's absurd" both women began at once. Janet
went on to say, "I never would have rushed into the room as I
did had. I not seen through the window that he was in
trouble."
"What you saw was the result on your husband of your
later interference."
In something like a wail, Westermark's mother said, "I
don't understand any of this. What did Janet bump into
when she ran in?"
"She ran, Mrs. Westermark, into the spot where her hus-
band had been standing 3.3077 minutes earlier. Surely by now
you have grasped this elementary business of time inertia?"
'  When they both started speaking at once, he stared at them
until they stopped and looked at him. Then he said, "We had
better go into the living room. Speaking for myself, I would
like a drink."
He helped himself, and not until his hand was round a glass
of whisky did he say, "Now, without wishing to lecture to you
ladies, J think it is high time you both realised that you are
not living in the old safe world of classical mechanics ruled
over by a god invented by eighteenth-century enlightenment.
All that has happened here is perfectly rational, but if you
are  going to  pretend it  is  beyond  your  female  under-
standings"
"Mr. Stackpole," Janet said sharply. "Can you please keep
to the point without being insulting? Will you tell me why
what happened was not an accident? I understand now that
when I looked through the study window I saw my husband
suffering from a collision that to him had happened three and
something minutes before and to me would not happen for
another three and something minutes, but at that moment I
was so startled that I forgot"
"No, no, your figures are wrong. The total time lapse is
only 3.3077 minutes. When you saw your husband, he had
been hit half that time1.65385 minutesago, and there was
another 1.65385 minutes to go before you completed the.
action by bursting into the room and striking him."
"But she didn't strike him!" the older woman cried.
Firmly, Stackpole diverted his attention long enough to
reply.  "She struck him  at  10.24  Earthtime,  which  equals
10.20 plus about 36 seconds Mars or his time, which equals
9.59 or whatever Neptune time, which equals 156 and. a half
Sinus time. It's a big universe, Mrs. Westermark! You will
remain confused as long as you continue to confuse event
with time. May I suggest you sit down and have a drink?"
"Leaving aside the figures," Janet said, returning to the
attackloathsome opportunist the man was"how can you
say that what happened was no accident? You are not
claiming I injured my husband deliberately, I hope? What you
say suggests that I was powerless from the moment I saw him
through the window."
" 'Leaving aside the figures . . .' " he quoted. "That's where
your responsibility lies. What you saw through the window
was the result of your act; it was by then inevitable that you
should complete it, for it had already been completed."

Through the window, draughts of time blow
"I can't understand!" she clutched her forehead, gratefully
accepting a cigarette from her mother-in-law, while shrugging
off her consolatory 'Don't try to understand, dear!' "Suppos-
ing when I had seen Jack's nose bleeding, I had looked at my
watch and thought. It's 10.20 or whenever it was, and he may
be suffering from my interference, so I'd better not go in,' and
I hadn't gone in? Would his nose then miraculously have
healed?"
"Of course not. You take such a mechanistic view of the
universe. Cultivate a mental approach, try and live in your
own century! You could not think what you suggest because
that is not in your nature: just as it is not in your nature to
consult your watch intelligently, just as you always leave
aside the figures,' as you say. No, I'm not being personal; it's
all very feminine and appealing in a way. What I'm saying is
that if before you looked into the window you had been a
person to think, 'However I see my husband now, I must
recall he has the additional experience of the next 3.3077
minutes,' then you could have looked in and seen him
unharmed, and you would not have come bursting in as you
did."
She drew on her cigarette, baffled and hurt. "You're saying
I'm a danger to my own husband."
"You're saying that."
"God, howl hate men!" she exclaimed. "You're so bloody
logical, so bloody smug!"
He finished his whisky and set the glass down on a table
beside her so that he leant close. "You're upset just now," he
said.
"Of course I'm upset! What do you think?" She fought a
desire to cry or slap his face. She turned to Jack's mother,
who gently took her wrist.
"Why don't you go off straight away and stay with the
children for the weekend, darling? Come back when you feel
like it. Jack will be all right and I can look after himas
much as he wants looking after."
She glanced about the room.
"I will. I'll pack right away. They'll be glad to see me." As
she passed Stackpole on the way out, she said bitterly, "At
least they won't be worrying about the local time on Sirius!"
"They may," said Stackpole, imperturbably from the mid-
dle of the room, "have to one day."
All events, all children, all seasons