Once again came the old nagging wonder about Adams. How had Adams known that he was coming back and why had he set a mousetrap for him when he did arrive? What information had he gotten that would make him give the order that Sutton must be shot on sight?
Someone had gotten to him…someone who had evidence to show him. For Adams would not go on anything less than evidence. And the only person who could have given him any information would have been someone from the future. One of those, perhaps, who contended that the book must not be written, that it must not exist, that the knowledge that it held be blotted out forever. And if the man who was to write should die, what could be more simple?
Except that the book had been written. That the book already did exist. That the knowledge apparently was spread across the galaxy.
That would be catastrophe…for if the book were not written, then it never had existed and the whole segment of the future that had been touched by the book in any wise would be blotted out along with the book that had not been.
And that could not be, Sutton told himself.
That meant that Asher Sutton could not, would not, be allowed to die before the book was written.
However it were written, the book must be written or the future was a lie.
Sutton shrugged. The tangled thread of logic was too much for him. There was no precept, no precedent upon which one might develop the pattern of cause and result.
Alternate futures? Maybe, but it didn't seem likely. Alternate futures were a fantasy that employed semantics twisting to prove a point, a clever use of words that covered up and masked the fallacies.
He crossed the road and took a foot path that led to a house standing on a knoll.
In the marsh down near the river, the frogs had struck up their piping and somewhere far away a wild duck called in the darkness. In the hills the whipporwills began the evening forum. The scent of new-cut grass lay heavy in the air and the smell of river night fog was crawling up the hills.
The path came out on a patio and Sutton moved across it.
A man's voice came to him.
'Good evening, sir,' it said, and Sutton wheeled around.
He saw the man, then, for the first time. A man who sat in his chair and smoked his pipe beneath the evening stars.
'I hate to bother you,' said Sutton, 'but I wonder if I might use your visor.'
'Certainly, Ash,' said Adams. 'Certainly. Anything you wish.'
Sutton started and then felt himself freeze into a man of steel and ice.
Adams!
Of all the homes along the river, he would walk in on Adams!
Adams chuckled at him. 'Destiny works against you, Ash.'
Sutton moved forward, found a chair in the darkness and sat down.
'You have a pleasant place,' he said.
'A very pleasant place,' said Adams.
Adams tapped out his pipe and put it in his pocket.
'So you died again,' he said.
'I was killed,' said Sutton. 'I got unkilled almost immediately.'
'Some of my boys?' asked Adams. 'They are hunting for you.'
'A couple of strangers,' said Sutton. 'Some of Morgan's gang.'
Adams shook his head. 'I don't know the name,' he said.
'He probably didn't tell his name,' said Sutton. 'He told you I was coming back.'
'So that was it,' said Adams. 'The man out of the future. You have him worried, Ash.'
'I need to make a visor call,' said Sutton.
'You can use the visor,' said Adams.
'And I need an hour.'
Adams shook his head.
'I can't give you an hour.'
'A half hour, then. I may have a chance to make it. A half hour after I finish my call.'
'Nor a half hour, either.'
'You never gamble, do you, Adams?'
'Never,' said Adams.
'I do,' said Sutton. He rose. 'Where is that visor? I'm going to gamble on you.'
'Sit down, Ash,' said Adams, almost kindly. 'Sit down and tell me something.'
Stubbornly, Sutton remained standing.
'If you could give me your word,' said Adams, 'that this destiny business won't harm Man. If you could tell me it won't give aid and comfort to our enemies.'
'Man hasn't any enemies,' said Ash, 'except the ones he's made.'
'The galaxy is waiting for us to crack,' said Adams. 'Waiting to close in at the first faint sign of weakness.'
'That's because we taught them it,' said Sutton. 'They watched us use their own weaknesses to push them off their feet.'
'What will this destiny do?' asked Adams.
'It will teach Man humility,' said Sutton. 'Humility and responsibility.'
'It's not a religion,' said Adams. 'That's what Raven told me. But it sounds like a religion…with all that humility pother.'
'Dr. Raven was right,' Sutton told him. 'It's not a religion. Destiny and religions could flourish side by side and exist in perfect peace. They do not encroach upon one another. Rather, they would complement one another. Destiny stands for the same things most religions stand for and it holds out no promise of an afterlife. It leaves that to religion.'
'Ash,' said Adams quietly, 'you have read your history.'
Sutton nodded.
'Think back,' said Adams. 'Remember the crusades. Remember the rise of Mohammedanism. Remember Cromwell in England. Remember Germany and America. And Russia and America. Religion and ideas, Ash. Religion and ideas. Man will fight for an idea when he wouldn't lift a hand for land or life or honor. But an idea…that's a different thing.'
'And you're afraid of an idea,'
'We can't afford an idea, Ash. Not right now, at least.'
'And still,' Sutton told him, 'it has been the ideas that have made men grow. We wouldn't have a culture or a civilization if it weren't for ideas.'
'Right now,' said Adams, bitterly, 'men are fighting in the future over this destiny of yours.'
'That's why I have to make a call,' said Sutton. 'That's why I need an hour.'
Adams rose heavily to his feet.
'I may be making a mistake,' he said. 'It's something I have never done in all my life. But for once I'll gamble.'
He led the way across the patio and into a dimly lighted room, furnished with old-fashioned furniture.
'Jonathon,' he called.
Feet pattered in the hall and the android came into the room.
'A pair of dice,' said Adams, heavily. 'Mr. Sutton and I are about to gamble.'
''Dice, sir?'
'Yes, that pair you and the cook are using.'
'Yes, sir,' said Jonathon.
He turned and disappeared and Sutton listened to his feet going through the house, fainter and fainter.
Adams turned to face him.
'One throw each,' he said. 'High man wins.'
Sutton nodded, tense.
