The World-Timer

HE MAY OR may not have been human. It was hard to tell, because in a psychiatrist's office, you get all kinds.

But he looked human—that is to say he had two arms, two legs, one head, and a slightly worried expression—and there was no reason for the receptionist to turn him away.

Particularly since he was here to give free samples.

" I'm from the Ace Manufacturing Company, " he told the girl. " An old established firm. You've heard of us? "

The receptionist, who dealt with an average of ten salesmen a day, nodded politely and proceeded to file her nails.

" As the name indicates, we used to be a specialty house, " the salesman continued. " Manufactured all the aces used in decks of playing cards. But lately we've branched out into Pharmaceuticals. "

" How nice for you, " said the receptionist, wondering what he was talking about, but not very much.

" Not ordinary products, of course. We have the feeling that most pharmaceuticals are a drug on the market. So we've come up with something different. As our literature indicates, it's more along the lines of the lysergic acid derivatives. In addition to the usual tranquilizing effect, it alters the time-sense, both subjectively and objectively. Mind you, I said 'objectively. ' I'm sure your employer will be interested in this aspect, which is, to say the least, highly revolutionary—"

" I doubt it. He's always voted Republican. "

" But if I could just discuss the matter with him for a few moments—"

The girl shrugged and cocked her head towards the inner sanctum of Morton Placebo, M. D.

" Nobody rides that couch without a ticket, " she told him. " The standard fee is $50 an hour, first-class, or $30, tourist. That's with three on the couch at the same time. He says it's group-therapy, and I say it's damned uncomfortable. "

" But I'm not a patient, " the stranger persisted. " I merely want to discuss my pharmaceuticals. "

" You can't discuss your hemorrhoids without paying the fee, " the receptionist drawled. " Doctor isn't in business for your health, you know. "

The salesman sighed. " I'll just have to leave a few samples and some literature, I guess. Maybe he'll look it over and see me when I call back later. I'm sure he's going to be interested, because these little preparations will alter the entire concept and structure of psychotherapy. "

" Then he won't be, " the girl decided. " Dr. Placebo likes psychiatry just the way it is right now. Which is to say, at $50 an hour. "

" But he will take the free samples? " the salesman persisted.

" Of course. He'll take anything that doesn't cost money. In fact, he told me it was the free-fantasy which attracted him to the profession in the first place. "

She reached out her hand and the representative of the Ace Manufacturing Company placed a little packet of three tablets on her palm.

" The literature is inside, " he said. " Please ask the Doctor to study it carefully before he experiments with the dosage. I'll stop by again next week. "

" Don't you want to leave your card? " asked the girl, politely.

" Of course. Here you are. "

He handed it to her, turned on his heel, and made his exit.

The receptionist studied the card curiously.

It was the Ace of Spades.

Normally, Dr. Morton Placebo wouldn't have paid much attention to a salesman's sample; largerly because the very idea of paying was anathema to him.

But, as psychiatrists are so fond of saying—and, quite frequently, demonstrating—the norm is an abstraction.

And Dr. Placebo was always interested in anything which came to him without charge. Perhaps his receptionist hadn't been far wrong when she'd analyzed his reasons for entering a psychiatric career. All psychotherapists have their quirks.

According to his eminent disciple and official biographer, Ernest Jones, the great Sigmund Freud believed in occultism, telepathy, and the magic of numbers. The esteemed Otto Rank developed a manic-depressive psychosis; Wilhelm Reich's rationality was impugned on occasion; Sandor Ferenczi suffered from unbalance due to organic brain-damage.

Compared to these gentlemen, Dr. Placebo's problem was a minor one; he was a frustrated experimenter. Both his frustration and his stinginess had their origin in his childhood, within the confines of the familial constellation.

In plain English, his father was stingier than he was, and when the young Morton Placebo evinced an interest in laboratory experimentation, the old man refused to put up the money for a chemistry set. Once, during his high school years, the young man managed to acquire two guinea-pigs, which promptly disappeared. He was unable to solve the mystery—any more than he could account for the fact that his father, who always carried peanut-butter sandwiches in his lunch-pail, went to work during the following week with meat sandwiches.

But now, at fifty, Morton Placebo, M. D., was fulfilled. He had his own laboratory at last, in the form of his psychiatric practice, and no end of wonderful guinea-pigs. Best of all, the guinea-pigs paid large sums of money for the privilege of lending themselves to his experiments. Outside of his receptionist's salary, and the $25 he spent having the couch re-sprung after a fat woman patient had successfully re-enacted a birth-fantasy, Dr. Placebo had no overhead at all. With the steady stream of salesmen and their free samples, there was no end to the types of experimentation he could indulge in.

He'd use pills which produced euphoria, pills which produced depression, pills which caused a simulation of schizophrenia, pills which had remarkable side-effects, pills which tranquilized, pills which stimulated; pills which resulted in such fascinating manifestations as satyriasis, virilescence and the sudden eruption of motor reflexes in the abductor minimi digit. He kept copious notes on the reactions afforded by LSD, peyotl extracts, cantharadin, yohimbine and reserpine derivatives. Whenever he found himself with a patient on his hands (or couch) who did not respond to orthodox (or reformed) therapy, Dr. Placebo—purely in the interest of science, of course—reached into his drawer and hauled out a handful of free pills.

Thus it was that he was grateful when he received the samples from the Ace Manufacturing Company.

" The literature's on the inside, " his girl told him. He nodded thoughtfully and stared at the glassine packet with its three yellow pills.

" Time Capsules, " he read, aloud.

" Alters the time-sense, both subjectively and objectively, " the receptionist said, parroting what she remembered from the salesman's pitch.

" Subjectively, " snapped Dr. Placebo. " Can't alter it objectively. Time is money, you know. "

" But he said—"

" Never mind, I'll read the literature. " Dr. Placebo dismissed her and thoughtfully opened the packet. A small wadded-up piece of paper fluttered out onto the desk. He picked it up, unfolded it, and stared at the message.

" Nstrctns
Nclsd smpls fr prfssnl s nly. ch s cpbl f prdcng tmprl dslctn prmnntly nd trnsltng sr nt nthr cntnm r tm vctr. "

There was more to it, much more, but Dr. Placebo didn't bother attempting to translate. Apparently this literature was written in the same foreign tongue used by general medical practitioners when they scrawl their prescriptions. He'd better wait and get an explanation from his friendly neighborhood drug-store.

He gazed at the samples once again. Time Capsules. Catchy name for a pharmaceutical product. But why didn't the Ace Manufacturing Company print its literature in English? He scanned the last line of the literature. " Dnt gt yr vwls n n prr. "

Made no sense. No sense at all.

But then, neither did most of his patients. So perhaps the pills would do some good. He'd have to wait for a likely subject.

The likely subject arrived at 3 p. m. Her name was Cookie Jarr, which was probably a polite euphemism for " sexpot. " But what's in a name?

Sexpot or Jarr, Cookie was obviously quite a dish. She sprawled, in obvious dé shabillé , on the couch, and like the professional stripper she was, proceeded to bare her psyche.

After a dozen or so previous sessions, Dr. Placebo had succeeded in teaching her the technique of free association, and now she obediently launched into a form of monologorrhea.

" I had a dream under very peculiar circumstances the other night. . . I was sleeping alone. . . and in it I was a geek. . . "

" One moment, please, " murmured Dr. Placebo, softly. " You say you were a geek? One of those carnival performers who bites the heads off of chickens? "

Cookie shook her auburn locks impatiently. " Not chickens, " she explained. " I was very rich in this dream, and I was geeking a peacock. " She frowned. " In fact, I was so rich I was Marie Antoinette. And they dragged me out for execution, and I looked at the executioner and said, 'Dr. Guillotine, I presume? ' and he said, 'Please, no names—you must be the soul of indiscretion. ' So then I woke up and it was four in the morning and I looked out of the window at this big neon sign that says OK USED CARS. You know something, Doc? I'd never buy an OK USED CAR. And I'd never eat at a place that says EAT. Or one that says FINE FOOD. And I'd never be buried in a funeral parlor approved by Duncan Hines. Do you think I'm superstitious? They say it's bad luck to walk under a black cat. "

" Perhaps, " said Dr. Placebo, sagely. " And then again, perhaps not. We must learn to relate, to adjust. Life is just a bowl of theories. " He gazed at her piercingly. " The dream sequence is merely symbolism. Out with it now—face the truth. Why did you really wake up at four in the morning? "

" Because I had to go to the bathroom, " Cookie snapped. " No, really, Doc, I'll level with you. It's the love bit. That damn Max keeps getting me down, because he's so jealous of Harry, only that's ridiculous because I don't like Harry at all, it's really Fred, on account of he reminds me of Jerry, the guy I'm crazy about. Or almost as crazy about as Ray. " She paused, biting her lip. " Oh, I hate men! " she said.

" Ummm-hmmmm, " said Dr. Placebo, doodling on a scratchpad with which he was ostensibly taking notes but actually drawing phallic symbols which looked suspiciously like dollar-signs.

" Is that all you got to say? " demanded Cookie, sitting up. " Fifty bucks an hour I'm paying, and for what? My nerves are killing me. You got any happy pills, Doc? "

" Happy pills? "

" Tranquilizers, or like whatever. Remember that stuff you gave me last month? "

" Oh, the cantharides. "

" Yeah. " Cookie smiled happily. " That was the greatest! "

Dr. Placebo frowned; his memories did not coincide with Cookie's, particularly when he recalled the frantic aftermath of that episode when he had to drag her bodily from the ninth floor of the local YMCA. But the experimental urge was strong. Few men could look at Cookie without feeling the urge to experiment.

" Well, there's something new, " he said, cautiously.

" Give. "

" It's called a Time Capsule. Alters the subjective time-sense and—er—all that jazz. " He found himself lapsing into the idiom with Cookie; she was the sort who inspired lapses.

" Meaning what? "

" I'm not quite sure. I imagine it slows down the reflexes. "

" Relaxes you, huh? That's for baby. "

" You'll have to take it here, under test conditions. "

" The mad scientist bit? You are gonna hypnotize me and get fresh, is that it? "

" Nothing of the sort. I merely mean I must observe any side-effects. "

" Stuff really turns you on, eh? " Cookie bounced up happily. " Well, I'm for kicks. Spill the pill for me, Bill. "

Dr. Placebo went to the water-cooler and filled a paper cup. Then he carefully extracted one of the yellow capsules from its cellophane container. He handed it and the water to Cookie.

She gulped and swallowed.

Then she lay back on the couch. " Wow, I'm in Dizzyville, " she whispered. " Everything's like round and round—no squares—"

Her voice trailed off, and for a very good reason.

Now it was Dr. Placebo's turn to gulp and swallow, as he stared down at the empty couch.

Cookie had disappeared.

" Where is she? " Ray Connors demanded. " Come on, where is she? "

Dr. Placebo sighed. He felt a horrible depression, quite unlike the shapely depression which had been left in the couch by Cookie's body.

" She—she cancelled her appointment this afternoon, " he said, weakly.

" But I drove her over, " the mustached young man insisted. " Went downstairs to do a bit of business—I'm booking a flea circus out in Los Angeles and I had to see about renting a dog so the troupe could travel in comfort—and then I came right back up to your office to wait. The receptionist told me Cookie was inside. So what happened? "

" I—I wish I knew, " Dr. Placebo told him, truthfully. " She was lying right there on the couch when she vanished. "

" Vanished? "

Dr. Placebo nodded. " Into thin air. "

" Thin air, fat air, I don't believe it. " Connors advanced on the pudgy little psychiatrist. " Come on, where you hiding the body? "

" She vanished, I tell you, " Dr. Placebo wailed. " All I did was give her one of these sample pills—"

He indicated the packet on his desk-top and Connors picked it up. " This says Time Capsules, not Vanishing Cream, " he snorted. " Look, Doc, I'm not one of your loony patients. I'm an agent, and you can't con me. So you got sore at Cookie and pushed her out of the window—this I can understand. Why don't you admit it and let me call the cops? We could get a big spread on this. " He began to pace the floor rapidly. " Real headline stuff—JEALOUS HEAD SHRINKER SLAYS BEAUTIFUL PATIENT. Why, we'll push the Finch trial right off the front page! Think of the angles; exclusive interview rights, sob-stories to all the women's magazines, a nice big ghostwritten best-seller, a fat movie deal. Doc, you've got a fortune in your lap and you don't know enough to cross your legs! Now for ten per cent, I'll handle everything, you won't have to worry—"

Dr. Placebo sighed softly. " I told you, " he murmured. " She swallowed one of these pills and disappeared. "

" Fiddlesticks, " said Connors. " Or words to that effect. " And before Dr. Placebo could stop him, he walked over to the couch, sat down, ripped a pill from the cellophane confines of the package, and popped it into his mouth.

" No—don't! " cried the Doctor.

Connors shrugged. " You see? I swallowed one and nothing happens. I'm still here. " He leaned back. " So how about it, Doc, you gonna level with me? Maybe you didn't push her out of the window. Maybe you carved her up and stuck the pieces in your filing-cabinet. Hey, that's an even better angle—MAD BUTCHER CARVES CHICK! OR RIPPER GETS FLIPPER WITH STRIPPER. For ten per cent of the gross, I'll fix it so you—"

Young Mr. Connors fell back on the couch and closed his eyes.

" Hey, what was in that last drink? " he mumbled. " I can't see. "

Dr. Placebo advanced upon him nervously. " That pill, " he gasped. " Let me phone Dr. Glutea down the hall—he's a G. U. man, maybe he has a stomach-pump—"

Connors waved him away. " Never mind, " he whispered, faintly. " I can see, now. "

This was strange, to say the least, for he still had his eyes closed. Dr. Placebo bent over him, not daring to touch his rigid body.

" Yeah, I can see. Stars. Nothing but stars. You running one of those science fiction movies, Doc? Sure, I'm hip now. There's the world. Or is it? I can see North America and South America, but where are all those funny lines? "

" What funny lines? "

" Like in all the geography books—isn't there supposed to be latitude and longitude? "

" That's just on maps. "

" I dig. This isn't a map, Doc. It's for real. . . but it can't be. . . no. . . no. . . "

" Please, Mr. Connors, pull yourself together! "

" I'm pulling myself apart. . . Oh, Doc, if you saw what I see. . . like crazy, the world inside a big egg-timer up in the sky. . . sort of an hourglass, you know the bit? "

" Go on, " murmured Dr. Placebo.

" There's sand or something running out of the end, into the other half of the timer. . . and now. . . a big claw, bigger than the whole world. . . reaching out and squeezing. . . squeezing the guts out of the earth. . . squeeeee. . .

" Go on, " repeated Dr. Placebo. But it wasn't necessary, for Connors had already gone on.

The couch was empty.

The little psychiatrist blinked and shook his head. He walked over to the desk and, indulging in a symbolic funeral, buried his face in his hands. " Now what? " he groaned. " Physician, heal thyself. "

Then he sat up and took stock of the situation. After all he was a physician; moreover, a skilled analyst. The thing to do was to consider the problem logically. There were several obvious courses of action.

First of all, he could call the police. He'd simply explain what had happened, they would simply not believe him, and he'd simply go to the gas-chamber.

Secondly, he could tell his receptionist. She was a sweet young thing, and madly in love with him as a Father-Image. Her reaction was predictable; she'd pop him into her car and they'd drive off to Mexico together, where they'd live happily ever after until she ran off with a bullfighter. No, the gas-chamber was better. But why wait, when there were even faster methods?

Maybe he could adopt some of Connors' ideas to his own use. Perhaps he could jump out of the window, or cut himself up into little pieces and hide in the file-cabinet. Merely a logical extension of filing one's fingernails.

No, he was irrational. He needed time to think. Time to think—

Dr. Placebo stared at the cellophane envelope which still rested on his desk where Connors had tossed it after taking the capsule. Time Capsule.

" Alters time-sense both subjectively and objectively. " Suppose it were true? Once again he picked up the cryptic literature and studied it closely. And all of a sudden he found himself translating fluently. Only the vowels were missing.

" Instructions
Enclosed samples for professional use only. Each is capable of producing temporal dislocation permanently and translating user into another continuum or time vector. "

It was plain English, all right, and even the last line of the literature made sense now. He read it slowly.

" Don't get your vowels in an uproar. "

Excellent advice. Advice from an area where the time-sense was altered, where linguistics were attuned to another tempo, where others marched to a different drummer.

Cookie had vanished suddenly, Connors slowly. Why the difference? Perhaps because Cookie had taken the capsule with water and Connors swallowed his dry. Took a while for the gelatin coating to dissolve.

Funny, Connors seeing those hallucinations. All very symbolic—the earth in an egg-timer and somebody squeezing it; the sands of time running forth. Running where? Running out, that's where. In another minute his time would run out; the receptionist would run in and ask where his patients were.

He had lost his patients. He had lost his patience. It all came back to the same thing—call the police, run off to Mexico, jump out of the window, or kill himself and stuff his dead body in the file. Sort of a necro-file. Maybe he deserved to die, if he was capable of making puns like that. It would rise up from the grass over his grave to haunt him, for the pun is mightier than the sward—

No time for that now.

No time.

But a Time Capsule—

He picked up the cellophane container gingerly.

Why not?

It was a way out. Way out, indeed—but a way.

For one idiotic instant, Dr. Placebo took a good hard look at himself. A fat, foolish little man, driven by greed, who had never known love in all his life except as a professional Father-Image. A man surrounded by sensualists like Cookie and opportunists like Connors. What was he doing here in the first place?

" I am a stranger and a Freud, in a world I never made. "

It was a terrible realization, a bitter pill to swallow. But swallow it he must. There was no other choice. Fingers trembling, he extracted the last Time Capsule from the packet and raised it to his lips. He swallowed.

There was no sensation. He floated over to the water-cooler and poured a drink. It gurgled down his throat. And then came the kaleidoscope, engulfing him.

Five minutes later his receptionist walked into the empty office. She inspected it, panicked, but eventually recovered and did what any sensible girl would do under the circumstances—called the Bureau of Missing Persons.

There was no answer. . .

There was, of course, no kaleidoscope. Nor did Dr. Placebo find himself entrapped in a cosmic egg-timer whirling in outer space. No huge hand stretched forth to menace his reason and he knew that he had not died.

But there was a dizzying sensation and he waited until it ceased before he allowed the autonomy of his nervous system to resume sway and blinked his eyes open once more.

Dr. Placebo was prepared for almost anything. If, indeed, the Time Capsule had been efficacious, he knew that he could have gone an infinite distance forward or backward in temporal dimensions. Long conditioning through attendance at monster-movies led him to expect either the titanic vistas of papier-mâ ché cities of the far future or papier-mâ ché dinosaurs of the distant past. In either era, he knew, nothing would bear the slightest resemblance to the world he had lived in, except that the women of the future or the prehistoric age would still wear lipstick and mascara.

There was just one thing Dr. Placebo didn't expect to see when he opened his eyes—the familiar walls of his very own private office.

But that's where he found himself, sitting upon his own couch. And most uncomfortably, too, because he was wedged between Cookie and Connors.

" Oh, here you are, " Cookie greeted him. " Where'd you go, Doc? "

" Nowhere. I've been here all the time. Where did you go? "

" Never left the couch. "

" But you weren't here when I showed up, " Ray Connors interrupted. " Then I saw you and I lost the Doc. "

Dr. Placebo shook his head. " That's not the way it happened at all! First she disappeared and then you disappeared. I stayed right where I am. "

" You weren't right where you are a minute ago. "

" Neither were you. "

" What does it matter? We're back, now, " Connors said. " I told you those pills were fakes. "

" I'm not so sure. We didn't travel in space, obviously, because we're in the same place we started. But if the capsules affect objective time—"

" So each of us passed out and lost a couple minutes. Big deal. " Cookie sniffed and swayed to her feet.

She glanced curiously at the calendar on the desk. " Hey, Doc, " she called. " What kind of a month is Jly? "

Instantly, Dr. Placebo was at her side. " You're right, " he groaned. " It does say 'Jly. ' And that's not my writing on the note-pad. Who is this 'Dr. My'? "

" Maya, " said a soft voice. " We don't write the vowels but we pronounce them. Indoctrinated associative reflex. "

Placebo turned to confront the newcomer to the room. She was a tall, plump, gray-haired woman with a rounded face and shoe-button eyes. She wore a plain smock and a bright smile.

" You must be the new patients, " she observed, glancing at the trio. " Armond did his job well. " She glanced again at the startled faces before her. " I had hoped for a random sampling, but you actually exceed my expectations. "

" We're not patients, " Dr. Placebo exploded. " I happen to be a practicing psychiatrist. And expectations be damned—we want explanations! "

" Gladly given. " The woman who called herself Maya moved into the chair behind the desk. " Please sit down. "

The trio retreated to the couch.

" First of all, " Dr. Placebo began, " where are we? "

" Why, here, of course. "

" But—"

" Please. " Maya lifted a plump hand. " You don't deny that you are here, do you? If so, you're more disturbed than I thought. Believing yourself to be a psychiatrist is dangerous enough without any further disorientation. "

" I am a psychiatrist! " Dr. Placebo shouted. " And this used to be my office. "

" It still is, in another temporal vector. But when you swallowed one of Armond's little capsules, you entered a parallel continuum. "

" Hey, how about making with like English? " Cookie demanded. " I don't dig. "

" This must be one of those crazy planets, " Connors muttered. " And she's an alien. " He stood up and approached the desk. " So take me to your leader. "

" Leader? There is no leader. "

" Then who runs things around here? "

" Things run themselves. "

" But who's the boss? "

" We all are. "

Maya turned back to the girl. " I note your saying that you don't dig. Allow me to reassure you—in our society there is no need for physical labor. I'm sure you'll find a worthy niche here for whatever you are qualified to do. "

" Wait a minute, " Connors interrupted. " Nobody books this chick except me. I'm her agent. "

" Agent? "

" Yeah, her manager, like. I find her work and collect my ten per cent. "

" Ten percent of what—the work? "

" No, the money. "

" Ah, yes, money. I'd forgotten about that. "

" You'd forgotten about money? " Dr. Placebo asked, excitedly. " Very peculiar symptom indeed. Rejection of the economic incentive—"

But Maya ignored him. Again she addressed herself to the girl. " Might I inquire just what sort of work you perform? "

" I'm a stripper. "

" I see, " Maya said, though it was obvious she didn't. " And just what do you strip? "

" Why, myself, of course. "

" Oh, an exhibitionist. " Maya smiled. " That's very nice. We have lots of them around. Of course, they don't get any recompense for it here, outside of their own pleasure. "

" You mean they do it for fun? " Cookie demanded. " Standing up there on a bare stage with the wind blowing up your G-string and letting a lot of meatheads watch you break your fingernails on your zippers—this you call kicks? "

" I've had it, " Connors announced, leaning over the desk. " The way I figure it, there's just two answers to the whole kockamamie deal. Either you're squirrelly or we've been kidnapped. Maybe both. But I'm calling the fuzz. "

" Fuzz? "

" Law. Coppers. Police. "

" There is no police force. Unnecessary. For that matter, no method of outside communication. "

" You don't have a telephone? "

" Unnecessary. "

" Then, lady, you'd better start hollering for help. Because if you don't send us back where we came from in thirty seconds, I am going to lean on you. "

" Why wait? " Cookie bounded to her feet, raced over to the window, and flung it open. She leaned out.

" Help! " she yelled. " Hel—"

Her voice trailed off. " Holy Owned Subsidiary! " she whispered, faintly. " Sneak a preview at this! "

Connors and Dr. Placebo moved to her side and stared out at this.

This was the city below them, a city they knew as well as they knew the month of the year.

But the month was Jly, and the city too was oddly altered. The buildings seemed familiar enough, but they were not nearly so high here in the downtown section, nor were there so many of them. No traffic hummed in the streets below, and pedestrians moved freely down the center of the avenues. The sides of the structures were not disfigured by billboards or painted advertisements. But the most drastic difference was a subtle one—everything was plainly visible in clear bright sunlight. There was no smoke, no soot, no smog.

" Another continuum, " Dr. Placebo murmured. " She's telling the truth. "

" I still want out, " Connors said. He balled his fists. " Lady, I'm asking you in a nice way—send us back. "

Maya shook her head. " I can't possibly do so until next week. Armond must return and prepare the antidotes. "

Cookie frowned. " You still insist we got here just because we swallowed some kind of Mickey Finn? You didn't smuggle us aboard a spaceship or whatever? "

" Please, my dear, let me explain. As I understand it, in your time-vector you employ a variety of drugs—heroin, cannabis indica, various preparations such as marijuana and peyotl which affect the time-sense. "

" I never touch the stuff, " Cookie snarled. " I'm clean, see? "

" But there are people who use these concoctions, and it does affect their time-sense. Their subjective time-sense, that is. A minute can become an eternity, or a day can be compressed into an instant. "

" I buy that, " Connors said.

" My friend Armond has merely extended the process. He perfected a capsule which actually produces a corporeal movement in time. Since it is impossible to move into a future which does not yet exist, or into a past which exists no longer, one merely moves obliquely into a parallel time-stratum. There are thousands upon thousands of worlds, each based upon the infinite combinations and permutations of possibility. All co-exist equally. You have merely gone from one such possible world to another. "

" Merely, " Cookie muttered. " So Connors was right You kidnapped us. But why? "

" Call it an experiment. Armond and I worked together, to determine the sociological variations existing in several continuums. You will remain here a week, until he returns. During that time, let me assure you, no harm can possibly befall anyone. You'll be treated as honored guests. "

Ray Connors stepped closer to Cookie. " Don't worry, baby—I'll protect you, " he said. " You know I only got eyes for—wow! "

Wow stood in the doorway. She was about eighteen, with baby-blue eyes, but any resemblance to infancy ended right there.

" This is Lona, " Maya told him. " She will be your hostess during your stay here. "

Lona smiled up at Connors and extended her hand. " I already have my instructions, " she said. " Shall we go now? "

" Over my dead body! " Cookie screeched. " If you think for one minute I'm gonna let you fall out of here with that hunk of Bastille-bait, you got another—"

It was her turn to react, when the tall young man entered. He too was about eighteen, but big for his age.

" I'm Terry, " he said. " Your host during the coming week. If you'll be good enough to accompany me—"

" I'm good enough, " Cookie told him.

" Now wait a minute, " Connors interrupted. " If you go off with this gorilla, how'm I gonna protect you? "

" You better worry about protecting yourself, buster, " Cookie told him, eyeing the clinging blonde. She turned to the waiting Terry. " Off to Funville, " she said, and swept out.

" Shall we go? " Lona asked Connors. " A week is so little time, and I've so much to learn—"

" That's the spirit, " Connors said. " Come on. "

As they exited, Dr. Placebo glanced at Maya. " And what is in store for me—something out of Lolita? "

The plump woman frowned at the unfamiliar reference. " Why, you'll be my guest. Stretch out on the couch and make yourself comfortable. I expect there are a few questions you'd like to ask. "

Dr. Placebo was beyond resistance. Meekly, he sank down on his own couch—which wasn't really his own couch anymore—and Maya promptly joined him.

" Really, " spluttered the little man. " This is hardly approved psychotherapeutic procedure. "

" I'm not a psychotherapist, " Maya told him. " I'm your hostess. "

" Need you be so hospitable? " Dr. Placebo protested.

" My feet hurt, " Maya explained, kicking off her shoes and wriggling her toes. " Besides, is there any rule that says you have to conduct a sociological experiment standing up? "

" This is an experiment? "

" Of course. Why did you think Armond brought you here? " She stared at him levelly.

" I was going to ask about that. There are so many things I don't understand. "

" Look into my eyes. Perhaps I can tell you better in that way than by questions and answers. "

" Hypnosis? Telepathy? Rubbish! "

" Three labels, in as many words. Just forget that you're a scientist for a moment and open your mind. Look into my eyes. There, that's better. Keep looking. What do you see there? "

Dr. Placebo stared fixedly. His breathing altered oddly and his voice, when he spoke, seemed to come from far away. " I see—everything, " he whispered.

There was the world he came from, and there was this world. But these were only two in a coexistent infinity of possible states of being, each subject to an individual tempo, and each ruled by the Law of the Universe, which men call If.

There was a world where the dinosaurs survived, and the birds who ate their eggs perished. There was a world in which amphibians crawled out upon the land and found it uninviting, then swarmed back into the sea. There was a world in which the Persians defeated Alexander, and Oriental civilization flourished on the site of what would never be Copenhagen.

Dr. Placebo, guided by some power of selection emanating from Maya's will, sampled a dozen of these possibilities in rapid succession.

He saw worlds which had developed in a manner very similar to his own, with just a tiny difference.

A world in which a few tiny birds wheeled and took flight at the sight of sailing vessels, so that Columbus never noticed them and sailed on his course to the coast of Mexico where he and his men were quickly captured by the Aztecs and enslaved. So quickly did the inhabitants of Central America learn the arts of their prisoners that within a hundred years they built ships and weapons of their own, with which they conquered Europe. . .

A world where it didn't rain along the Flemish plains one night early in the nineteenth century—and next morning, Napoleon's cavalry charged to victory across a dry field instead of tumbling into a sunken road. After winning Waterloo, there was no Bourbon restoration, no ensuing Republic, no Commune, no rise of Communist theory, no German nation or Russian Revolution, no World Wars. And Napoleon VI was emperor of all the earth. . .

Dr. Placebo saw the world in which the Hessians overheard the sound of oars one Christmas Eve at Trenton, and hanged George Washington. He saw the world where an ax slipped, and a young rail-splitter named Abe Lincoln lost his left leg and ended up as the town drunk of Magnolia, Ill. He saw a world in which an eminent scientist suffered a minor toothache and neglected to investigate the queer mould which he'd observed, with the result that two of the men who might have subsequently developed atomic power installations died of disease instead, because there was no penicillin to save them, and a whole continent subsequently plunged into war and. . .

Faster and faster the worlds whirled; the one in which Adolf Hitler was just a man who painted houses and Winston Churchill painted landscapes fulltime instead of on Sundays. . . a world in which a real detective named Sherlock Holmes wrote a highly-successful series of stories about an imaginary London physician whom he called Arthur Conan Doyle. . . a world ruled by great apes, and a somewhat similar world ruled by a teen-age aristocracy who were proud of their blue genes.

" Possible, " murmured Maya's voice, from a great distance. " All possible. Do you understand, now? "

Dr. Placebo sensed that he was nodding in reply.

" Good. Then, this world. "

The panorama of impressions expanded, on a multi-leveled basis, so that Dr. Placebo was aware of sweeping generalization and specific example simultaneously. And slowly, a picture evolved. Dr. Placebo sensed and surveyed it with growing horror.

" But it can't be! " he heard himself muttering. " No Freud—and Havelock Ellis entering a monastery at twenty-two—no psychiatrists—no wonder you all became disturbed. "

" You're disturbed, " Maya's voice told him, calmly. " We're not. Look again. "

Dr. Placebo looked again.

He looked at a world in which society was conditioned by biological principles, with Kinsey-like overtones; a world which lived in accordance with certain basic postulates. And as the examples expanded, Maya's voice provided accompaniment.

" As in your world, the sexual drive in the human male reaches its height between the ages of 16 and 26, whereas in the females the sex-urge is highest between 28 and 40. The only difference is that in our world this biological fact is accepted, and acted upon.

" Accordingly, our young men, at 16, are permitted to establish relationships with women of 28 or older, for any period of time up to 10 years. During this decade of association, there is no procreation—and, of course, no domestic or emotional responsibilities.

" At 26, the males are permitted to establish another relationship, again for a decade or so, with the females aged 16 and upwards. During this time, reproduction is encouraged, for the females are young and healthy and the males are fully mature; they lavish affection upon their offspring, who are—of course—turned over to the care of the state when they reach the age of 6.

" As both males and females reach 40 or thereabouts, they can again change their partners and seek permanent or temporary companionship within a domestic relationship but without reproducing.

" Thus the sex-drive is fully satisfied during its period of maximum intensity, the reproductive urge is given full sway at a time likely to be most beneficial to both parents and offspring, and the social needs of later life are gratified without the rancor, tensions, frustrations, and naggingly permanent obligations which are the fruit of most monogamous marriages in your world. Simple enough, isn't it? "

Dr. Placebo sat up. He was once again in full possession of his faculties, all of which were strained beyond credulity.

" It's absurd! " he shouted. " You're going against all natural instinct—"

" Are we? "

Maya smiled. " Our society is actually founded on a realistic basis—pure biology. In the animal kingdom, 'fatherhood' as we know it does not exist. The male may protect its spawn for a time and feed the pregnant female, but it does not safeguard or exhibit affection for its young over any extended period of time, except in your 'moral' textbooks for children or the cinematic fantasies of your Mr. Disney. In many species, the male does not even secure food for the female, let alone 'support a family. ' This is an artificial concept, yet your whole society is based upon it and everyone seems to believe that it's 'natural. '

" And when your poets and writers and philosophers envision an 'ideal' society, it is merely an extension of the same basic misconceptions with an attempt to put a little more of what you call 'justice' into them—even though one of your own writers, Archibald MacLeish, in his play J. B. , so wisely observes: 'There is no justice; there is only love. ' Ours is a world founded on love, and it begins by setting aright the biological basis of love. "

" Monstrous! " Dr. Placebo exploded. " You've destroyed the fundamentals of civilization—the home—the family—"

" The so-called home and so-called family have destroyed the fundamentals of your civilization, " Maya told him. " That's why you therapists flourish, in a sick world of emotionally-twisted youngsters who grow up as overly-frustrated or overly-aggressive adults; a world of prurience and poverty, of sin without atonement and atonement without sin, a world of bombs without balms. Don't look at your prejudices and your theories; look at the results. Are the people of your world truly happy, Doctor? Are they? "

" I suppose your way is better? " Dr. Placebo permitted himself a slight sneer.

" See for yourself, " Maya suggested. " Look into my eyes—"

Dr. Placebo found himself staring and sharing; it was all a matter of viewpoint, he told himself.

He saw a world in which there was no transference of aggressions, due to sexual problems; a world devoid of jealousy and fear and secret guilts.

There was, to begin with, a complete change in the pattern of courtship; the element of rivalry, of competition, was almost eliminated. Male and female paired first for mutual pleasure, without the necessity of seeking the almost impossible combination of perfect lover, ideal helpmate, good provider, wise companion, and social prize which dogs most young people in their choice.

Later on, male and female paired for the purpose of reproduction; children born of the union of these matings were given a healthy environment of genuine love during the years when they were most lovable—and most subject to lasting psychological impressions. Then, at the time when they became encumbrances in a complex social order, they were turned over to well-organized state establishments for education and proper development.

Finally, male and female allied on the basis of fully matured judgments; as companions with mutual tastes and interests. Their early sexual drives fully satisfied, their reproductive drive fulfilled, their responsibilities in these areas ended, they were free to seek permanent or temporary liaisons on a fully-realistic basis of compatibility.

Inevitably, there were other—and far-reaching—results.

For one thing, a change in personality-values—the notion of what constituted a " good" or a " bad" individual differed greatly from those prevalent in Dr. Placebo's world.

Less time was wasted, by young and old alike, in false and exaggerated emphasis upon presumably " masculine" or " feminine" attributes. A 16-year-old boy could honestly prove his masculinity, with full approval and satisfaction, on a biological basis, instead of spending most of his energy on football, juvenile delinquency, surreptitious indulgence in alcohol and narcotics and the assumption of an outward brutality designed to impress the female. A 16-year-old girl could fulfill her biological function in maternity instead of retreating into narcissism, virginity-fantasies, or a rebellious and unsatisfactory promiscuity.

The young man found sympathy and understanding with an older woman during his initial relationship, and learned to appreciate these qualities. The young woman found steadiness and strength in an older man, and was not impressed by reckless exhibitionism and irresponsible behavior. When the age-patterns of later relationships were reversed, an even greater mutual understanding prevailed; in the final maturity, there was a peace and a satisfaction born of genuine love and respect. In this world, men and women actually enjoyed one another's company, and there was no rivalry.

As a result, there was no fear of the domestic situation; it was not a life-long trap in which both parties became enslaved to a consumer economy because they had to " preserve" a so-called home at all costs. Because there was no set and permanent family status, the element of economic competition virtually vanished; there was no need to pile up great accretions of consumer-goods for conspicuous consumption or as substitutes for genuine satisfactions. And there was no " Inheritance. " The state regulated employment and recompense but did so benevolently—for there was no familial tension-source to spawn the guilt, hate, frustration, and aggression which resulted in individual crime and mass warfare. Hence a " police state" proved unnecessary. Simple miscegenation had done away with national, racial, and religious strife. And the limited 12-year breeding span had done away with population pressure; there was abundance for everyone. Social and economic freedom followed as a matter of course.

Perhaps most important of all, there was a great increase in creativity and the development of aesthetics.

Dr. Placebo began to realize why, when he looked out the window, there were no advertising displays—why there was no need of automotive traffic or " quick communication" devices, or any variety of artificial stimulants, escape-devices, or gilded carrots designed to keep the donkeys in perpetual harness as they tugged their cartloads of woe along the road of life.

There was actually plenty of time to live in this world; no claws were squeezing; within this hourglass lay no danger of an eruption or explosion.

All this Maya showed him, and much more. Until at last, Dr. Placebo hurled himself upright again and tore his gaze away.

" Fine! " he commented. " Wonderful! Now I know why you found a youthful hostess for Ray Connors and a young host for Cookie. And maybe it does work, at that. "

" I'm glad you think so, " Maya said. " Because that was Armond's plan, you see. "

" I don't see, " Dr. Placebo confessed.

" For some time Armond and others have used the capsules to visit worlds in other time-vectors. Most of them were either too alien in their patterns or too dangerous to explore, but yours seemed most similar to our own.

" Somewhere along the line, your world went wrong in the area of social-sexual relationships, but we have studied your mores and folkways and decided to make a radical experiment. Armond believed we could, if necessary, live in your world—but of course, we wouldn't want to. He then determined to discover if you could live in our world. That's why he went down to hand out a limited number of sample pills—in the hopes of getting a representative assortment of specimens here for observation. One week should be long enough to determine your reaction—"

Dr. Placebo stood up.

" One minute is all it takes, " he announced. " At least, as far as I'm concerned. "

" You are a wise man, Dr. Placebo, " Maya said. " It didn't take you long to see how sensibly we live, how sanely we have ordered our lives. "

" That is correct, " Dr. Placebo murmured, and then his voice swept upwards shrilly. " And that's just why I want out of here! I'm a psychiatrist, and a highly successful one. What place have I in a world where nobody is emotionally disturbed or maladjusted? Why, I'd starve to death in a month! I tell you, all this sanity is crazy—"

Suddenly he doubled up and fell back upon the couch.

" Why, whatever is the matter? " Maya cried.

" Ulcer, " Dr. Placebo groaned. " Kicks up on me every once in a while. Purely psychosomatic, but it hurts like hell. "

" Wait just a minute, " Maya soothed. " I'll get you some milk. "

And in exactly a minute, she was back with a glass. Dr. Placebo drank it slowly and gradually relaxed. It was good milk—damned good milk, he reflected bitterly, and no wonder. In a lousy, perfect world like this, the cows were probably more contented than any back on Earth. . . It figured!

" All right, " said Ray Connors, pausing in his restless pacing to face Cookie and Dr. Placebo. " I got to talk fast because there's not much time. For a whole week I've been figuring out how to get a chance to see you two alone here in the office without Maya or any of the rest of these squares butting in. Because I got a billion-dollar idea by the tail and all I need is your help. "

" How's Lona? " Cookie inquired.

" The chick? " Ray Connors smiled. " Okay, okay. But that's not important. "

" Isn't it? " Cookie frowned. " You know, this guy Terry is the greatest. He's so—so sweet. Treats me like I was some kind of princess—"

" Never mind that jazz, " Connors interrupted. " We got no time. "

" Your idea? " Dr. Placebo inquired.

" Okay, now hear this. This is a square setup, dig? Both of you must have noticed what I did—everybody gets along with everyone else, there's no muscle, no sweat. Strictly Loveville. "

" Yeah, isn't it wonderful? " Cookie sighed. " That Terry—"

" I'll say it's wonderful! " Connors exulted. " The whole setup is a pushover for a couple of hip operators like us. I started to figure things out, and you know, I think the three of us could really do it? "

" Do what? " inquired Dr. Placebo.

" Why, take over, of course! " Connors eyed him elatedly. " Look, we each got our own racket, and all we need to do is start working. Cookie here knows how to turn on the glamour. Me, I'm the best combination agent and flack in the business. You're a skull-specialist, you know about psychology and all that crud. Suppose we just team up and go to work?

" Remember that old gag about Helen of Troy, or whoever—the gal whose face launched a thousand flips, something like that? Started a big war over her, didn't they? Well, we got Cookie here. Suppose I started beating the drums, working up a little publicity, spreading the word about how this chick is the hottest dish in the whole pantry? And you coach me on the psychology, Doc.

" You know the way they, got things rigged here—young gals with middle-aged guys, middle-aged guys with young gals, old folks at home together. Well, it would be the easiest thing in the world to upset the whole applecart. Get the kids excited about Cookie, and the old daddy-types, too. Teach 'em something about sex-appeal. You know what'll happen. Inside of a month we can start opening up schools—regular courses to give all the chicks lessons on how to really land a man and hang on to him. Give 'em all the techniques on how to play hard-to-get. And that means the works—we bring out a line of cosmetics, fashions, beauty-parlor treatments, promote jewelry and perfume and luxury items.

" We'll have the men flipping, too. They don't use money in this crazy system, but we ought to be able to take our cut in land and services. I tell you, they're so innocent it'll be like taking candy from a baby. Inside of a year we can work our way up so that we'll be running the whole world! Think of it—no police, no army, nothing to stop us! Wait until we bring in advertising, and juke-boxes, and hot-rods, and pro football and falsies—"

" You intend to transform this world into a reasonable reproduction of our own, is that correct? " asked Dr. Placebo.

" Reasonable is right, " Connors snapped. " What's to stop us? "

" I am, " said Cookie. " I don't buy it. "

" You don't—what? "

" I like it just the way it is, " she murmured. " Look, Ray, let's face it. I'm pushing thirty, dig? And for the past fifteen years I been knocking around, getting my jollies in just the kind of a world you want to turn this into. Well, I had it, and no thanks. What good did it ever do me? I ended up a second-rate stripper, tied to a second-rate nogoodnik like you and spending all my extra loot on Doc's couch.

" I don't need to be Helen of Troy here. I'm just Cookie, and that's good enough for Terry—and believe me, he's good enough for me. I never had it so nice as this past week, believe me. Why louse it up? "

" Okay, so who's begging? You think you're the only chick I can promote? I got Lona. She's plenty square—one of those real sick, good-hearted types—but I can twist her around my little finger. So I'll slap a little makeup on her, teach her a few tricks, and we're off and running. " Connors wheeled to face Dr. Placebo.

" How about it, Doc? You want in, don't you? "

" You're quite sure you can do all this? " Dr. Placebo murmured. " It's a big program for one man to tackle. "

" Yeah, but we got a natural. No competition. No opposition. Nobody that's hip. They'll never know what hit 'em. In fact, they all love each other so damned much they don't suspect anyone could ever pull a fast one, and they'll cooperate just for asking. "

Connors walked over to the open window and gazed out at the sunlit city.

" Look at it, Doc, " he said. " All laid out and waiting for us to carve. Like the old saying, the world's our oyster. "

" That's right. " Dr. Placebo moved to his side, nodding thoughtfully. " And the more I think it over, the more I believe you. You could do it, quite easily. "

" I damn' well will do it, " Connors asserted. " And if you and Cookie chicken out, I'll make it alone. "

Dr. Placebo hesitated, shrugged, and glanced at Cookie. She nodded. He put his hand on Connors' shoulder and smiled.

" A good idea, " he muttered. " Make it alone, then. "

And with an agile dexterity somewhat surprising in an older man, he pushed Connors out of the window.

The press-agent fell forth into the world that was his oyster; Dr. Placebo and Cookie leaned out and watched as he landed in the oyster-bed below.

" Nice work, Doc, " Cookie commented.

He frowned. " That's the last time I'll ever do anything like that, " he sighed. " Still, it was necessary to use violence to end violence. "

" Yeah. Well, I got to be running along. Terry's waiting for me. We're going to the beach. See you around, Doc? "

" I hope so. I intend to be here for a long, long time. " Dr. Placebo turned, staring past the girl, as Maya entered the room.

" Your conference is over? " the plump woman inquired. " Your friend left? "

Cookie nudged Doc in time for him to match her sudden look of consternation.

" A terrible thing just happened, " she gasped. " He fell out of the window! "

" Oh, no—" Maya gasped and rushed to the open window, staring down. " How awful! And just when he could have joined you in returning home—"

" Home? "

" Yes. Armond is back. The week is up, and he'll be able to supply you with Time Capsules now. You're free to return to your own world. "

" Do we have to go? " Cookie's voice quavered. " I—I want to stay here. Terry and I talked things over, and we hit it off so good together, I was hoping I could just sort of like settle down. "

" And what about you? " Maya confronted Dr. Placebo.

" Why—uh—I agree with Cookie. Since that first day, I haven't had the slightest twinge from my ulcer. Something about the milk you serve, I suppose. "

" But what about your profession? " Maya asked. " You said yourself that there's no need for a psychiatrist here. And, of course, there's no way of making money. "

" I've been thinking about that, " Dr. Placebo said. " Couldn't I assist you in your sociological experiments? "

Maya permitted herself a small smile. " Standing up or lying down? " she demanded.

" Er—both. " A slow blush spread over the bald expanse of Dr. Placebo's forehead. " I mean, each of us is past forty, and under the existing order of things—well—"

" We'll discuss that later, " Maya told him, but the smile was broader, now.

She turned to include Cookie in her glance. " Actually, I'm very happy about your decisions. And I shall inform Armond that the experiment was a complete success. I take it your deceased friend intended to stay, also? "

" He did, " Cookie answered, truthfully. " He intended to make his mark here. " She glanced down at the sidewalk below. " And in a way, I guess he succeeded. "

" Then you can adapt, " Maya said.

" Of course, we can adapt, " Dr. Placebo nodded.

" All right, I shall inform Armond. And we can go into the second stage of the experiment. "

" The second stage? " Dr. Placebo echoed.

" Yes. And we'd best hurry because there isn't much time. "

Just how Maya got her information, we, of course, shall never know. Perhaps Armond read the papers during his visits to Earth, or maybe he just used his eyes and ears.

At any rate, Maya knew the truth—the truth behind the vision of the green claw squeezing the sands of time from the hour-glassed earth. She knew that time is running short for this world.

Hence the second stage of the experiment; the stage in which not one but thousands of Armonds will descend in mortal guise or disguise, to pass out millions of Time Capsules.

Some will come as salesmen, some as pharmacists, some as physicians. Naturally, techniques of distribution will vary; it will be necessary to disguise the capsules as vitamin tablets, tranquilizers, or simple aspirin. But Dr. Placebo and Cookie will both cooperate with their suggestions, and Armond and his crew are both knowledgeable and efficient.

So, sooner or later, chances are you will be handed a capsule of your own.

Whether you elect to swallow it knowingly or not depends upon whether or not you're willing to swallow the concepts of another world.

If not, of course, there's always a simple choice.

You can stay right where you are, and let this world swallow you. . . .

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