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                         Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction May 1952. Extensive
    research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this
    publication was renewed.


                            [Illustration]


                          THE ULTROOM ERROR


                           _by_ JERRY SOHL


     Smith admitted he had made an error involving a few
     murders--and a few thousand years. He was entitled to a
     sense of humor, though, even in the Ultroom!

       *       *       *       *       *




     _HB73782. Ultroom error. Tendal 13. Arvid 6. Kanad transfer
      out of 1609 complete, intact, but too near limit of 1,000
      days. Next Kanad transfer ready. 1951. Reginald, son of Mr.
      and Mrs. Martin Laughton, 3495 Orland Drive, Marionville,
      Illinois, U. S. A. Arrive his 378th day. TB73782._

Nancy Laughton sat on the blanket she had spread on the lawn in her
front yard, knitting a pair of booties for the PTA bazaar.
Occasionally she glanced at her son in the play pen, who was getting
his daily dose of sunshine. He was gurgling happily, examining a ball,
a cheese grater and a linen baby book, all with perfunctory interest.

When she looked up again she noticed a man walking by--except he
turned up the walk and crossed the lawn to her.

He was a little taller than her husband, had piercing blue eyes and a
rather amused set to his lips.

"Hello, Nancy," he said.

"Hello, Joe," she answered. It was her brother who lived in Kankakee.

"I'm going to take the baby for a while," he said.

"All right, Joe."

He reached into the pen, picked up the baby. As he did so the baby's
knees hit the side of the play pen and young Laughton let out a
scream--half from hurt and half from sudden lack of confidence in his
new handler. But this did not deter Joe. He started off with the
child.

Around the corner and after the man came a snarling mongrel dog, eyes
bright, teeth glinting in the sunlight. The man did not turn as the
dog threw himself at him, burying his teeth in his leg. Surprised, the
man dropped the screaming child on the lawn and turned to the dog. Joe
seemed off balance and he backed up confusedly in the face of the
snapping jaws. Then he suddenly turned and walked away, the dog at his
heels.

"I tell you, the man said he was my brother and he made me think he
was," Nancy told her husband for the tenth time. "I don't even have a
brother."

Martin Laughton sighed. "I can't understand why you believed him. It's
just--just plain nuts, Nancy!"

"Don't you think I know it?" Nancy said tearfully. "I feel like I'm
going crazy. I can't say I dreamt it because there was Reggie with his
bleeding knees, squalling for all he was worth on the grass--Oh, I
don't even want to think about it."

"We haven't lost Reggie, Nancy, remember that. Now why don't you try
to get some rest?"

"You--you don't believe me at all, do you, Martin?"

When her husband did not answer, her head sank to her arms on the
table and she sobbed.

"Nancy, for heaven's sake, of course I believe you. I'm trying to
think it out, that's all. We should have called the police."

Nancy shook her head in her arms. "They'd--never--believe me either,"
she moaned.

"I'd better go and make sure Reggie's all right." Martin got up out of
his chair and went to the stairs.

"I'm going with you," Nancy said, hurriedly rising and coming over to
him.

"We'll go up and look at him together."

They found Reggie peacefully asleep in his crib in his room upstairs.
They checked the windows and tucked in the blankets. They paused in
the room for a moment and then Martin stole his arm around his wife
and led her to the door.

"As I've said, sergeant, this fellow hypnotized my wife. He made her
think he was her brother. She doesn't even have a brother. Then he
tried to get away with the baby." Martin leaned down and patted the
dog. "It was Tiger here who scared him off."

The police sergeant looked at the father, at Nancy and then at the
dog. He scribbled notes in his book.

"Are you a rich man, Mr. Laughton?" he asked.

"Not at all. The bank still owns most of the house. I have a few
hundred dollars, that's all."

"What do you do?"

"Office work, mostly. I'm a junior executive in an insurance company."

"Any enemies?"

"No ... Oh, I suppose I have a few people I don't get along with, like
anybody else. Nobody who'd do anything like this, though."

The sergeant flipped his notebook closed. "You'd better keep your dog
inside and around the kid as much as possible. Keep your doors and
windows locked. I'll see that the prowl car keeps an eye on the house.
Call us if anything seems unusual or out of the way."

Nancy had taken a sedative and was asleep by the time Martin finished
cleaning the .30-.30 rifle he used for deer hunting. He put it by the
stairs, ready for use, fully loaded, leaning it against the wall next
to the telephone stand.

       *       *       *       *       *

The front door bell rang. He answered it. It was Dr. Stuart and
another man.

"I came as soon as I could, Martin," the young doctor said, stepping
inside with the other man. "This is my new assistant, Dr. Tompkins."

Martin and Tompkins shook hands.

"The baby--?" Dr. Stuart asked.

"Upstairs," Martin said.

"You'd better get him, Dr. Tompkins, if we're to take him to the
hospital. I'll stay here with Mr. Laughton. How've you been, Martin?"

"Fine."

"How's everything at the office?"

"Fine."

"And your wife?"

"She's fine, too."

"Glad to hear it, Martin. Mighty glad. Say, by the way, there's that
bill you owe me. I think it's $32, isn't that right?"

"Yes, I'd almost forgotten about it."

"Why don't you be a good fellow and write a check for it? It's been
over a year, you know."

"That's right. I'll get right at it." Martin went over to his desk,
opened it and started looking for his checkbook. Dr. Stuart stood by
him, making idle comment until Dr. Tompkins came down the stairs with
the sleeping baby cuddled against his shoulder.

"Never mind the check, now, Martin. I see we're ready to go." He went
over to his assistant and took the baby. Together they walked out the
front door.

"Good-bye," Martin said, going to the door.

Then he was nearly bowled over by the discharge of the .30-.30. Dr.
Stuart crumpled to the ground, the baby falling to the lawn. Dr.
Tompkins whirled and there was a second shot. Dr. Tompkins pitched
forward on his face.

The figure of a woman ran from the house, retrieved the now squalling
infant and ran back into the house. Once inside, Nancy slammed the
door, gave the baby to the stunned Martin and headed for the
telephone.

"One of them was the same man!" she cried.

Martin gasped, sinking into a chair with the baby. "I believed them,"
he said slowly and uncomprehendingly. "They made me believe them!"

"Those bodies," the sergeant said. "Would you mind pointing them out
to me, please?"

"Aren't they--aren't they on the walk?" Mrs. Laughton asked.

"There is nothing on the walk, Mrs. Laughton."

"But there _must_ be! I tell you I shot these men who posed as
doctors. One of them was the same man who tried to take the baby this
afternoon. They hypnotized my husband--"

"Yes, I know, Mrs. Laughton. We've been through that." The sergeant
went to the door and opened it. "Say, Homer, take another look around
the walk and the bushes. There's supposed to be two of them. Shot with
a .30-.30."

He turned and picked up the gun and examined it again. "Ever shoot a
gun before, Mrs. Laughton?"

"Many times. Martin and I used to go hunting together before we had
Reggie."

The sergeant nodded. "You were taking an awful chance, shooting at a
guy carrying your baby, don't you think?"

"I shot him in the legs. The other--the other turned and I shot him in
the chest. I could even see his eyes when he turned around. If I
hadn't pulled the trigger then ... I don't want to remember it."

The patrolman pushed the door open. "There's no bodies out here but
there's some blood. Quite a lot of blood. A little to one side of the
walk."

The policemen went out.

"Thank God you woke up, Nancy," Martin said. "I'd have let them have
the baby." He reached over and smoothed the sleeping Reggie's hair.

Nancy, who was rocking the boy, narrowed her eyes.

"I wonder why they want our baby? He's just like any other baby. We
don't have any money. We couldn't pay a ransom."

"Reggie's pretty cute, though," Martin said. "You will have to admit
that."

Nancy smiled. Then she suddenly stopped rocking.

"Martin!"

He sat up quickly.

"Where's Tiger?"

Together they rose and walked around the room. They found him in a
corner, eyes open, tongue protruding. He was dead.

       *       *       *       *       *

"If we keep Reggie in the house much longer he'll turn out to be a
hermit," Martin said at breakfast a month later. "He needs fresh air
and sunshine."

"I'm not going to sit on the lawn alone with him, Martin. I just
can't, that's all. I'd be able to think of nothing but that day."

"Still thinking about it? I think we'd have heard from them again if
they were coming back. They probably got somebody else's baby by this
time." Martin finished his coffee and rose to kiss her good-bye. "But
for safety's sake I guess you'd better keep that gun handy."

The morning turned into a brilliant, sunshiny day. Puffs of clouds
moved slowly across the summer sky and a warm breeze rustled the
trees. It would be a crime to keep Reggie inside on a day like this,
Nancy thought.

So she called Mrs. MacDougal, the next door neighbor. Mrs. MacDougal
was familiar with what had happened to the Laughtons and she agreed to
keep an eye on Nancy and Reggie and to call the police at the first
sign of trouble.

With a fearful but determined heart Nancy moved the play pen and set
it up in the front yard. She spread a blanket for herself and put
Reggie in the pen. Her heart pounded all the while and she watched the
street for any strangers, ready to flee inside if need be. Reggie just
gurgled with delight at the change in environment.

       *       *       *       *       *

This peaceful scene was disturbed by a speeding car in which two men
were riding. The car roared up the street, swerved toward the parkway,
tires screaming, bounced over the curb and sidewalk, straight toward
the child and mother. Reggie, attracted by the sudden noise, looked up
to see the approaching vehicle. His mother stood up, set her palms
against her cheeks and shrieked.

The car came on, crunched over the play pen, killing the child. The
mother was hit and instantly killed, force of the blow snapping her
spine and tossing her against the house. The car plunged on into a
tree, hitting it a terrible blow, crumbling the car's forward end so
it looked like an accordion. The men were thrown from the machine.

"We'll never be able to prosecute in this case," the states attorney
said. "At least not on a drunken driving basis."

"I can't get over it," the chief of police said. "I've got at least
six men who will swear the man was drunk. He staggered, reeled and
gave the usual drunk talk. He reeked of whiskey."

The prosecutor handed the report over the desk. "Here's the analysis.
Not a trace of alcohol. He couldn't have even had a smell of near
beer. Here's another report. This is his physical exam made not long
afterwards. The man was in perfect health. Only variations are he had
a scar on his leg where something, probably a dog, bit him once. And
then a scar on his chest. It looked like an old gunshot wound, they
said. Must have happened years ago."

"That's odd. The man who accosted Mrs. Laughton in the afternoon was
bitten by their dog. Later that night she said she shot the same man
in the chest. Since the scars are healed it obviously couldn't be the
same man. But there's a real coincidence for you. And speaking of the
dogbite, the Laughton dog died that night. His menu evidently didn't
agree with him. Never did figure what killed him, actually."

"Any record of treatment on the man she shot?"

"The _men_. You'll remember, there were two. No, we never found a
trace of either. No doctor ever made a report of a gunshot wound that
night. No hospital had a case either--at least not within several
hundred miles--that night or several nights afterwards. Ever been shot
with .30-.30?"

The state attorney shook his head. "I wouldn't be here if I had."

"I'll say you wouldn't. The pair must have crawled away to die God
knows where."

"Getting back to the man who ran over the child and killed Mrs.
Laughton. Why did he pretend to be drunk?"

It was the chief's turn to shake his head. "Your guess is as good as
mine. There are a lot of angles to this case none of us understand. It
looks deliberate, but where's the motive?"

"What does the man have to say?"

"I was afraid you'd get to him," the chief said, his neck reddening.
"It's all been rather embarrassing to the department." He coughed
self-consciously. "He's proved a strange one, all right. He says his
name is John Smith and he's got cards to prove it, too--for example, a
social security card. It looks authentic, yet there's no such number
on file in Washington, so we've discovered. We've had him in jail for
a week and we've all taken turns questioning him. He laughs and admits
his guilt--in fact, he seems amused by most everything. Sometimes all
alone in his cell he'll start laughing for no apparent reason. It
gives you the creeps."

       *       *       *       *       *

The states attorney leaned back in his chair. "Maybe it's a case for
an alienist."

"One jump ahead of you. Dr. Stone thinks he's normal, but won't put
down any I.Q. Actually, he can't figure him out himself. Smith seems
to take delight in answering questions--sort of anticipates them and
has the answer ready before you're half through asking."

"Well, if Dr. Stone says he's normal, that's enough for me." The
prosecutor was silent for a moment. Then, "How about the husband?"

"Laughton? We're afraid to let him see him. All broken up. No telling
what kind of a rumpus he'd start--especially if Smith started his
funny business."

"Guess you're right. Well, Mr. Smith won't think it's so funny when we
hang criminal negligence or manslaughter on him. By the way, you've
checked possible family connections?"

"Nobody ever saw John Smith before. Even at the address on his
driver's license. And there's no duplicate of that in Springfield, in
case you're interested."

The man who had laughingly told police his name was John Smith lay on
his cot in the county jail, his eyes closed, his arms folded across
his chest. This gave him the appearance of being alert despite
reclining. Even as he lay, his mouth held a hint of a smile.

Arvid 6--for John Smith _was_ Arvid 6--had lain in that position for
more than four hours, when suddenly he snapped his eyes open and
appeared to be listening. For a moment a look of concern crossed his
face and he swung his legs to the floor and sat there expectantly.
Arvid 6 knew Tendal 13 had materialized and was somewhere in the
building.

Eventually there were some sounds from beyond the steel cell and
doorway. There was a clang when the outer doorway was opened and Arvid
6 rose from his cot.

"Your lawyer's here to see you," the jailer said, indicating the man
with the brief case. "Ring the buzzer when you're through." The jailer
let the man in, locked the cell door and walked away.

The man threw the brief case on the jail cot and stood glaring.

"Your damned foolishness has gone far enough. I'm sick and tired of
it," he declared. "If you carry on any more we'll never get back to
the Ultroom!"

"I'm sorry, Tendal," the man on the cot said. "I didn't think--"

"You're absolutely right. You didn't think. Crashing that car into
that tree and killing that woman--that was the last straw. You don't
even deserve to get back to our era. You ought to be made to rot
here."

"I'm _really_ sorry about that," Arvid 6 said.

       *       *       *       *       *

"You know the instructions. Just because you work in the Ultroom don't
get to thinking human life doesn't have any value. We wouldn't be here
if it hadn't. But to unnecessarily kill--" The older man shook his
head. "You could have killed yourself as well and we'd never get the
job done. As it is, you almost totally obliterated me." Tendal 13
paced the length of the cell and back again, gesturing as he talked.

"It was only with the greatest effort I pulled myself back together
again. I doubt that you could have done it. And then all the while
you've been sitting here, probably enjoying yourself with your special
brand of humor I have grown to despise."

"You didn't have to come along at all, you know," Arvid 6 said.

"How well I know! How sorry I am that I ever did! It was only because
I was sorry for you, because someone older and more experienced than
you was needed. I volunteered. Imagine that! I volunteered! Tendal 13
reaches the height of stupidity and volunteers to help Arvid 6 go back
6,000 years to bring Kanad back, to correct a mistake Arvid 6 made!"
He snorted. "I still can't believe I was ever that stupid. I only
prove it when I pinch myself and here I am.

"Oh, you've been a joy to be with! First it was that hunt in ancient
Mycenae when you let the lion escape the hunters' quaint spears and we
were partly eaten by the lion in the bargain, although you dazzled the
hunters, deflecting their spears. And then your zest for drink when we
were with Octavian in Alexandria that led to everybody's amusement but
ours when we were ambushed by Anthony's men. And worst of all, that
English barmaid you became engrossed with at our last stop in 1609,
when her husband mistook me for you and you let him take me apart
piece by piece--"

"All right, all right," Arvid 6 said. "I'll admit I've made some
mistakes. You're just not adventurous, that's all."

"Shut up! For once you're going to listen to me. Our instructions
specifically stated we were to have as little as possible to do with
these people. But at every turn you've got us more and more enmeshed
with them. If that's adventure, you can have it." Tendal 13 sat down
wearily and sank his head in his hands. "It was you who conceived the
idea of taking Reggie right out of his play pen. 'Watch me take that
child right out from under its mother's nose' were your exact words.
And before I could stop you, you did. Only you forgot an important
factor in the equation--the dog, Tiger. And you nursed a dogbite most
of the afternoon before it healed. And then you took your spite out on
the poor thing by suggesting suffocation to it that night.

"And speaking of that night, you remember we agreed I was to do the
talking. But no, you pulled a switch and captured Martin Laughton's
attention. 'I came as soon as I could, Martin,' you said. And suddenly
I played a very minor role. 'This is my new assistant, Dr. Tompkins,'
you said. And then what happened? I get shot in the legs and you get a
hole in your back. We were both nearly obliterated that time and we
didn't even come close to getting the child.

"Still you wanted to run the whole show. 'I'm younger than you,' you
said. 'I'll take the wheel.' And the next thing I know I'm floating in
space halfway to nowhere with two broken legs, a spinal injury,
concussion and some of the finest bruises you ever saw."

       *       *       *       *       *

"These twentieth century machines aren't what they ought to be," Arvid
6 said.

"You never run out of excuses, do you, Arvid? Remember what you said
in the Ultroom when you pushed the lever clear over and transferred
Kanad back 6,000 years? 'My hand slipped.' As simple as that. 'My hand
slipped.' It was so simple everyone believed you. You were given no
real punishment. In a way it was a reward--at least to you--getting to
go back and rescue the life germ of Kanad out of each era he'd be born
in."

Tendal 13 turned and looked steadily and directly at Arvid 6. "Do you
know what I think? I think you deliberately pushed the lever over as
far as it would go _just to see what would happen_. That's how simple
I think it was."

Arvid 6 flushed, turned away and looked at the floor.

"What crazy things have you been doing since I've been gone?" Tendal
13 asked.

Arvid 6 sighed. "After what you just said I guess it wouldn't amuse
you, although it has me. They got to me right after the accident
before I had a chance to collect my wits, dematerialize or
anything--you said we shouldn't dematerialize in front of anybody."

"That's right."

"Well, I didn't know what to do. I could see they thought I was drunk,
so I was. But they had a blood sample before I could manufacture any
alcohol in my blood, although I implanted a memory in them that I
reeked of it." He laughed. "I fancy they're thoroughly confused."

"And you're thoroughly amused, no doubt. Have they questioned you?"

"At great length. They had a psychiatrist in to see me. He was a queer
fellow with the most stupid set of questions and tests I ever saw."

"And you amused yourself with him."

"I suppose you'd think so."

"Who do you tell them you are?"

"John Smith. A rather prevalent name here, I understand. I
manufactured a pasteboard called a social security card and a driver's
license--"

"Never mind. It's easy to see you've been your own inimitable self.
Believe me, if I ever get back to the Ultroom I hope I never see you
again. And I hope I'll never leave there again though I'm rejuvenated
through a million years."

"Was Kanad's life germ transferred all right this time?"

Tendal 13 shook his head. "I haven't heard. The transfers are getting
more difficult all the time. In 1609, you'll remember, it was a case
of pneumonia for the two-year-old. A simple procedure. It wouldn't
work here. Medicine's too far along." He produced a notebook. "The
last jump was 342 years, a little more than average. The next ought to
be around 2250. Things will be more difficult than ever there,
probably."

"Do you think Kanad will be angry about all this?"

"How would you like to have to go through all those birth processes,
to have your life germ knocked from one era to the next?"

"Frankly, I didn't think he'd go back so far."

"If it had been anybody but Kanad nobody'd ever have thought of going
back after it. The life germ of the head of the whole galactic system
who came to the Ultroom to be transplanted to a younger body--and then
sending him back beyond his original birth date--" Tendal 13 got up
and commenced his pacing again. "Oh, I suppose Kanad's partly to
blame, wanting rejuvenating at only 300 years. Some have waited a
thousand or more or until their bones are like paper."

"I just wonder how angry Kanad will be," Arvid muttered.

     _HB92167. Ultroom Error. Tendal 13. Arvid 6. Kanad transfer
     out of 1951 complete. Next Kanad transfer ready. 2267.
     Phullam 19, son of Orla 39 and Rhoda R, 22H Level M,
     Hemisphere B, Quadrant 3, Sector I. Arrive his 329th Day._

                                                       _TB92167_

       *       *       *       *       *

Arvid 6 rose from the cot and the two men faced each other.

"Before we leave, Arvid," Tendal 13 started to say.

"I know, I know. You want me to let you handle everything."

"Exactly. Is that too much to ask after all you've done?"

"I guess I have made mistakes. From now on you be the boss. I'll do
whatever you say."

"I hope I can count on that." Tendal 13 rang the jail buzzer.

The jailer unlocked the cell door.

"You remember the chief said it's all right to take him with me,
Matthews," Tendal 13 told the jailer.

"Yes, I remember," the jailer said mechanically, letting them both out
of the cell.

They walked together down the jail corridor. When they came to another
barred door the jailer fumbled with the keys and clumsily tried
several with no luck.

Arvid 6, an amused set to his mouth and devilment in his eyes, watched
the jailer's expression as he walked through the bars of the door. He
laughed as he saw the jailer's eyes bulge.

"Arvid!"

Tendal 13 walked briskly through the door, snatched Arvid 6 by the
shoulders and shook him.

The jailer watched stupified as the two men vanished in the middle of
a violent argument.

       *       *       *       *       *