Free Time Waits for Winthrop by William Tenn Page B

That’s about as simple as I can make it, Mary Ann. Do you understand now?”
    “A—a little,” she confessed. “You mean it’s like Flureet not wanting to save you when you were almost being killed in that micro-hunt, because maybe, unconsciously, you
wanted
to get yourself killed?”
    “Right! And believe me, Flureet wouldn’t have lifted a finger, old friend or no old friend, your romantic twentieth-century dither notwithstanding, if she hadn’t been on the verge of major transformation, with the concurrent psychological remove from all normal standards and present-day human frames of reference.”
    “What
is
this major transformation business?”
    Gygyo shook his head emphatically. “Don’t ask me that; It’s a concept and a practice as peculiar to our time as—oh, say, tabloid journalism and election-night excitement are to yours. What you want to appreciate is this other thing—the way we protect and
nurture
the individual eccentric impulse, even if it should be suicidal. Let me put it this way. The French Revolution tried to sum itself up in the slogan,
Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité
; the American Revolution used the phrase, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.
    “We feel that the entire essence of our civilization is contained in these words: The Utter Sacredness of the Individual and the Individual Eccentric Impulse. The last part is the most important, because without it our society would have as much right to interfere with the individual as yours did. A man wouldn’t even have the elementary freedom of doing away himself without first getting the proper papers filled out by the proper government official. A person who wanted to—”
    M ary Ann stood up with determination. “All right! I’m not the least little bit interested in this nonsense. You won’t help us in any way, you don’t care if we’re stuck here for the rest of our natural lives, and that’s that! I might as well go.”
    “In the name of the Covenant, girl, what did you
expect
me to tell you? I’m no Oracle Machine. I’m just a man.”
    “A man?” she cried scornfully. “You call yourself a man? Why, a man would—a real man would just—Oh, let me get out of here!”
    The dark-haired young man shrugged and rose, too. He called for a jumper. When it materialized beside them, he gestured toward it courteously. Mary Ann started for it, paused, then held out a hand to him.
    “Gygyo,” she said, “whether we stay or leave on time, I’m never going to see you again. I’ve made up my mind on that. But there’s one thing I want you to know.”
As if realizing what she was going to say, he had dropped his eyes. His head was bent over the hand he had taken.
    Seeing this, Mary Ann felt her voice grow gentler and more tender. “It’s just—just that—oh, Gygyo, it’s that you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. Ever really, truly, absolutely and completely loved. I want you to know that, Gygyo.”
    He didn’t reply. He was still holding her fingers tightly and she couldn’t see his eyes.
    “Gygyo,” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re feeling the same, aren’t—”
He looked up. There was an expression of puzzlement on his face. He pointed to the fingers he had been holding. Each nail was colored with a bright, recently applied lacquer.
    “Why in the world,” he asked, “do you limit it to the fingernail? Most primitive peoples did it on larger parts of the body. One would expect that at least you would tattoo the whole hand—Mary Ann! Did I say anything wrong again?”
    Sobbing bitterly, the girl darted past him and into the jumper.
    She went back to Mrs. Brucks’ room, and, when she had been calmed sufficiently, explained why Gygyo Rablin, the temporal supervisor, either could not or would not help them with Winthrop’s stubbornness.
    D ave Pollock glared around the oval room. “So we give up? Is that what it comes to? Not one person in all this brilliant, gimmicky, gadgety future will lift