Free Tomorrow Is Too Far by James White Page A

unbelievable story, but I believe you.’
    ‘Gee, thanks.’
    ‘... In fact,’ Carson went on, ‘it is remarkably like a wish-fulfilment dream. You know, boy watches planes taking off and landing, gets the chance of a flight, finds he is a natural born pilot, qualifies for more complex aircraft culminating in him becoming a top test pilot and being considered for inclusion in the next batch of trainee astronauts . . .’
    Astronauts , he thought; Tau Ceti ...
    ‘... But pilots are not born, they are made,’ Carson continued. ‘In my case with extreme difficulty. It’s rather disquieting to think that someone who doesn’t know enough about money to ride on a bus is teaching me to fly....’
    A shade apprehensively, Donnelly said, ‘I didn’t mean to worry you, Joe. He has come a long way since ... ‘
    ‘Relax,’ said Carson. ‘I told you that I don’t intend changing my instructor at this stage. Besides, if we are all figments of John Pebbles’s wish-fulfilment dream, I don’t think I would be able to...’
    On the way home he drove past Pebbles’s address and stopped at the police station two streets farther on. He knew the station inspector from way back and should, by pulling the old pals act, be able to keep his enquiries unofficial even though they had never liked each other when they had worked together. George Russell had been big, loud, sarcastic and insensitive in those days and apparently only his voice had changed for the better.
    ‘Pebbles isn’t exactly a public enemy,’ said Inspector Russell quietly. ‘He broke a window once playing ball in the street with kids less than half his age and size, but he paid for it. Are you chasing spies again, Joe?’
    ‘No, George,’ said Carson, and explained, ‘he is a dimwit about some things and there is danger of his getting into serious trouble at the factory because he is so easily led. I need a little background information about his home life and so on--to help me understand him before I start talking to him like a very stern father.’
    ‘You always were a lousy policeman, Joe, and you haven’t changed a bit,’ said Russell, laughing. ‘With crime--the detection of criminals--you were very good indeed. But punishment--especially the punishment of habitual or petty criminals--always seemed to bother you. I suppose that was why you resigned from the force
    ‘That was it,’ said Carson drily. ‘There weren’t enough master criminals to keep me occupied. But about Pebbles...?’
    Russell laughed again. ‘I didn’t think you needed to check on mental defectives--oh, all right, I’m just pulling your leg. He boards with a widow called Kirk. Well, not exactly a widow--her husband left her shortly after their first child, a mongol boy, was born and hasn’t been seen since. She really loved that boy even though there were complications which meant that he couldn’t live much past nine or ten years. When he died about four years ago she went to pieces for a while, until Pebbles came along. Now she treats him as her son, is intensely proud of the way he is improving, going to night school and so on. I think she tells herself that if her own boy had lived he might have been able to make good just like Pebbles has done.
    ‘She’s not quite right in the head,’ Russell concluded, ‘but harmless and well liked. Don’t worry her with this, Joe.’
    ‘I won’t even have to talk to her,’ said Carson as he rose to go. He could not help adding, ‘You have changed quite a lot, George ...’
    Any real information about Pebbles’s background would probably entail asking personal questions of the man himself. Perhaps if he tried to talk to him at Hart-Ewing’s instead of at the club, showed a friendly interest in his new job, something might develop. Among the test gantries and aircraft sections undergoing their continuing series of simulated take-offs, wind-buffetings, engine vibration and landing shocks there would be no problems about which