Special Deliverance by Clifford D. Simak Page A

was the feel of years between this place and the college town. Nostalgia swept over him and he felt the powerful urge to turn about and retrace his steps, to get up from the campfire and go back down the trail. Although, he knew, it would not be that simple. Even should he go back, he’d be going back no farther than the inn or, perhaps, the woodland glen in which he had first found himself. There was no trail back to the college, to Andy, to Alice, to the world that he had known. Between him and his former life lay an imponderable and he had no idea what it was.
    He could not go back. He must go on, for only in that way could he possibly find the way back home. There was something here that he must find, and until he found it, there was no road back home. Even when he found it, if he ever did, there still was no guarantee there would be a way back home.
    It might be a foolish thing to do, but he had no choice. He must keep on. He could not drop out, as the four card players at the inn had dropped out.
    He tried to conjure up a logical mechanism by which he—he and the others—had been translated to this place. The whole thing smacked of magic yet it could not be magic. Whatever had been done must have utilized the application of certain physical laws. Magic itself, if it did exist, he argued with himself, must be no more than the application of physical laws as yet unknown back in the world he’d come from.
    Andy, talking over their drinks at the Faculty Club, had talked of an end to knowledge, an end to physical law. But Andy had not known or even had a glimmer of understanding about the concepts that he had talked about; he was doing no more than flapping his mouth around to produce philosophical mutterings.
    Could the answer be here, he wondered, in this world where he sat beside the campfire? Might that be what he was supposed to hunt for—and if it were, and if he found it, would he recognize it? Even should he find the end of knowing, would he know it?
    Disgusted with himself, he tried to wipe his mind clean of his thoughts, but they refused to go away.
    They found a camping place where the other three had stopped, the cold ashes of their fire, the wrapper from a box of crackers, scattered cheese rinds, emptied coffee grounds.
    The weather stayed good. At times clouds rolled up from the western horizon, but they soon cleared away.
    There was no rain. The rays stayed bright and warm.
    On the third night out, Lansing woke suddenly from a sound sleep. He fought his way to a sitting position, pressing against a force that tried to hold him down.
    In the flicker of the firelight, he saw Jurgens standing over him. The robot’s hand was gripping his shoulder and he was making shushing sounds.
    “What’s the matter?”
    “It’s Miss Mary, sir. There is something wrong with her. Like a fit.”
    Lansing turned his head to look. Mary sat upright in her sleeping bag. Her head was tilted back so that she looked toward the sky.
    He struggled out of his bed, stumbled to his feet.
    “I spoke to her,” said Jurgens, “and she didn’t hear me. I spoke several times, asking what’s the matter, what could I do for her.”
    Lansing strode over to her. She seemed carved in stone—stiff and straight, held in an invisible vise.
    He stooped over her, cupping her face in his hands, pressing gently.
    “Mary,” he said. “Mary, what is wrong?”
    She paid him no attention.
    He slapped her with one hand, then slapped her with the other. The muscles of her face relaxed and shivered. She collapsed, reaching out for him—not for him, he knew, but for anyone.
    He seized her and cradled her close against him. She was shaking uncontrollably and began to sob, soft, subdued sobbing.
    “I’ll make a pot of tea,” said Jurgens, “and build up the fire. She needs warmth, inside and outside of her as well.”
    “Where am I?” she whispered. “You’re here with us. You’re safe.”
    “Edward?”
    “Yes, Edward. And Jurgens. He’s