The Universe Maker by A. E. van Vogt Page A

had not brought an end to physical activity. And so, for two hours more, there had been a further drain on his strength.
    He saw that the girl was studying his face. She said after a moment, matter-of-factly: "I'll have some food prepared for you. And then you can go to bed. I imagine you can use it"
    Cargill wasn't hungry, but it occurred to him that he hadn't eaten for twenty-four hours, and maybe he'd better have something. Ann Reece was turning away when Cargill remembered something. "I've been intending to ask you," he said. "What happened to you after I escaped that first time?"
    "I reported your escape to Grannis, naturally. About half an hour later there was a time adjustment and I had to do the job again."
    "Half— an— hour—later?" said Cargill. He stared at her, more startled then he cared to admit. His picture of the process of time manipulation had been vague. Suddenly he saw it as something that was done to one individual. She hadn't lived those months. For her the adjustment had taken place this very first night. Those who controlled the time stream really had potent power over its flow.
    It didn't seem to occur to Ann Reece to ask what had happened to him. She moved to a door and disappeared.
    Cargill was served a thick steak, medium rare, a baked potato and for dessert a baked apple. He ate with a concentration and purpose that reminded him of his first meal aboard the Bouvy floater. Thought of Lela made him feel tense. And so, when he suddenly looked up and saw that Ann was sitting back, watching him with amusement, it irritated him. She had changed her dress while the meal was being prepared. The short skirt was gone and she wore a long blue gown that matched the color of her eyes. It also made her look much younger. She had a pert face on which she wore a faintly calculating expression. Her lips were firm and well-shaped, and she carried herself with an air of great assurance.
    "What's all this about?" Cargill said. "What are you going to train me for?"
    Her expression changed. A set look came into her eyes and her lips tightened. But her voice retained some of the humor of her earlier amusement. She said, "You're the key figure. Without you there's no war."
    "I'm sure I'm thrilled," said Cargill acridly. "Does that make me a general?"
    "Not exactly." She broke off, snapped: "We're sick of the horrible world the Shadows have created for us." Her voice had lost its lightness. It was hard with anger. She flared: "Imagine changing the past, so that people will gradually become more civilized, get over their neuroses, and all that nonsense. It's against reason, against—religion."
    "Religion?" said Cargill, remembering his own speculations. "Do you believe in the soul?"
    "God is within everyone," she said.
    Cargill had heard that one before. "People keep saying that," he said, "but then they act as if they don't mean it. Let's just assume for a moment that it's true."
    "Of course it's true." She was impatient. "What do you mean, assume?"
    "I mean," said Cargill, "let's assume it as a scientific fact."
    She was silent. A wary expression came into her face. Cargill knew that look. He had seen it in the eyes of the chaplain of his company, and in the faces of other people whenever the subject of their belief was pressed too hard.
    "Scientific?" she said, and she made it a term of opprobrium.
    Cargill laughed. He couldn't help it. Her house was filled with "scientific" equipment. She had rescued him by the use of scientifically developed mechanisms that impressed even him, who came from a scientifically oriented world. But now he had applied the term to a forbidden area of thought.
    He ceased his laughter with an effort, and said soberly: "I'm honestly beginning to believe that I'm the only person who really thinks the soul might exist. My picture of it is perhaps a little more wonderful than that of even those who give lip service to the word and to the idea behind it. At first, I thought it might be an