out of a knotted clasp.
Harlan, waiting vainly for another sentence out of the old man, cleared his throat. He found himself pitying the man, pitying him despite the many crimes he had committed. He said, "And that's all?"
Twissell whispered, "No, the worst-the worst-- An analogue of my son did exist. In the new Reality, he existed-as a paraplegic from the age of four. Forty-two years in bed, under circumstances that barred me from arranging to have the nerve-regenerating techniques of the 900's applied to his case, or even for arranging to have his life ended painlessly.
"That new Reality still exists. My son is still out there in the appropriate portion of the Century. I did that to him. It was my mind and my Computaplex that discovered this new life for him, and my word that ordered the Change. I had committed a number of crimes for his sake and for his mother's, but that one last deed, though strictly in accordance with my oath as an Eternal, has always seemed to me to be my great crime, the crime."
There was nothing to say, and Harlan said nothing.
Twissell said, "But you see now why I understand your case, why I will be willing to let you have your girl. It would not harm Eternity and, in a way, it would be expiation for my crime."
And Harlan believed. All in one change of mind, he believed!
Harlan sank to his knees and lifted his clenched fists to his temples. He bent his head and rocked slowly as savage despair beat through him.
He had thrown Eternity away, and lost Noys-when, except for his Samson-smash, he might have saved one and kept the other.
15. Search through the Primitive
Twissell was shaking Harlan's shoulders. The old man's voice urgently called his name.
"Harlan! Harlan! For Time's sake, man."
Harlan emerged only slowly from the slough. "What are we to do?"
"Certainly not this. Not despair. To begin with, listen to me. Forget your Technician's view of Eternity and look at it through a Computer's eyes. The view is more sophisticated. When you alter something in Time and create a Reality Change, the Change may take place at once. Why should that be?"
Harlan said shakily, "Because your alteration has made the Change inevitable?"
"Has it? You could go back and reverse your alteration, couldn't you?"
"I suppose so. I never did, though. Or anyone that I heard of."
"Right. There is no intention of reversing an alteration, so it goes through as planned. But here we have something else. An unintentional alteration. You sent Cooper into the wrong Century and now I firmly intend to reverse that alteration and bring Cooper back here."
"For Time's sake, how?"
"I'm not sure yet, but there must be a way. If there were no way, the alteration would be irreversible; Change would come at once. But Change has not come. We are still in the Reality of the Mallansohn memoir. That means the alteration is reversible and will be reversed."
"What?" Harlan's nightmare was expanding and swirling, growing murkier and more engulfing.
"There must be some way of knitting the circle in Time together again and our ability to find the way to do it must be a high-probability affair. As long as our Reality exists, we can be certain that the solution remains high-probability. If at any moment, you or I make the wrong decision, if the probability of healing the circle falls below some crucial magnitude, Eternity disappears. Do you understand?"
Harlan was not sure that he did. He wasn't trying very hard. Slowly he got to his feet and stumbled his way into a chair. "You mean we can get Cooper back--"
"And send him to the right place, yes. Catch him at the moment he leaves the kettle and he may end up in his proper place in the 24th no more than a few physiohours older; physiodays, at the most. It would be an alteration, of course, but undoubtedly not enough of one. Reality would be rocked, boy, but not upset."
"But how do we get him?"
"We know there's a way, or Eternity wouldn't be existing this moment. As to what that way is, that is why I need you, why I've fought to get you back on my side. You're the expert on the Primitive. Tell me."
"I can't," groaned Harlan.
"You can," insisted Twissell.
There was suddenly no trace of age or weariness in the old man's voice. His eyes were ablaze with the light of combat and he wielded his cigarette like a lance. Even to Harlan's regret-drugged