"Is it really him, Blubirdo, really him?" Flavhundo gasped, barely able to choke out the words so overcome with emotion was he. Blubirdo nodded solemnly, his eyes wet with tears.

"It is. None other. Him. The youth, the young Zamenhof."

"Who will grow up to be Dr. Ludovic Lazarus Zamenhof. Who will change the history of the world!"

"Who will one day..."

Blubirdo's words ended in an explosion of golden light and a puff of greasy smoke as he and his companion vanished from sight. The larger of the two men who had appeared on the road behind them lowered the crystalline, convoluted weapon and grinned a thoroughly wicked grin.

"There you are, Mister Frog," he said, his voice as coarse and pock-marked as his skin. "It works. The Alternate Hooverizer has sucked those semantic swine out of existence."

"DuPont, zee name ees DuPont, not Frog," the dark-haired man said, then tapped the metal box on his hip and pointed to the cable that ran from it to his companion's gun. "A fine weapon indeed, Double-oh seven eleven, but useless without zees powerpack. We are in zees together. To zee end."

"Bang-on, Du Pont. Together to the end."

Your end, Frog, 007-11 thought to himself as he lit up a H-coke joint. When this job is done I'll see to it that you and the rest of the snail-eaters will end up in the big bidet in the sky.

These happy thoughts were replaced by overwhelming hatred as the lonely walker came nearer, baring a chapped hand to rub at his red and dripping nose. 007-11 threw himself forward, fingers clawing and grasping, to rend, tear and kill. DuPont, possessed with equal hatred, did the same, stabbing again and again with a long knife that had been concealed in his sleeve.

The fingers tore empty air, the knife went through the figure and out with no effect. Ludovic Zamenhof stumbled along the icy road, blissfully unaware of the unseen forces that boiled around him.

"What fools you gaijin are," the slim oriental girl said, widening her nostrils in disdain. "You will receive the fate you so well deserve, rotten English, despicable French."

007-11 turned his weapon on her sputtering with rage, pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. "Zee power is off," DuPont said. "There is no need to waste energy on Japanese. Zay dropped out soon after Thai and Siamese."

"That is true," the girl said, brushing a lock of black hair - untouched by the driving snow - from before her eyes. "But we stepped aside with oriental grace, were superior to the western brutality you white-eyed bastards are attempting. We will be spectators to your final destruction."

The English agent snarled and spluttered saliva as he squeezed the useless trigger, again and again. DuPont touched his arm with understanding.

"Forget this oriental prostituée, mon ami. Time is short and the important deed is yet to be done."

"Of course, dreadfully sorry. Our mission must come first." He drew himself up and saluted. DuPont placed his hand over his heart and nodded solemn agreement. "Our mission. It will be done."

They turned away and tried to ignore the cynical oriental laughter behind them.

"How much more time do we have?" 007-11 asked. DuPont consulted a thick watch-like instrument on his wrist. It had two dials and seventeen hands.

"An hour, no more. The alternity node eez coming quite close."

"After him then! We must be there when the moment arrives."

They hurried away through the gloom of the Polish winter evening, through the winding streets of Bielostok, towards the Zamenhof home. Young Ludwig was already inside and they went after him, walking boldly through the front wall and down the hall to the rear. DuPont poked his head through the kitchen door, then withdrew it.

"We have zee time we need. Zey are having their tea with bagels and bortsch. It looks - how you say? - very eatable."

007-11 growled angrily. "Will you forget your stomach and think about saving the world. Our world."

"Dummkopf, perhaps it is not worth saving." The voice was deep, the accent thick, the surprise complete. French and English spun about and gaped at the large blond men who had crowded into the hall behind them. 007-11 raised his weapon but the nearest man shook his head.

"We are not your enemies - or your friends. We Germanic languages have decided to be neutral. We exist in both alternative futures. So we have just come to watch. Dutch and Danish voted against you, but they were the minority. We are observers."

"Thanks for nothing," 007-11 snarled. "We could use your help. "

"You are not getting it. The alternity node could be negatively affected and both of the futures we know of might be destroyed. At this moment there are two possible futures with equal chances of coming into being. If the young Zamenhof opens the package that was delivered today he will find the French grammar that he ordered. When he reads it he will make his monumental discovery that the bulk of the vocabulary of a language consists not of independent roots - but of compounds and derivatives formed from a comparatively small number of roots. Filled with enthusiasm by this insight, he will begin the studies and labours that will eventually lead to his evolving the language of Esperanto. The language will spread until, one day, it will be taught in every school in every land. With this common language the world will be at peace and mankind will march gloriously into the golden future."

"Merde!" DuPont sniffed. "A future where the noble French tongue will be spoken mainly by French peasants. Eet shall not be! "

"Bloody right! The alternative is the world we come from, where English and French rule supreme and Esperanto is only studied in secret underground cells by linguistic traitors!"

"Only after the Plague Wars with the Soviets," the Dane said, tapping the red and white flag on his lapel. "in your future we Danes live a rough life - like most of the other linguistic groups. You must not forget that in your alternate future the plagues wiped out nine-tenths of the world's population. People speak French and English because they were colonized by force by your countries. It is not a nice world."

"Better than sickening Esperanto sweetness and light and world peace and all that humanistic crap - with good old English eking out a precarious existence as just another second-class language!"

The Norwegian sniffed disapproval. "Lort. All languages are equal, neither good nor bad. You people just want to be in charge again, that's all. You like being colonial powers and cracking the whip over the lesser breeds without the law. It is just pure selfishness on your part."

007-11 growled wordlessly, skin reddening with anger as he raised the weapon. DuPont placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"Do not waste zee power on zeez talkative boche. We may need it. Here is zee package! "

Every eye in the crowded room was on his hand as he reached inside his coat and took out a scruffy yellow envelope and held it high. They looked from it to the other envelope on the desk. The same cancelled stamps, the same spidery blue ink writing. But how different in content!

"To the future - our future!" 007-11 roared, spraying saliva in all directions. "We will substitute our package! There is also a book inside, also in French - but no grammar! Our French allies have searched through the centuries of French pornography and titillating literature and have abstracted the horniest and most erotic bits, and boy! there was a lot to choose from! With the greatest care, the most arousing of the lot have been carefully translated into Polish. One glimpse and the teenage Zamenhof will be captured. He will read and read with eye-bulging fascination while the hot tides of puberty well over him. Hormones will rush to his brain and short-circuit the synapses of intelligence so he will become like any normal Frenchman..."

"You make zee insult to zee great French race!"

"Sorry, mon cher grenouille, I do apologize, got carried away there for a moment. What I meant to say was that young Zamenhof's mind will be cleansed of intellectual thought by this overdose of heterosexual stimulation. He will chase girls, marry young, become a successful oculist! His childish pursuit of a simple second language will be forgotten. The future will be English!"

"And French, of course, as well," DuPont hastily added.

"Neniam! Neniam!" the deep voice intoned. "Never! Never! It shall not be."

All turned as Blubirdo and Flavhundo walked in through the wall. 007-11 aimed his weapon but Blubirdo shook his head and smiled.

"That thing is useless. We knew of its existence and have neutralized it."

"It worked once! " He clicked the trigger - but nothing happened. Blubirdo smiled again.

"We let you think that it worked so we could discover your plan. Now hand over that bit of filthy porn. "

"Never! We make the exchange now!" 007-11 rushed forward - but Flavhundo stood in his way, clutched at his wrist, stopped him. DuPont shouted a coarse Gallic oath and sprang to help, pushing the Esperantist back. But Blubirdo was there as well, adding his weight to the battle.

The joined figures struggled and gasped while the Nordic languages looked on with great interest. They were joined now by other languages, some of them almost invisible, so slim was their chance of existence in any of the possible futures. Spanish was there, a darkhaired figure as solid as Portuguese who stood next to him. Not so poor little Transylvanian who leaned for support on Serbo-Croatian, both of them as transparent as ghosts. More and more languages pushed in to watch this linguistic death struggle. The battle of possible futurities, a life and death matter.

And the Esperantists were winning! Perhaps because their cause was just. Perhaps because they were younger and stronger, or perhaps because too many pints of ale were drunk by the English, too many Gauloises smoked by the French. But whatever the cause, the gasping and panting Anglo-Gailic faction was being pushed away from the desk. One footstep backwards, then another. With each fleeting instant the porn book moved further from its repulsive destiny.

At this very moment young Zamenhof opened the door and entered the room. There was a gasp and murmur at his entrance as more and more languages crowded in for this final struggle. He was not aware of them. Instead he went across and closed the curtains.

Behind his back the silent, to him, struggle continued. The future would be an Esperanto future for they were winning, winning. "Ni venkas!" Blubirdo gasped triumphantly as they advanced yet another struggling step. "We win! The future is ours!"

But his cry of triumph turned instantly to a susurration of horror as a burly figure rushed from the crowd and threw his weight behind that of the Frenchman.

"Now... we are winning!" 007-11 panted with exultation. "The package is almost there!"

"Who are you?" the horrified Blubirdo cried.

"Volapük!" the newcomer shouted out. "I was the first international language! I was there before Esperanto! I was cheated of my future! I will exact my revenge!"

"You were... an unspeakable polyglot... deserved to die!" Flavhundo gasped. "Leave..."

"Never! With a sickening thud the substitute envelope dropped onto the desk. DuPont roared with glee as his outstretched fingertips touched the French grammar, scrabbled to pick it up.

Behind them young Zamenhof, unaware of the life and death struggle taking place, turned now towards the desk.

DuPont was clutching at the original package, was removing it. He cried aloud, victoriously, while his brutal companion hoarsely sang 'Rule Britannia'.

Was this it? Was the world to end not with a bang but with a whimper of merde and bloody oaths? Was this to be the future of mankind?

There were soft snapping sounds as language after language popped out of existence. Even the two Esperantists were weakening. It was the end.

But not quite yet. A slim youth, almost completely transparent, stepped from the diminished crowd of onlookers and prised the envelope from trembling Gallic fingers, dropped it back onto the desk - then threw the forgery through the wall into the night.

Young Zamenhof hummed a happy humming sound as he noticed the envelope on his desk. Picked it up and opened it, shook out the slim grammar book inside.

"Trés bon," he said and flipped through it, smiling happily with simple linguistic delight. Then he frowned and looked up as though he had heard something. No, the room was silent. He shrugged and went back to his reading.

Perhaps he had heard something. It was just possible that the hideous screams of anti-existensional pain had penetrated the boundaries of futurity. The sounds were frightening beyond belief as 007-11 and DuPont screamed and screamed as they faded from sight.

It was done. The future was saved. "We want to thank you..." Blubirdo said - but the newcomer rejected his words with a slash of his hand.

"Silence! I want none of your thanks. I hate you and wish you dead. I did what I had to do and hate you and myself!"

"Arrggh!" he added as he hurled himself through the wall and was gone.

"I understand not," the German said, scratching his shaved head in puzzlement.

"I do," Flavhundo said, with a sigh. "I recognized him. It was Ido."

"I still understand not."

"Unhappily, I do," Blubirdo said, "Ido means son or descendant in Esperanto. Ido was also a language, supposedly an improved form of Esperanto. It had a small following for a number of years, but was never of any consequence. Though its followers were earnest they were misguided and their language never succeeded. But Ido had to help us because without Esperanto he never would have been born at all. He saved his shadowy life by insuring our continuing existence."

"And saved the future for us," DuPont said, stepping back through the wall, his English companion at his heels. Blubirdo and Flavhundo prepared grimly for battle again but DuPont, a twinkle in his eye gestured to them to rest easy - with a finger unstained by nicotine. They saw then that he was smiling, as was his formerly brutalized, licensed-to-kill companion. "Mais non, you misunderstand. We both thank you for freeing us from the linguistic bondage of that corrupt future. We are now semantically one with the rest of mankind. Speaking and loving our native language, communicating with others through your triumphant, simple, second language."

A mighty cheer followed his words for the room was once more crowded with all the languages of mankind.

"This grammar book gives me an idea," Ludovic Zamenhof said, while about him resounded, unheard, the triumphant chorus of the future.

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© Harry Harrison. Unauthorised reproduction prohibited.