by Eando Binder
A final falling weight twirled the levered arm of a diamond-pointed needle across the plain glass end of the coffin. At each revolution the hard diamond bit deeper till finally the separated piece fell out and shattered on the stone floor.
The ingenious system of movements had been made completely interdependent. If an earthquake had shaken the crypt at some time through the centuries, upsetting one of the weights, all the others would have worked, thus insuring the final outcome in any event.
No Swiss movement had ever been made with more care.
The five men of the 50th Century who had seen these astounding things stood back confused and frightened. When the last weight had fallen and all was quiet again, they came close and stared at the sleeper. All the mysterious red fluid had disappeared into his body. His skin was spotted with red where the lightning had impinged.
Would the sleeper wake or not?
As five long, breathless minutes passed without a sign of life, they began to look at one another sorrowfully. Evidently it was too much to hope for, this resurrection of a man lying unbreathing for 3000 years. What they could not see going on was the final part of the process, for it was invisible.
The atmosphere of sterile, purified helium in which the body had existed was slowly but surely diffusing, letting in air containing oxygen. And within the body, as the strong adrenalin-compound from the hypodermic worked its way to the heart, by osmosis through the cells, the forces of life were gathering.
In the tomblike stillness, a low, almost inaudible thumping began. A heart took up its duties where it had dropped them 3000 years before. Blood newly charged with radiogens, imparted by the electrical bath, began to race through still-pliant arteries and veins. Nervous impulses carried the message of awakening to other organs.
The first seepage of oxygen into the throat started a peristalsis wave that ended up with the diaphragm heaving tentatively. The lungs took their first small breath. Then another and another. Soon the whole body tingled and trembled with resurgent life.
The busy neural messages penetrated last to the brain, informing it that all was ready for its awakening. The eyelids fluttered. Retinas that had mirrored nothing but blackness for 3000 years suddenly sent pictures of light and color to the brain.
With a shock, the brain awoke.
The five watchers stood like graven images, staring as though they could not believe that they had seen life conquer death. The eyes of the reclining man, flooding with realization, flicked to meet those of the spectators.
The eyes of the 50th century looked into the eyes of the 20th! And when the lips of the 20th century drew up in a faint smile, those of the 50th answered!
Homer Ellory, of the year 1970, did not at first believe he was in the far future. Just a moment before, he could swear it, he had passed into a dreamless sleep. There was dust around, so perhaps a few years had gone by, but he had a disgruntled feeling that it was still the 20th century.
It was not till he first moved his body that he believed.
With that first movement, a gasp escaped his lips. An infinite ache pervaded his every cell—the multiplied ache of an age of lying in one position. Flesh that had been pressed by gravity against hard glass for centuries, now complained about it, in one throbbing crescendo.
After the first gasp, however, Homer Ellory was able to suppress his torment, though he would have liked to groan out loud. Pains shot through his insides, pains from organs that had been quiescent for so long and must now labor again. An itch materialized on his cheek with such intensity that Ellory knew it had started at least a century before.
But these physical considerations did not occupy him long.
He must get out—out into the Future!
Groaning a little, he carefully elbowed himself toward the cut-out-side of his glass prison. When he had his shoulders and arms out, he grasped the handles placed for convenience at the side and slowly eased his body past the sharp edges of glass.
Then he felt hands supporting him, helping him.
The future people had broken from their trancelike stupor. When he drew his legs out, they lifted him bodily and carried him past the spot where splinters of glass lay on the floor. They set him on his feet near a pillar.
It was well they did, for Ellory had to clutch at it suddenly for support. Momentary vertigo gripped him. His sense of balance, dormant for so long, had almost neglected to function.
In a moment, Ellory straightened up and smiled at the future men. Up to this time, no one had said a word. By the way they stared at him, Ellory realized they were waiting for him to speak first.
It was a unique moment.
Would they or wouldn’t they understand his language? Ellory remembered quite clearly that just before he had entered the long sleep, he had carefully rehearsed a speech of greeting. But first he must find out if they understood at all.
He cleared his throat.
“Do you understand English?” he asked, enunciating slowly and clearly. He knew immediately that they didn’t, by their puzzled expressions, but he repeated the words anyway. A little louder, as if they were deaf.
This time the oldest, white-haired man, who had listened intently, nodded dubiously. “Unstan fill,” he said in clipped tones, grinning toothlessly. “Stuh ya lanid. Kn ree ya boos n messis rin ih ra.” Sem Onger was trying to say: “Understand a little. Studied your language. Can read your books and messages written in rock.”
Ellory shrugged, helplessly. “I’m afraid we won’t get along so well at first,” he murmured. “Well anyway—” He pointed to himself, in the oldest, most universal gesture in man’s history, and said his name.
The old fellow took the cue quickly. “Humrelly?” he repeated. Then he pointed to himself. “Sem Onger.” Then to the others, naming them.
Trying to repeat the subtle inflections given their vowels, Ellory echoed their names.
“Simon Owlinghair! Shef John D. Harem! Mad-Earl Rather Noman—”
He could not help smiling as he spoke the names. But he wondered what struck them as humorous as they grinningly repeated his name to each other—“Humrelly? Humrelly? Humrelly?”
Introductions over, a thought struck Ellory. He faced the old man. “Is this the year 5000 A.D., all right? Or is it some earlier time?” He caught his breath. “Or later time?”
Sem Onger gazed back blankly, failing to understand. Finally Ellory pointed to the message chipped on the stone pillar, placing his finger on the numbers “5000 A.D.”
Sem Onger nodded vigorously. “Fie thun ayd.”
Suddenly Homer Ellory leaned back against the pillar, cold though it was to his naked skin.
He put his hands to his face, trembling. There was no doubt now—it was 5000 A.D. He had safely leaped the gulf between his age and this one. In a manner of speaking, he had traveled in time, though there was no return. He had left the world and period he knew behind by 3000 years! Thirty long centuries!
Tears started to his eyes. Tears of unnamable emotion. But he was not ashamed. To realize the glory of it, the wonder—and the ache! It was no more nostalgia than it was pride in the achievement. It was a mixture of all feelings.
Ellory did not try to analyze it. He only knew that for a moment he must lean against the pillar and come near to weeping like a woman.
Then he felt a touch on his arm.
He looked into the eyes of the tall, virile man who was obviously their leader, Jon Darm. He grasped Ellory’s hand in another gesture that was ageless, and spoke. Ellory could not understand a word, but he had a haunting certainty that the man was giving him some sort of welcome, and assuring him of friendship and fellowship.
“Thanks, old man,” Ellory said gratefully.
Suddenly the nervous spell passed and he broke out exuberantly: “Well, I’m actually here! O
ne chance in ten and I made it. 5000 A.D.! A new world! And probably a glorious one. Three thousand years of civilization, science, advancement, culture—heaped on after the shaky start of the 20th century!”
Giddy with anticipation he went on. “What will I see when I step out of here? Great, spanned cities with mile-high buildings? Silent gravity-motored ships? Weather controlled, turned on and off? Robots and machines doing all the work? Mankind in a glorious age with a minimum of wars, sickness, crime, poverty?
“And yet probably all that falls short of the truth. Perhaps we of the 20th century couldn’t even conceive the wonders of the 50th, any more than the Romans could have conceived of radio, steam-power, aircraft, radium, and movies. Maybe I’ll feel like an ignorant Hottentot thrown without warning into the middle of New York City. These men must look on me as our men would have looked on an Egyptian of the pyramid days come to life!”
Ellory smiled at the puzzled attention with which the future men listened to his tirade.
“They’re probably trying to figure out how an ‘atavist’ from the ‘prehistoric’ days of 1970 can even talk! But I’m not really primeval. I’m prepared, you see, for your wonders. As an up-and-coming—if I say so myself—young scientist of the 20th century, I have enough imagination to take it all in my stride.”
Thus preparing himself mentally for the new world he would step into, Ellory grew impatient and made motions that they should leave the crypt. The chief smilingly shook his head. Ellory noticed now that one of the five was gone. He reappeared presently, holding clothing. The chief motioned for Ellory to put it on.
Reminded of his nakedness, Ellory grinned. “Right. It wouldn’t do for the ambassador from 1970 to appear before the ladies of 5000 like a nudist.”
He began to dress.
The clothing was all of rough weave, drab in color. The baggy trousers tied at the waist with thongs of rawhide. The short coat held together with bone clasps. The soft leather sandals had a split tongue that tied at the back. That was all. A simple, homely outfit such as they all wore.
“I had expected silks and gold braid,” Ellory mused somewhat ruefully. “Spun glass—metal fabric. But I guess they believe in simplicity before style.”
They filed out of the chamber that had been Ellory’s tomb for over 3000 years. In the other room, Ellory obeyed a sudden impulse. He stepped to the motion picture projector and turned the crank. On the wall appeared the flickering image of the smiling man greeting the 50th century.
“Goodbye, Bill!” Ellory said softly. “Three thousand years ago—”
Shaking his head, he stepped to the doorway, where the others waited. The future men snuffed out their candles and carefully stuffed them into a pouch in their coats.
Ellory blinked in the strong light streaming in. He was to see the sun again, and the surface world, after three long millennia. And a new civilization.
He told himself again not to be too startled at the things this age would unfold.
Ellory took a deep breath.
“Here goes!” he murmured.
Chapter 3
WELCOME, STRANGER
The record-crypt had originally been built in a sheltered valley, not far north of New York City in the lower Kaatskills. Ellory saw that little had changed in the valley itself, as his eager eyes swept around.
Some parts of the valley had filled in a little, here and there the shrubbery had changed, but the hills and skyline were the same. The crypt still stood solidly anchored on its shelf of rock.
The crypt itself, however, showed the blunt hand of time.
When Ellory had entered, in 1970, the stone had been white and new. Now it was stained brown, deeply pitted, and all the corners had been worn smooth by countless rains and winds.
Suddenly a rising murmur filled the quiet air, from the throats of the hundreds of people who stood in a semi-circle before the crypt.
The future men had stepped aside, exposing Ellory to full view.
Ellory could not help sticking out his chest a little and beaming. These people were cheering him! He felt a little the way John Glenn had after his first space-orbital flight for America.
The lordly citizens of a great civilization paying homage to the savage of the past dark age, Ellory thought.
Then he looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of their great airships or gravity-boats or whatever strange vehicles had brought them here. Apparently stowed away out of sight, he decided.
But his eyes did catch something that held him spellbound.
A tall girl approached from the crowd. She was slender and possessed of a figure whose graceful lines her bulky white robe could not hide. As she drew nearer, Ellory found himself staring almost helplessly, drinking in her freshness and beauty. No doubt about it. She was as lovely as any 20th century girl that he could remember.
The young chieftain Mal Radnor stepped forward to meet her, took her hands in his possessively, and spoke to her in their flowing, rapid speech. Evidently he was telling her about finding Ellory.
Finally the girl stepped before the Chief Jon Darm with a query on her lips. Ellory guessed by their similar features that they were father and daughter.
The girl turned to Ellory.
She spoke in a rich, clear tone that carried to all the crowd in the valley. It was unquestionably a speech of welcome. The future men all looked pleased. Ellory was pleased too, finding these rather quaint customs decidedly heart-warming.
When the girl stopped, the crowd cheered again. In the succeeding silence, Ellory felt he had to say something and spoke.
“Well, I suppose you’ve given me the keys to the city. Thank you! And since no one knows quite what I’m saying, I’ll say it straight out without delay—you’re a very beautiful girl!”
The chief’s daughter looked puzzled, but answered his smile with a dazzling one of her own.
“Wait!” Ellory called as she was about to turn away.
“What is your name? Never mind,” he added hastily. “Maybe it wouldn’t be proper, in your customs—”
“Sharina!” said a voice in his ear.
Ellory saw the aged Sem Onger’s face smiling up at him slyly.
“Sharina!” echoed Ellory, liking the name immediately.
The girl blushed and darted away to the side of the slightly frowning Mal Radnor.
Old Sem Onger thrust something in Ellory’s hand, something on which he had been laboriously writing while Jon Darm dictated to him in low tones. It was a piece of smooth bark, with letters in charcoal black. Ellory stared at the message for some time before recognizing the distorted lettering and quaint spelling of what was meant to be 20th century English.
“Chef Jon Darm invitte yoou to share him withe his Rooyal Hause. Yoou wil be his gueste four so long yoou wiash. Yoou wil comb ilong him withe nouw?”
“With my deepest appreciation,” wrote back Ellory with a charcoal stub.
Sem Onger studied the reply carefully, nodded vigorously, and transmitted the message to the chief, obviously delighted that he had succeeded in establishing a method of communication with their guest from the past. A very remarkable fellow, Sem Onger, his brightly dancing little eyes seemed to say.
Jon Darm led the way.
A path wound over the crest of the valley. The same path that the workmen who had erected the crypt had worn 3000 years before. The same path over which countless human feet had trod in the past centuries, viewing the strange sealed mausoleum which they must not open before its time without betraying the trust of its builders.
Ellory found it strange that those simple words cut over the doorway had kept the crypt inviolate. Perhaps it had come to be regarded as almost a sanctified shrine, not to be tampered with for fear of a curse—that most deep-rooted superstition of all mankind of all times.<
br />
Ellory recalled that at the time of building, it was almost decided to add the mock warning that if the crypt were opened prematurely, a radium-timed bomb would blow the marauder to shreds at the first ray of light let in.
But this had been finally voted against, wisely perhaps, as a challenge sure to be accepted by some cynical daredevil.
Ellory was certain his eyes would be dazzled by some amazing vista of man-born marvels lying beyond the valley’s crest. Tall spires of alabaster, glittering domes. The thronging hum of an undreamable civilization. Instead he saw only a few dozen wagons to which were harnessed horses and oxen. He gasped, startled.
The future men strode to the largest wagon without seeming to notice anything incongruous in it.
Chief Jon Darm leaped up into the wagon nimbly, in most unregal manner, majestically motioning for Ellory to follow. Soon they were all seated on hard wooden benches and at a word of command from the chief, the driver clucked to his team. The wagon creaked forward on its wooden wheels, down a winding road that led to the broad plains bordering the Hudson River.
The river and the plains were still there. Time had not taken them away. Ellory was vaguely relieved.
In the wagon behind rode Sharina, with several other women. Back of that came a few other wagons, but most of the crowd followed behind these, on foot.
“Well, to say the least,” Ellory muttered in bewilderment, “these people aren’t pompous! This must be some elaborate program—”
He snapped his fingers.
“I’ve got it! Of course! Purely out of consideration for me, they’ve staged this Old-time Hay Ride. Supposed to make me feel at home. They might easily have preserved records telling of my interment and so expected me. Evidently the only impression our times made on them was that it was Malnly an agricultural civilization. Maybe they got 1950 a shade mixed up with 1850. What’s a hundred years more or less?
