by Anthology
“I picked this flower,” he said, “as I was walking down the path that afternoon. It was the first of its kind to be in bloom—very early. It was still in my hand when I walked back into this room, six weeks later, as everybody declares. But it was quite fresh.”
There was nothing to be said. I kept silent for five minutes, I suppose, before I asked him whether his mind was an utter blank as to the six weeks during which no known person had set eyes on him; whether he had no sort of recollection, however vague.
“At first, nothing at all. I could not believe that more than a few seconds came between my opening the garden door and shutting it. Then in a day or two there was a vague impression that I had been somewhere where everything was absolutely right. I can’t say more than that. No fairyland joys, or bowers of bliss, or anything of that kind; no sense of anything strange or unaccustomed. But there was no care there at all. Est enim magnum chaos.”
But that means “For there is a great void,” or “A great gulf.”
We never spoke of the matter again. Two months later he told me that his nerves had been troubling him, and that he was going to spend a month or six weeks at a farm near Llanthony, in the Black Mountains, a few miles from his old home. In three weeks I got a letter, addressed in Secretan Jones’s hand. Inside was a slip of paper on which he had written the words:
Est enim magnum chaos.
The day on which the letter was posted he had gone out in wild autumn weather, late one afternoon, and had never come back. No trace of him has ever been found.
OTHER TRACKS
William Sell
A man had to have a tool more powerful than anything made today. He had a time machine.
But—it wouldn’t go future ward!
I
Cautiously, Tom Garmot set his foot down on the board. That was the one. It squeaked. Garmot removed his foot hastily and stepped on the next one. He eased the compact, heavy case to the floor with a suppressed grunt, and, silent in the dim glow from the street lamp outside the locked laboratory, motioned to Charlie Thorne, his nephew, to deposit the similar case he carried.
Garmot slipped a key into the lock on the door marked “Dr. William R. Laddo. Electronic Research Department. Taggert Foundation.”
“If,” said Garmot softly, but intensely, “Laddo shows up by some mischance, I hope you’ve got as persuasive a tongue with him as you had with me.”
Thorne chuckled almost silently. “You know darn well you wanted to try out that battery of yours. You didn’t take much persuading.”
“Laddo’ll take a lot if he finds me trying my battery on his pet gadget. Come on, and skip that board.”
They oozed into the laboratory and locked the door. Being designed to permit the observation of experiments on light during daylight hours, it was admirably adapted to night invasion. Garmot turned on the ceiling light. Thorne put down the battery cases with a mild snort. “It’s an un-handsome looking assemblage of spare parts.”
“But if it does what Laddo wants it to—!”
“If.” Thorne grinned. “He shouldn’t kick. If your new battery has the kick you say—”
“It has,” snapped Garmot. Then, mournfully, “And Laddo has even more kick if he finds his honest, trustworthy assistant messing around here at night.”
“His great theory won’t work unless he gets a battery with power enough. I’d love to see him driving his apparatus from the power mains while it gradually retreated in the general direction of the Year One. The power mains don’t run in that direction. And, from what you say, the lead-acid batteries he has won’t, either. What’s his kick if yours makes it work?”
Garmot grinned unhappily. “You,” he explained, “don’t know Laddo. He’s not vicious, just sarcastic. Cut the chatter and help me. These cells are heavy. Yes—that lead here. Put the old cell—Oh, ye gods! I forgot! He had these cells made up by a French firm, and they put a left-hand thread on the posts. Can’t be helped. I’ll have to use a jumper.”
“Now what?” demanded Thorne.
“The skylight. We go out that way—straight up. If we go. And we go only straight up and down. You argued me into trying it this far, but you can argue Laddo if you want a ride through Time. Open the skylight, and pile in here.”
The two men crawled in among the maze of stainless-steel tube framework, power leads, and small motors and tubes. Garmot touched a switch, and four small motors hummed momentarily; four helicopter blades overhead rocked the framework. He turned on a small instrument light, snapped off the overhead light, and reentered the machine.
“Everything looks O.K. Are you ready?”
“Sure. Give her the gun.”
Garmot pushed the control, and a hum arose from below the floor boards. As it increased to a whine, they could feel they were ascending. Before he could cut down the power they were several hundred feet above the laboratory, dimly white below them.
“Man, this is great,” said Thorne. “I hope you know how to get down.”
“Sure. We just cut the power off gradually and she’ll settle right down. It works all right, doesn’t it? I knew my batteries would do it. You can see all over town from here, can’t you?” “Yeah. But why do you have to get up in the air before you go ahead in Time? I forgot to ask you at the house.” “Suppose we went ahead in Time and there was something solid in the way? What would happen to us? This way we get above all possible obstructions, and if we went to the year Five Thousand, say, all we’d have to do would be to float gently to the ground when we got there.”
“I see. And which is the lever that would send us to the year Five Thousand?”
“This one. But keep your fingers away. If you touch it, there’s no telling—ugh.”
Charlie, in his examination, had, perhaps inadvertently, pushed the lever slightly to the left.
A sudden slight compression, totally beyond past experience, momentarily seized them, evidence of acceleration into another dimension. Garmot was too surprised to do anything but gasp. But immediately he realized what had happened, and forced himself to bring the lever back to neutral. Compression gave way to expansion. Then they felt normal.
“Lord, Charlie, what have you done?” “I guess I touched the lever a little. We seem to be all right, though. There is the lab right below us.”
“Yes, and I’m going down. Keep away from the levers.”
Tom cut the power down and the machine slowly descended. But Charlie, looking over the side, called excitedly.
“Stop it, Tom. Somebody has closed the skylight. Hey—there’s no skylight there!”
Garmot hastily turned on power until the machine again hovered, and cautiously ventured a look. Charlie was right. There was no skylight for them to enter.
“We’ll have to land on the ground and figure this out,” he decided. Operating other controls, he guided the machine uncertainly to the apparently deserted lawn. With a slight jar it touched the ground. He cut off the power.
“Can’t afford to exhaust the battery staying in the air,” he explained to Charlie, who was uncommonly quiet. “Now, let’s see,” he went on, “what we are up against.”
Charlie touched his arm. “Shhh,” he warned, “somebody’s coming.”
Around a clump of shrubbery a dark figure approached. In the darkness, the two adventurers kept silent. Perhaps he would pass without noticing them. But no. Turning his flashlight toward them, he called, “What have we got here?”
Tom nudged Charlie. “Keep quiet, kid.” To the visitor he said, “Just an accident. Our machine made a forced landing here.”
“Well, I’m the watchman here.” Tom was surprised. The laboratory hadn’t employed a watchman since he’d been there. “What sort of a machine have you got? I never saw an airplane as small as that before. Where’d you come from?”
“This is an experimental job, officer,” Tom told him. “Where are we?”
“You’re on the grounds of the Taggert Company.”
“What time is it?
”
The watchman turned his flashlight on his watch. “Half past three,” he said. “Charlie, in the glare of the light, had seen a familiar decoration on the watchman’s coat. “I see you’re wearing the Landon sunflower,” he said.
“Yes,” the watchman replied, “they’ll all be wearing sunflowers in November.”
“Hunh?” Charlie ejaculated. “Don’t you know the election has been over for two years?”
The watchman looked at him sourly. “Is that so? Are you sure it was an airfield and not an asylum you came from?”
In spite of Tom’s attempt to hush him, Charlie would go on. “You’re the one who is crazy. Don’t you know all the sunflowers died when Roosevelt was reelected?”
Garmot broke in. “Don’t mind him, officer. He’s kinda hipped on politics.” He turned to Charlie and whispered. “Can it, will you! We’ve traveled back through Time about two years—they haven’t had the election yet. Hold tight. I’m going up.” Then, aloud, “I think the machine is fixed now. Thanks, officer,” and he turned the switch. To the astonished watchman the machine appeared to vanish into the night.
From two hundred feet above, Charlie could see his light searching the lawn. He cupped his hands and yelled down: “Roosevelt will carry every state but Maine and Vermont. Don’t forget it—Maine and Vermont.”
Tom was too busy to stop him. When he judged he was sufficiently high, he braced himself and carefully eased the time lever over. With his eye on the meter, he waited until it again pointed to zero. At that instant he pushed the lever into neutral.
Anxiously they looked down. Below, in the dim light, an open skylight yawned as before. With a sigh of relief, Tom cut the power and gently guided the machine down into the opening.
They were again in the laboratory. Without a word, as if this had been rehearsed, Charlie closed the skylight and held his flashlight while Tom disconnected and removed the new battery. Reconnecting the old one, each picked up his load and cautiously left the building.
On their way home, Charlie began asking questions, but Torn was’ in no mood to answer then!. He was too busy thinking. As they reached the apartment he roused himself sufficiently to Say, “Don’t say anything more about it tonight, Charlie. My head is still swimming. We’ll think about it, and tomorrow evening we can talk all night.”
II
The next day was Saturday, and Garmot was glad of it, for he was planning on seeing a patent attorney in the afternoon. His battery passed its trials. When he entered the laboratory, Laddo was already there, examining the machine. He called to Tom.
“Come here, Garmot. There is something peculiar about this chrome plate.”
Tom looked at it. The cage appeared the same as ever. “That’s nickel plate, not chrome.”
“So I perceive. I ordered chromium, and understood that is what you obtained.”
Tom was about to tell him that he had specifically ordered nickel, when he glanced at Laddo’s face. There was a month-old mustache which had not been there the day before. Surely, anyone who took himself as seriously as Dr. Laddo would not wear a false mustache.’ He stared bewildered.
“What’s the matter, Garmot? Drunk?” asked Laddo crisply. Tom turned away, not yet able to answer the doctor’s questions.
And then he noticed something else was wrong. The walls of the room were green. Was he dreaming? Hadn’t he painted them tan, himself? He walked to the wall and touched it. No, it wasn’t fresh paint; it was dry and slightly dusty. He turned to Laddo.
“What color are the walls?” he blurted out.
“You painted them green when you started working here. They haven’t changed color overnight, have they?”
Tom could not reply. He went to his locker and got out his work clothes. His overalls looked natural, thank goodness. No, even they were different. Where they had been torn yesterday was now whole. This couldn’t be a dream. Was he sick or—something worse?
Laddo eyed him suspiciously. Well, let him look. No matter how strange things seemed, he’d not show his surprise. He’d ask no more questions, and he’d take whatever Laddo handed him. There would be but a few more days of this, with his battery finished.
Tom found a new sketch on his bench. It was of some sort of an electrical device, he couldn’t tell just what, but the drawing was complete. All he had to do was to follow directions. He selected the proper tools, got the material he needed, and started to work.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Laddo giving the machine a thorough check. He seemed to be going over it inch by inch, wire by wire. Now he was checking the battery. Something wrong! Laddo removed a cell and carried it into his private laboratory, where he locked himself in. Tom busied himself with his work and the time passed quickly.
It was almost noon when Laddo unlocked the door and came toward him. From the expression on Laddo’s face, Tom prepared himself for another upbraiding.
“Garmot, what do you know about these batteries?”
“Your battery? I mean, the one in your machine?”
“Certainly. Oh, I forgot. You are the battery expert. Then perhaps you can tell me why, yesterday, each cell had a voltage of 3.65, and this morning it is down to 2.10, although they are fully charged. I tore up one cell and what do you suppose I find?”
“I don’t know, doctor.”
“Instead of that valuable isotopic lead we had so much trouble getting, these plates are made of ordinary battery lead. And instead of a solution of sulfuric acid in heavy water, the electrolyte is now a solution in ordinary distilled water.”
Tom Garmot was silent. This was all news to him. He had assembled the batteries himself, and they were made, he knew, from ordinary commercial materials.
Laddo went on. “That is not all that is wrong. There is evidence of sabotage. You have been here over eleven months. I had confidence in your integrity, although I do not credit you with great ability. Now I am tempted to accuse you of deliberately removing the battery and tampering with the entire machine.” Tom heard, but hardly realized just what Laddo was saying. He was fascinated by Laddo’s mustache. Undoubtedly it was real. He could see the separate hairs, each firmly planted in the upper lip.
“So far as I can tell, no other real harm has been done. The fact that you, or someone else, have changed wires and other parts makes little difference. They will answer the purpose. The matter of the plating, I admit, is puzzling. I was particular to have chromium plating, as it is more durable than nickel, although,” and here he took some papers from his pocket and glanced through them, “the watchman’s report, taken within a week, was positive that the plating was nickel.”
Tom saw the papers in Laddo’s hand. On the back, fastened with a paper clip, was something cut from a newspaper. The headlines were so clear he could read it readily . . .
Watchman Prophesies Election Result
FDR to win all but Maine and Vermont
Strange Flier Frightens Taggert Employee
This was about all that Tom could stand. “What is this you are reading?” he asked.
“This is that watchman’s report to the superintendent. A couple of years ago he saw a machine similar to the one we are building—but I’ve mentioned this to you before. Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Get busy and locate those missing plates. And tell me where I am to get five gallons of heavy water, with my appropriation almost used up.”
Tom had read about isotopic lead, and ventured a suggestion.
“Isn’t it possible for the lead you mentioned to turn into the ordinary kind, by itself?”
“Don’t display your ignorance. If you know where the lead is, go get it.”
Too much was enough, thought Tom. He looked Laddo in the eye. “Now get this straight,” he said. “I didn’t steal your lead, and I don’t know where it is—if you ever had any. But if you want a better battery than the one you have, I’ll lend you mine. You can call me a ‘battery expert’ if you want to, but I really do have a battery—and it’ll bea
t yours a mile. I’ll bring h down Monday, and you can quit worrying about your isotopes.”
Something of respect showed on Laddo’s face. “If you’ve got something good, bring it up,” he said. “But,” his voice changed, “if this is some kind of a trick to gain time or something, forget it. I’ll not only accept your resignation, but I’ll recover the cost of my battery from you so quick it will make your head swim. Any jury in the world will give me damages when only two of us have the keys to this place.”
Tom turned without replying and took off his overalls. Sue him, would he? Take all his money. Any jury in the world. By George, with so much of this funny stuff happening, Laddo might be right. And he’d get his new battery invention, too. He’d have to think this over. He turned to Laddo who was watching him.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring my battery here at nine a. m. Monday.” Laddo nodded assent and left him.
Tom changed into his street clothes and went into the hall. Then he thought of something. He returned to the laboratory door and called to Laddo.
“How strong a battery do you need?”
“About a thousand KWH to the pound.”
Still dazed by the events of the morning, Tom turned and left.
On his way home it gradually came over him that he was behind the eight-ball. A thousand KWH to the pound! That was five times as powerful as he could supply. Well, he had the rest of the day to think it out in peace.
Charlie was waiting for him, and over their lunch Garmot told him everything. “No one but Laddo would dream of a battery like that,” he said. “It will be hundreds of years before batteries that powerful are invented.”
“Well,” said Charlie, “why don’t you get him one?”
“Where?”
“Just take another trip in his machine tonight. Go as far as you can into the future, buy a battery, and bring it back with you.”
Tom studied the suggestion. Here was one way out. “It might be done, at that,” he finally said.
