Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ASTOUNDING
STORIES
20¢
_On Sale the First Thursday of Each Month_
W. M. CLAYTON, Publisher
HARRY BATES, Editor
DOUGLAS M. DOLD, Consulting Editor
The Clayton Standard on a Magazine Guarantees
_That_ the stories therein are clean, interesting, vivid, by leading
writers of the day and purchased under conditions approved by
the Authors’ League of America;
_That_ such magazines are manufactured in Union shops by American
workmen;
_That_ each newsdealer and agent is insured a fair profit;
_That_ an intelligent censorship guards their advertising pages.
_The other Clayton magazines are:_
ACE-HIGH MAGAZINE, RANCH ROMANCES, COWBOY STORIES, CLUES, FIVE-NOVELS
MONTHLY, ALL STAR DETECTIVE STORIES, RANGELAND LOVE STORY MAGAZINE,
WESTERN ADVENTURES, and WESTERN LOVE STORIES.
_More than Two Million Copies Required to Supply the Monthly Demand
for Clayton Magazines._
* * * * *
VOL. VI, No. 3 CONTENTS JUNE, 1931
COVER DESIGN H. W. WESSO
_Painted in Water-Colors from a Scene in “Manape the Mighty.”_
THE MAN FROM 2071 SEWELL PEASLEE WRIGHT 295
_Out of the Flow of Time There Appears to Commander John Hanson
a Man of Mystery from the Forgotten Past._
MANAPE THE MIGHTY. ARTHUR J. BURKS 308
_High in Jungle Treetops Swings Young Bentley–His Human Brain
Imprisoned in a Mighty Ape._ (A Complete Novelette.)
HOLOCAUST CHARLES WILLARD DIFFIN 356
_The Extraordinary Story of “Paul,” Who for Thirty Days Was Dictator
of the World._
THE EARTHMAN’S BURDEN R. F. STARZL 375
_There is Foul Play on Mercury–until Danny Olear of the Interplanetary
Flying Police Gets After His Man._
THE EXILE OF TIME RAY CUMMINGS 386
_Larry and George from 1935, Mary from 1777–All Are Caught up in the
Treacherous Tugh’s Revolt of the Robots in the Time World of 2930._
(Part Three of a Four-Part Novel.)
THE READERS’ CORNER ALL OF US 416
_A Meeting Place for Readers of Astounding Stories._
* * * * *
Single Copies, 20 Cents In Canada, 25 Cents Yearly Subscription, $2.00
Issued monthly by The Clayton Magazines, Inc., 80 Lafayette Street,
New York, N. Y. W. M. Clayton, President; Francis P. Pace, Secretary.
Entered as second-class matter December 7, 1929, at the Post Office at
New York, N. Y., under Act of March 3, 1879. Title registered as a
Trade Mark in the U. S. Patent Office. Member Newsstand Group. For
advertising rates address The Newsstand Group, Inc., 80 Lafayette
Street, New York; or The Wrigley Bldg., Chicago.
* * * * *
The Man From 2071
_By Sewell Peaslee Wright_
[Sidenote: Out of the flow of time there appears to Commander John
Hanson a man of mystery from the forgotten past.]
Perhaps this story does not belong with my other tales of the Special
Patrol Service. And yet, there is, or should be, a report somewhere in
the musty archives of the Service, covering the incident.
Not accurately, and not in detail. Among a great mass of old records
which I was browsing through the other day, I happened across that
report; it occupied exactly three lines in the log-book of the
_Ertak_:
“Just before departure, discovered stowaway, apparently
demented, and ejected him.”
For the hard-headed higher-ups of the Service, that was report enough.
Had I given the facts, they would have called me to the Base for a
long-winded investigation. It would have taken weeks and weeks, filled
with fussy questioning. Dozens of stoop-shouldered laboratory men
would have prodded and snooped and asked for long, written accounts.
In those days, keeping the log-book was writing enough for me and
being grounded at Base for weeks would have been punishment.
Nothing would have been gained by a detailed report. The Service
needed action rather than reports, anyway. But now that I am an old
man, on the retired list, I have time to write; and it will be a
particular pleasure to write this account, for it will go to prove
that these much-honored scientists of ours, with all their tremendous
appropriations and long-winded discussions, are not nearly so
wonderful as they think they are. They are, and always have been, too
much interested in abstract formulas, and not enough in their
practical application. I have never had a great deal of use for them.
* * * * *
I had received orders to report to Earth, regarding a dull routine
matter of reorganizing the emergency Base which had been established
there. Earth, I might add, for the benefit of those of you who have
forgotten your geography of the Universe, is not a large body, but its
people furnish almost all of the officer personnel of the Special
Patrol Service. Being a native of Earth, I received the assignment
with considerable pleasure, despite its dry and uninteresting nature.
It was a good sight to see old Earth, bundled up in her cottony
clouds, growing larger and larger in the television disc. No matter
how much you wander around the Universe, no matter how small and
insignificant the world of your birth, there is a tie that cannot be
denied. I have set my ships down upon many a strange and unknown
world, with danger and adventure awaiting me, but there is, for me, no
thrill which quite duplicates that of viewing again that particular
little ball of mud from whence I sprang. I’ve said that before; I
shall probably say it again. I am proud to claim Earth as my
birth-place, small and out-of-the way as she is.
Our Base on Earth was adjacent to the city of Greater Denver, on the
Pacific Coast. I could not help wondering, as we settled swiftly over
the city, whether our historians and geologists and other scientists
were really right in saying that Denver had at one period been far
from the Pacific. It seemed impossible, as I gazed down on that blue,
tranquil sea, that it had engulfed, hundreds of years ago, such a vast
portion of North America. But I suppose the men of science know.
* * * * *
I need not go into the routine business that brought me to Earth.
Suffice it to say that it was settled quickly, by the afternoon of the
second day: I am referring, of course, to Earth days, which are
slightly less than half the length of an enaren of Universe time.
A number of my friends had come to meet me, visit with me during my
brief stay on Earth; and, having finished my business with such
dispatch, I decided to spend that evening with them, and leave the
following morning. It was very late when my friends departed, and I
strolled out with them to their mono-car, returning the salute of the
_Ertak’s_ lone sentry, who was pacing his post before the huge
circular exit of the ship.
Bidding my friends farewell, I stood there for a moment under the
heavens, brilliant with blue, cold stars, and watched the car sweep
swiftly and soundlessly away towards the towering mass of the city.
Then, with a little sigh, I turned back to the ship.
The _Ertak_ lay lightly upon the earth, her polished sides gleaming in
the light of the crescent moon. In the side toward me, the circular
entrance gaped like a sleepy mouth; the sentry, knowing the eyes of
his commander were upon him, strode back and forth with brisk,
military precision. Slowly, still thinking of my friends, I made my
way toward the ship.
I had taken but a few steps when the sentry’s challenge rang out
sharply, “Halt! Who goes there?”
I glanced up in surprise. Shiro, the man on guard, had seen me leave,
and he could have had no difficulty in recognizing me. But–the
challenge had not been meant for me.
* * * * *
Between myself and the _Ertak_ there stood a strange figure. An
instant before, I would have sworn that there was no human in sight,
save myself and the sentry; now this man stood not twenty feet away,
swaying as though ill or terribly weary, barely able to lift his head
and turn it toward the sentry.
“Friend,” he gasped; “friend!” and I think he would have fallen to the
ground if I had not clapped an arm around his shoulders and supported
him.
“Just … a moment,” whispered the stranger. “I’m a bit faint…. I’ll
be all right….”
I stared down at the man, unable to reply. This was a nightmare; no
less. I could feel the sentry staring, too.
The man was dressed in a style so ancient that I could not remember
the period: Twenty-first Century, at least; perhaps earlier. And while
he spoke English, which is a language of Earth, he spoke it with a
harsh and unpleasant accent that made his words difficult, almost
impossible, to understand. Their meaning did not fully sink in until
an instant after he had finished speaking.
“Shiro!” I said sharply. “Help me take this man inside. He’s ill.”
“Yes, sir!” The guard leaped to obey the order, and together we led
him into the _Ertak_, and to my own stateroom. There was some mystery
here, and I was eager to get at the root of it. The man with the
ancient costume and the strange accent had not come to the spot where
we had seen him by any means with which I was familiar; he had
materialized out of the thin air. There was no other way to account
for his presence.
* * * * *
We propped the stranger in my most comfortable chair, and I turned to
the sentry. He was staring at our weird visitor with wondering,
fearful eyes, and when I spoke he started as though stung by an
electric shock.
“Very well,” I said briskly. “That will be all. Resume your post
immediately. And–Shiro!”
“Yes, sir?”
“It will not be necessary for you to make a report of this incident. I
will attend to that. Understand?”
“Yes, sir!” And I think it is to the man’s everlasting credit, and to
the credit of the Service which had trained him, that he executed a
snappy salute, did an about-face, and left the room without another
glance at the man slumped down in my big easy chair.
With a feeling of cold, nervous apprehension such as I have seldom
experienced in a rather varied and active life, I turned then to my
visitor.
He had not moved, save to lift his head. He was staring at me, his
eyes fixed in his chalky white face. They were dark, long
eyes–abnormally long–and they glittered with a strange, uncanny
light.
“You are feeling better?” I asked.
His thin, bloodless lips moved, but for a moment no sound came from
them. He tried again.
“Water,” he said.
I drew him a glass from the tank in the wall of my room. He downed it
at a gulp, and passed the empty glass back to me.
“More,” he whispered. He drank the second glass more slowly, his eyes
darting swiftly, curiously, around the room. Then his brilliant,
piercing glance fell upon my face.
“Tell me,” he commanded sharply, “what year is this?”
* * * * *
I stared at him. It occurred to me that my friends might have
conceived and executed an elaborate hoax–and then I dismissed the
idea, instantly. There were no scientists among them who could make a
man materialize out of nothingness.
“Are you in your right mind?” I asked slowly. “Your question strikes
me as damnably odd, sir.”
The man laughed wildly, and slowly straightened up in the chair. His
long, bony fingers clasped and unclasped slowly, as though feeling
were just returning to them.
“Your question,” he replied in his odd, unfamiliar accent, “is not
unnatural, under the circumstances. I assure you that I am of sound
mind; of very sound mind.” He smiled, rather a ghastly smile, and made
a vague, slight gesture with one hand. “Will you be good enough to
answer my question? What year is this?”
“Earth year, you mean?”
He stared at me, his eyes flickering.
“Yes,” he said. “Earth year. There are other ways of … figuring time
now?”
“Certainly. Each inhabited world has its own system. There is a master
system for the Universe. Who are you, what are you, that you should
ask me a question the smallest child should know?”
“First,” he insisted, “tell me what year this is, Earth reckoning.”
I told him, and the light flickered up in his eyes again–a cruel,
triumphant light.
“Thank you,” he nodded; and then, slowly and softly, as though he
spoke to himself, he added, “Less than half a century off. Less than a
half a century! And they laughed at me. How–how I shall laugh at
them, presently!”
“You choose to be mysterious, sir?” I asked impatiently.
“No. Presently you shall understand, and then you will forgive me, I
know. I have come through an experience such as no man has ever known
before. If I am shaken, weak, surprising to you, it is because of that
experience.”
* * * * *
He paused for a moment, his long, powerful fingers gripping the arms
of the chair.
“You see,” he added, “I have come out of the past into the present. Or
from the present into the future. It depends upon one’s viewpoint. If
I am distraught, then forgive me. A few minutes ago, I was Jacob
Harbauer, in a little laboratory on the edge of a mountain park, near
Denver; now I am a nameless being hurtled into the future, pausing
here, many centuries from my own era. Do you wonder now that I am
unnerved?”
“Do you mean,” I said slowly, trying to understand what he had babbled
forth, “that you have come out of the past? That you … that you….”
It was too monstrous to put into words.
“I mean,” he replied, “that I was born in the year 2028. I am
forty-three years old–or I was a few minutes ago. But,”–and his eyes
flickered again with that strange, mad light–“I am a scientist! I
have left my age behind me for a time; I have done what no other human
being has ever done: I have gone centuries into the future!”
“I–I do not understand.” Could he, after all, be a madman? “How can
a man leave his own age and travel ahead to another?”
“Even in this age of yours they have not discovered that secret?”
Harbauer exulted. “You travel the Universe, I gather, and yet your
scientists have not yet learned to move in time? Listen! Let me
explain to you how simple the theory is.
* * * * *
“I take it you are an intelligent man; your uniform and its insignia
would seem to indicate a degree of rank. Am I correct?”
“I am John Hanson, Commander of the _Ertak_, of the Special Patrol
Service,” I informed him.
“Then you will be capable of grasping, in part at least, what I have
to tell you. It is really not so complex. Time is a river, flowing
steadily, powerful, at a fixed rate of speed. It sweeps the whole
Universe along on its bosom at that same speed. That is my conception
of it; is it clear to you?”
“I should think,” I replied, “that the Universe is more like a great
rock in the middle of your stream of time, that stands motionless
while the minutes, the hours, and the days roll by.”
“No! The Universe travels on the breast of the current of time. It
leaves yesterday behind, and sweeps on towards to-morrow. It has
always been so until I challenged this so-called immutable law. I said
to myself, why should a man be a helpless stick upon the stream of
time? Why need he be borne on this slow current at the same speed? Why
cannot he do as a man in a boat, paddle backwards or forwards; back to
a point already passed; ahead, faster than the current, to a point
that, drifting, he would not reach so soon? In other words, why can he
not slip back through time to yesterday; or ahead to to-morrow? And if
to to-morrow, why not to next year, next century?
* * * * *
“These are the questions I asked myself. Other men have asked
themselves the same questions, I know; they were not new.
But,”–Harbauer drew himself far forward in his chair, and leaned
close to me, almost as though he prepared himself to spring–“no other
man ever found the answer! That remained for me.
“I was not entirely correct, of course. I found that one could not go
back in time. The current was against one. But to go ahead, with the
current at one’s back, was different. I spent six years on the
problem, working day and night, handicapped by lack of funds,
ridiculed by the press–Look!”
Harbauer reached inside his antiquated costume and drew forth a flat
packet which he passed to me. I unfolded it curiously, my fingers
clumsy with excitement.
I could hardly believe my eyes. The thing Harbauer had handed me was a
folded fragment of newspaper, such as I had often seen in museums. I
recognized the old-fashioned type, and the peculiar arrangement of the
columns. But, instead of being yellow and brittle with age, and
preserved in fragments behind sealed glass, this paper was fresh and
white, and the ink was as black as the day it had been printed. What
this man said, then, must be true! He must–
“I can understand your amazement,” said Harbauer. “It had not occurred
to me that a paper which, to me, was printed only yesterday, would
seem so antique to you. But that must appear as remarkable to you as
fresh papyrus, newly inscribed with the hieroglyphics of the ancient
Egyptians, would seem to one of my own day and age. But read it; you
will see how my world viewed my efforts!” There was a sharpness, a
bitterness, in his voice that made me vaguely uneasy; even though he
had solved the riddle of moving in time as men have always moved in
space, my first conjecture that I had a madman to deal with might not
be so far from the truth. Ridicule and persecution have unseated the
reason of all too many men.
* * * * *
The type was unfamiliar to me, and the spelling was archaic, but I
managed to stumble through the article. It read, as nearly as I can
recall it, like this:
Harbauer Says Time
Is Like Great River
Jacob Harbauer, local inventor, in an exclusive interview,
propounds the theory that man can move about in time exactly
as a boat moves about on the surface of a swift-flowing
river, save that he cannot go back into time, on account of
the opposition of the current.
That is very fortunate, this writer feels; it would be a
terrible thing for example, if some good-looking scamp from
our present Twenty-first Century were to dive into the past
and steal Cleopatra from Antony, or start an affair with
Josephine and send Napoleon scurrying back from the front
and let the Napoleonic wars go to pot. We’d have to have all
our histories rewritten!
Harbauer is well-known in Denver as the eccentric inventor
who, for the last five or six years, has occupied a lonely
shack in the mountains, guarded by a high fence of barbed
wire. He claims that he has now perfected equipment which
will enable him to project himself forward in time, and
expects to make the experiment in the very near future.
This writer was permitted to view the equipment which
Harbauer says will shoot him into the future. The apparatus
is housed in a low, barn-like building in the rear of his
shack.
Along one side of the room is a veritable bank of electrical
apparatus with innumerable controls, many huge tubes of
unfamiliar shape and appearance, a mighty generator of some
kind and an intricate maze of gleaming copper bus-bar.
In the center of the room is a circle of metal, about a foot
in thickness, insulated from the flooring by four truncated
cones of fluted glass. This disc is composed of two
unfamiliar metals, arranged in concentric circles.
Above this disc, at a height of about eight feet, is
suspended a sort of grid, composed of extremely fine silvery
wires, supported on a frame-work of black insulating
material.
Asked for a demonstration of his apparatus, Harbauer finally
consented to perform an experiment with a dog–a white,
short-haired mongrel that, Harbauer informed us, he kept to
warn him of approaching strangers.
He bound the dog’s legs together securely, and placed the
struggling animal in the center of the heavy metal disc.
Then the inventor hurried to the central control panel and
manipulated several switches, which caused a number of
things to happen almost at once.
The big generator started with a growl, and settled
immediately into a deep hum; a whole row of tubes glowed
with a purplish brilliancy. There was a crackling sound in
the air, and the grid above the disc seemed to become
incandescent, although it gave forth no apparent heat. From
the rim of the metal disc, thin blue streamers of electric
flame shot up toward the grid, and the little white dog
began to whine nervously.
“Now watch!” shouted Harbauer. He closed another switch,
and the space between the disc and the grid became a
cylinder of livid light, for a period of perhaps two
seconds. Then Harbauer pulled all the switches, and pointed
triumphantly to the disc. It was empty.
We looked around the room for the dog, but he was not
visible anywhere.
“I have sent him nearly a century into the future,” said
Harbauer. “We will let him stay there a moment, and then
bring him back.”
“You mean to say,” we asked, “that the pup is now roaming
around somewhere in the Twenty-second Century?” Harbauer
said he meant just that, and added that he would now bring
the dog back to the present time. The switches were closed
again, but this time it was the metal plate that seemed
incandescent, and the grid above that shot out the streaks
of thin blue flame. As he closed the last switch, the
cylinder of light appeared again, and when the switches were
opened, there was the dog in the center of the disc, howling
and struggling against his bonds.
“Look!” cried Harbauer. “He’s been attacked by another dog,
or some other animal, while in the future. See the blood on
his shoulders?”
We ventured the humble opinion that the dog had scratched or
bit himself in struggling to free himself from the cords
with which Harbauer had bound him, and the inventor flew
into a terrible rage, cursing and waving his arms as though
demented. Feeling that discretion was the better part of
valor, we beat a hasty retreat, pausing at the barbed-wire
gate only long enough to ask Mr. Harbauer if he would be
good enough, sometime when he had a few minutes of leisure,
to dash into next week and bring back some stock market
reports to aid us in our investment efforts.
Under the circumstances, we did not wait for a response, but
we presume we are persona non grata at the Harbauer
establishment from this time on.
All in all, we are not sorry.
I folded the paper and passed it back to him; some of the allusions I
did not understand, but the general tone of the article was very clear
indeed.
* * * * *
“You see?” said Harbauer, his voice grating with anger. “I tried to be
courteous to that man; to give him a simple, convincing demonstration
of the greatest scientific achievement in centuries. And the fool
returned to write _this_: to hold me up to ridicule, to paint me as a
crack-brained, wild-eyed fanatic.”
“It’s hard for the layman to conceive of a great scientific
achievement,” I said soothingly. “All great inventions and inventors
have been laughed at by the populace at large.”
“True. True.” Harbauer nodded his head solemnly. “But just the same–“
He broke off suddenly, and forced a smile. I found myself wishing that
he had completed that broken sentence, however; I felt that he had
almost revealed something that would have been most enlightening.
“But enough of that fool and his babblings,” he continued. “I am here
as living proof that my experiment is a success, and I have a
tremendous curiosity about the world in which I find myself. This, I
take it, is a ship for navigating space?”
“Right! The _Ertak_, of the Special Patrol Service. Would you care to
look around a bit?”
“I would, indeed.” There was a tremendous eagerness in the man’s
voice.
“You’re not too tired?”
“No; I am quite recovered from my experience.” Harbauer leaped to his
feet, those abnormally long, slitted eyes of his glowing. “I am a
scientist, and I am most curious to see what my fellows have created
since–since my own era.”
I picked up my dressing gown and tossed it to him.
“Slip this on, then, to cover your clothing. You would be an object of
too much curiosity to those men who are on duty,” I suggested.
I was taller than he, and the garment came within a few inches of the
floor. He knotted the cincture around his middle and thrust his hands
into the pockets, turning to me for approval. I nodded, and motioned
for him to precede me through the door.
* * * * *
As an officer of the Special Patrol Service, it has often been my duty
to show parties and individuals through my ship. Most of these parties
are composed of females, who have only exclamations to make instead of
intelligent comment, and who possess an unbounded capacity for asking
utterly asinine questions. It was, therefore, a real pleasure to show
Harbauer through the ship.
He was a keen, eager listener. When he asked a question, and he asked
many of them, he showed an amazing grasp of the principles involved.
My knowledge of our equipment was, of course, only practical, save for
the rudimentary theoretical knowledge that everyone has of present-day
inventions and devices.
The ethon tubes which lighted the ship, interested him but little. The
atomic generators, the gravity pads, their generators, and the
disintegrator-ray, however, he delved into with that frenzied ardor of
which only a scientist, I believe, is capable.
Questions poured out of him, and I answered them as best I could:
sometimes completely, and satisfactorily, so that he nodded and said,
“I see! I see!” and sometimes so poorly that he frowned, and
cross-questioned me insistently until he obtained the desired
information.
In the big, sound-proof navigating room, I explained the operation of
the numerous instruments, including the two three-dimensional charts,
actuated by super-radio reflexes, the television disc, the attraction
meter, the surface-temperature gauge and the complex control system.
“Forward,” I added, “is the operating room. You can see it through
these glass partitions. The navigating officer in command relays his
orders to men in the operating room, who attend to the actual
execution of those orders.”
“Just as a pilot, or the navigating officer of a ship of my day gives
his orders to the quartermaster at the wheel,” nodded Harbauer, and
began firing questions at me again, going over the ground we had
covered, to check up on his information. I was amazed at the uncanny
accuracy with which he had grasped such a great mass of technical
detail. It had taken me years of study to pick up what he had taken
from me, and apparently retained intact, in something more than an
hour, Earth time.
* * * * *
I glanced at the Earth-time clock on the wall of the navigating room
as he triumphantly finished his questioning. Less than an hour
remained before the time set for our return trip.
“I’m sorry,” I commented, “to be an ungracious host, but I am
wondering what your plans may be? You see, we are due to start in less
than an hour, and–“
“A passenger would be in your way?” Harbauer smiled as he uttered the
words, but there was a gleam in his long eyes that rather startled me,
and I wondered if I only imagined the steeliness of his voice. “Don’t
let that worry you, sir.”
“It’s not worrying me,” I replied, watching him closely. “I have
enjoyed a very remarkable, a very pleasant experience. If you should
care to remain aboard the _Ertak_, I should like exceedingly to have
you accompany us to our Base, where I could place you in touch with
other laboratory men, with whom you would have much in common.”
Harbauer threw back his head and laughed–not pleasantly.
“Thanks!” he said. “But I have no time for that. They could give me no
knowledge that I need, now; you have told me and showed me enough. I
understand how you have released atomic energy; it is a matter so
simple that a child should have guessed it, and man has wondered about
it for centuries, knowing that the power was there, but lacking a key
to unfetter it. And now I have that key!”
“True. But perhaps our scientists would like, in exchange, the secret
of moving forward in time,” I suggested, reasonably enough.
“What do I care about them?” snapped Harbauer. He loosened the cord of
the robe with a quick, impatient gesture, as though it confined him
too tightly, and threw the garment from him.
* * * * *
Then, suddenly, he took a quick stride toward me, and thrust out his
ugly head.
“I know enough now to give me power over all my world,” he cried.
“Haven’t you guessed the reason for my interest in your engines of
destruction? I came down the centuries ahead of my generation so that
I might come back with power in my hand; power to wipe out the fools
who have made a mock of me. And I have that power–here!” He tapped
his forehead dramatically with his left hand.
“I will bring a new regime to my era!” he continued, fairly shouting
now. “I will be what many men have tried to be, and what no man has
ever been–master of the world! Absolute, unquestioned, supreme
master!” He paused, his eyes glaring into mine–and I knew from the
light that shone behind those long, narrow slits, that I was dealing
with a madman.
“True; you will,” I said gently, moving carelessly toward the
microphone. With that in my hand, a slight pressure on the General
Attention signal, and I would have the whole crew of the _Ertak_ here
in a moment. But I had explained the workings of the navigating room’s
equipment only too well.
“Stop!” snarled Harbauer, and his right hand flashed up. “See this?
Perhaps you don’t know what it is; I’ll tell you. It’s an automatic
pistol–not so efficient as your disintegrator-ray, but deadly enough.
There is certain death for eight men in my hand. Understand?”
“Perfectly.” What an utter fool I had been! I was not armed, and I
knew that Harbauer spoke the truth. I had often seen weapons similar
to the one he held in the military museums. They are still there, if
you are curious–rusty and broken, but not unlike our present atomic
pistols in general appearance. They propelled the bullet by the
explosion of a sort of powder; inefficient, of course, but, as he had
said, deadly enough for the purpose.
* * * * *
“Good! You are a good sort Hanson, but don’t take any chances. I’m not
going to, I promise you. You see,”–and he laughed again, the light in
his long eyes dancing with evil–“I’m not likely to be punished for a
few killings committed centuries after I’m dead. I have never killed a
man, but I won’t hesitate to do so now, if one–or more–should get in
my way.”
“But why,” I asked soothingly, “should you wish to kill anyone? You
have what you came for, you say; why not depart in peace?”
He smiled crookedly, and his eyes narrowed with cunning.
“You approve of my little plan to dominate the world?” he asked
softly, his eyes searching my face.
“No,” I said boldly, refusing to lie to him. “I do not, and you know
it.”
“Very true.” He pulled out his watch with his left hand, and held it
before his eyes so that he could observe the time without losing sight
of me for even an instant. “I doubted that I could secure your willing
cooperation; therefore, I am commanding it.
“You see, there are certain instruments and pieces of equipment that I
should like to take back to my laboratory with me. Perhaps I would be
able to reproduce them without models, but with the models my task
will be much easier.
“The question remaining is a simple one: will you give the proper
orders to have this equipment removed to the spot where you first saw
me, or shall I be obliged to return to my own era without this
equipment–leaving behind me a dead commander of the Special Patrol
Service, and any other who may try to stop me?”
* * * * *
I tried to keep cool under the lash of his mocking voice. I have never
been adept at holding my temper when I should, but somehow I managed
it this time. Frowning, I kept him waiting for a reply, utilizing the
time to do what was perhaps the hardest, fastest thinking of my life.
There wasn’t a particle of doubt in my mind regarding his ability to
make good his threat, nor his readiness to do so. I caught the faint
glimmering of an idea and fenced with it eagerly.
“How are you going to go back to your own period–your own era?” I
asked him. “You told me, I believe, that it was impossible to move
backward in time.”
“That’s not answering my question,” he said, leering. “Don’t think
you’re fooling me! But I’ll tell you, just the same. I can go back to
my own era: that is, back to my own actual existence. I shall return
just two hours after I leave; I could not go back farther than that,
and it’s not necessary that I do so. I can go back only because I came
from that present; I am not really of this future at all. I go back
from whence I came.”
“But,” I objected, thinking of something I had read in the clipping he
had showed me, “you’re not going back to your own era. You cannot. If
you returned, you would put your project into execution, and history
does not record that activity.” I saw from the sudden narrowing of his
abnormally long eyes that I had caught his interest, and I pressed my
advantage hastily. “Remember that all the history of your time is
written, Harbauer. It is in the books of Earth’s history, with which
every child of this age, into which you have thrust yourself, is
familiar. And those histories do not record the domination of the
world by yourself. So–you are confronted by an impossibility!”
* * * * *
My reasoning, now, sounds specious, and yet it was a line of thought
which could not be waved aside. I saw Harbauer’s black brows knit
together, and mounting anger darken his face. I do not know, but I
believe I was never nearer death than I was at that instant.
“Fool!” he cried. “Idiot! Imbecile! Do you think you can confuse me,
turn me from my purpose, with words? Do you? Do you believe me to be a
child, or a weakling? I tell you, I have planned this thing to the
last detail. If I had not found what I sought on this first trip, I
would have taken another, a dozen, a score, until I found the
information I sought. The last six years of my life I have worked day
and night to this end; your histories and your words–“
My plan had worked. The man was beside himself with insane anger. And
in his rage he forgot, for an instant, that he was my captor.
Taking a desperate chance, I launched myself at his legs. His weapon
roared over my head, just as I struck. I felt the hot gas from the
thing beat against my neck; I caught the reeking scent of the smoke.
Then we were both on the floor, and locked in a mad embrace.
Harbauer was a smaller man than myself, but he had the amazing
strength of a Zenian. He fought viciously, using every ounce of his
strength against me, striving to bring his weapon into use, hammering
my head upon the floor, racking my body mercilessly, grunting,
cursing, mumbling constantly as he did so.
But I was in better trim than Harbauer. I have never seen a laboratory
man who could stand the strain of prolonged physical exertion. Bending
over test-tubes and meters is no life for a man. At grips with him, I
was in my own element, and he was out of his. I let him wear himself
out, exerting myself as little as possible, confining my efforts to
keeping his weapon where he could not use it.
I felt him weakening at last. His breath was coming in great sobs, and
his long eyes started from their sockets with the strained effort he
was putting forth. And then, with a single mighty effort, I knocked
the pistol from his hand, so that it slid across the floor and brought
up with a crash against a wall of the room.
“Now!” I said, and turned on him.
* * * * *
He knew, at that moment when I put forth my strength, that I had been
playing with him. I read the shock of sudden fear in his eyes. My
right arm went about him in a deadly hold; I had him in a grip that
paralyzed him. Grimly, I jerked him to his feet, and he stood there
trembling with weakness, his shoulders heaving as his breath came and
went between his teeth.
“You realize, of course, that you’re not going back?” I said quietly.
“Back?” Half dazed, he stared at me through the quivering lids of his
peculiar eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re not going back to your own era. You have come to
us, uninvited, and–you’re going to stay here.”
“No!” he shouted, and struggled so desperately to free himself that I
was hard put to it to hold him, without tightening my grip
sufficiently to dislocate his shoulders. “You wouldn’t do that! I must
return; I must prove to them–“
“That’s exactly what must not happen, and what shall not happen,” I
interrupted. “And what will not happen. You are in a strange
predicament, Harbauer; it is already written that you do not return.
Can’t you see that, man? If it were to be that you left this age and
returned to your own, you would make known your discovery. History
would record it. And history does not record it. You are struggling,
not against me, but against–against a fate that has been sealed all
these centuries.”
* * * * *
When I had finished, he stared at me as though hypnotized, motionless
and limp in my grasp. Then, suddenly, he began to shake and I saw such
depths of terror and horror in his eyes as I hope never to see again.
Mechanically, he glanced down at his watch, lifting his wrist into his
line of vision as slowly and ponderously as though it bore a great
weight.
“Two … two minutes,” he whispered huskily. “Then the automatic switch
will close, back in my laboratory. If I am not standing where … where
you found me … between the disc and the grid of my time machine, where
the reversed energy can reach me, to … to take me back … God!”
He sagged in my arms and dropped to his knees, sobbing.
“And yet … what you say is true. It is already written that I did
not return.” His sobs cut harshly through the silence of the room.
Pitying his despair, I reached down to give him a sympathetic pat on
the shoulder. It is a terrible thing to see a man break down as
Harbauer had done.
As he felt my grip on him relax, he suddenly shot his fist into the
pit of my stomach, and leaped to his feet. Groaning, I doubled up,
weak and nerveless, for the instant, from the vicious, unexpected
blow.
“Ah!” shrieked Harbauer. “You soft-hearted fool!” He struck me in the
face, sending me crashing to the floor, and snatched up his pistol.
“I’m going, now,” he shouted. “Going! What do I care for your records
and your histories? They are not yet written; if they were I’d change
them.” He bent over me and snatched from my hand the ring of keys, one
of which I had used to unlock the door of the navigating room. I tried
to grip him around the legs, but he tore himself loose, laughing
insanely in a high-pitched, cackling sound that seemed hardly human.
“Farewell!” he called mockingly from the doorway. Then the door
slammed, and as I staggered to my feet, I heard the lock click.
* * * * *
I must have acted then by instinct or inspiration. There was no time
to think. It would take him not more than three or four seconds to
make his way to the exit, stroll by the guard to the spot where we had
found him, and–disappear. By the time I could arouse the crew, and
have my orders executed, his time would be up, and–unless the whole
affair were some terrible nightmare–he would go hurtling back through
time to his own era, armed with a devastating knowledge.
There was only one possible means of preventing his escape in time. I
ran across the room to the emergency operating controls, cut in the
atomic generators with one hand and pulled the Vertical-Ascent lever
to Full Power.
There was a sudden shriek of air, and my legs almost thrust themselves
through my body. Quickly, I pushed the lever back until, with my eye
on the altimeter, I held the _Ertak_ at her attained height–something
over a mile, as I recall it. Then I pressed the General Attention
signal, and snatched up the microphone.
Less than a minute later Correy and Hendricks, fellow officers, were
in the room and besieging me with solicitous questions.
* * * * *
It had been my idea, of course, to keep Harbauer from leaving the
ship, but it was not so destined.
Shiro, the sentry on duty outside the _Ertak_, was the only witness to
Harbauer’s fate.
“I was walking my post, sir,” he reported, “watching the sun come up,
when suddenly I heard the sound of running feet inside the ship. I
turned towards the entrance and drew my pistol, to be in readiness. I
saw the stranger we had taken into the ship appear at the exit, which,
as you know, was open.
“Just as I opened my mouth to command him to halt, the _Ertak_ shot up
from the ground at terrific speed. The stranger had been about to leap
upon me; indeed, he had discharged some sort of weapon at me, for I
heard a crash of sound, and a missile of some kind, as you know,
passed through my left arm.
“As the ship left the ground, he tried to draw back, but he was off
balance, and the inertia of his body momentarily incapacitated him, I
think. He slipped, clutched at the gangway across the threads which
seal the exit, and then, at a height I estimate to be around five
hundred feet, he fell. The _Ertak_ shot on up until it was lost to
sight, and the stranger crashed to the ground a few feet from where I
was standing–on almost exactly the spot where we first saw him, sir.
* * * * *
“And now, sir, comes the part I guess you’ll find hard to believe.
When he struck the ground, he was smashed flat; he died instantly. I
started to run toward him, and then–and then I stopped. My eyes had
not left the spot for a moment, sir, but he–his body, that
is–suddenly disappeared. That’s the truth, sir, for I saw it with my
own eyes. There wasn’t a sign of him left.”
“I see,” I replied. I believe that I did. We had gone straight up, and
his body, by no great coincidence, had fallen upon the spot close to
the exit of the _Ertak_ where we had first found him. And his machine,
in operation, had brought him, or rather, his mangled body, back to
his own age. “You have not mentioned this affair to anyone, Shiro?”
“No, sir. It wasn’t anything you’d be likely to tell: nobody would
believe you. I went at once to have my arm attended to, and then
reported here according to orders.”
“Very good, Shiro. Keep the entire affair to yourself. I will make all
the necessary reports. That is an order–understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then that will be all. Take good care of your arm.”
He saluted with his good hand and left me.
* * * * *
Later in the day I wrote in the log-book of the Ertak the report I
mentioned at the beginning of this tale:
“Just before departure, discovered stowaway, apparently
demented, and ejected him.”
That was a perfectly truthful statement, and it served its purpose. I
have given the whole story in detail just to prove what I have so
often contended: that these owlish laboratory men whom this age
reveres so much are not nearly so wise and omnipotent as they think
they are.
I am quite sure that they would have discredited, or attempted to
discredit, my story, had I told it at the time. They would have
resented the idea that someone so much ahead of them had discovered a
principle that still baffles this age of ours, and I would have had no
evidence to present.
Perhaps even now the story will be discredited; if so, I do not care.
I am much too old, and too near the portals of that impenetrable
mystery, in the shadow of which I have stood so many times, to concern
myself with what others may think or say.
I know that what I have related here is the truth, and in my mind I
have a vivid and rather pitiful picture of a mangled body, bloody and
alone, in the barn-like structure the ancient paper had described; a
body, broken and motionless, lying athwart the striated metal disc,
like a sacrificial victim–a victim and a sacrifice of science.
There have been many such.
Manape the Mighty
A COMPLETE NOVELETTE
_By Arthur J. Burks_
Comments
Loading comments…