The man who mastered time
Anglo-Saxons with a strain of Latin had settled on this palm-covered,
tropical island long before the conditions farther north had become so
drastic. They kept to themselves and fought against the pollution of
their blood by others; they were descendents of the highest type of
Earth civilization.
For centuries they were left to themselves, to drift along in their own
fashion. But with the coming of the cold, the mixed races of the north
began moving down--coveting the island. Then these island people
suddenly sprang into activity. Defense of the homeland brought action;
lost arts of war were revived. The Anglese--that is as near the sound of
their word for themselves as I can get--repulsed all comers.
To the north was now a climate that held snow from September to June.
Only three brief months availed for agriculture. The mixed peoples there
did not rise to master such rigors. Centuries of struggle turned them
almost primitive, with arts and sciences and ways to conquer their
environment lost and forgotten. They became barbarians.
Such is the condition as I have found it. I can give you details only of
our northern half of the western hemisphere. Transportation is back
nearly to the primitive; the rest of the world is almost unknown to
Azeela's race.
Toroh, I've learned now, is an Anglese, but they banished him. He was
plotting to overthrow the government. When he was banished, he went
among the barbarians of the north and began organizing them for an
attack on the island. Toroh has scientific knowledge; up there in the
north he has been manufacturing weapons. Then he came back to the island
secretly, and abducted Azeela. She's the daughter of Fahn, the leading
scientist of the Anglese--he's the man who holds the reins of power.
With Azeela as hostage, Toroh planned to make Fahn yield.
But now that I have released Azeela, Toroh's attack will come swiftly.
That is why I send you this message. Toroh is a menace--the greatest
figure of evil in this time-world. There will be war, a struggle in
which the Anglese may go down before the onslaught of Toroh and the
hordes of barbarians with whom he has allied himself. Oh, I can't tell
you all the details...I'm too tired.
I'll stop now, and send this message back to you in the cube. And,
Father, you know what we arranged--that you would come and join me if I
needed you. Well, I do; I need you here now.
As we agreed, I will raise a light-beam signal, which will mark the
exact point in space and the exact moment in time at which I want you to
be here.
For me, that moment _is now_!
So as soon as I dispatch this message off to you, I shall raise the
signal. It will be at the southeastern tip of our island. For you
geographically, it will be about Miami. From that point in space, you
cannot fail to see it, if your time-flight is slow enough. I will hold
it in the sky for as long as I can, so that it will have enough duration
for you not to miss it.
Please tell _Mamita_ not to worry about me, or about you either. We will
both come back to her safely. You may bring one or two of our friends
who wish to make the trip. I think that George will want to come and I
would like to have him. You need bring no weapons; they would be worse
than useless.
_Please hurry, Father. I need you!_
CHAPTER SIX
Roger's slow, solemn voice died away. He rustled the pages of Loto's
message in his hand.
"That's all, gentlemen. All of the message itself. The other pages give
detailed instructions--data based on Loto's flight and memoranda for the
construction of another plane, gathered from previous notes made by Loto
and myself."
There was complete silence when Rogers paused. George decided to speak,
but checked himself and relaxed back in his chair.
"I shall start the Frazia Company on another plane at once," Rogers
added. "And working on Loto's mechanism simultaneously, I should be
ready in ninety days."
He waited, but again no one else spoke. Then he said:
"I am going, of course. It is a great trial for my wife, but I know she
is willing."
George turned and flashed an admiring glance at Lylda; her face was
strained, but she smiled at him gently.
"Do not be hasty, my friends," Rogers went on quickly. "Any two of you
are free to come--or to stay, all of you--as you think best."
"I'm going," said George suddenly. "Loto said I could. And you say so.
I'm going."
He jumped to his feet and grasped Roger's hand. "You can count on me,
Mr. Rogers."
Rogers smiled. "Thank you, George. I knew I could."
George sat down again. Then he got up and crossed to Lylda, shaking her
hand also, and whispering to her. But in another instant he was pacing
the room, smoking violently, and frowning.
Rogers was saying to the others, "I will take one more. I realize it is
a momentous question. Your lives may be at stake."
The Big Business Man was deep in reverie. "I wonder," he murmured. "I
wonder if I _do_ want to go."
"Come on," urged George, stopping suddenly before him. "Take a chance."
He did not wait for an answer, but went back to his pacing.
The Banker said, half apologetically. "You don't really need me, do you,
Rogers?"
"Of course not," Rogers said heartily. "Use your own judgement. But I
knew you'd be offended if I didn't give you the opportunity."
The Banker nodded. "Yes, but you don't need me. I'm an old
man--seventy-three, though I hope you'd never guess it. I think I'd
better stay where I'm used to things."
"Of course," agreed Rogers.
"But if you need money," the Banker added hopefully, "and you will,
naturally--everybody needs money--you'll call on me, won't you? I'm
going to see this thing through."
"I don't believe I'll go," the Business Man declared. He met the
Doctor's glance, and the Doctor seemed relieved. "You don't really need
us, Rogers. I think Frank would prefer to stay also."
The Doctor nodded emphatic agreement.
"Quite so," said Rogers. "I can understand perfectly how you feel."
George stopped his pacing. "Then it's all settled, Mr. Rogers. You and I
go; the others stay on guard here. Now listen, everybody, I've got some
good ideas..."
* * * * *
Two days before Christmas, another plane lay glistening on the roof of
the Scientific Club, walled in from curious eyes by the board enclosure.
Sleek, self-satisfied, its every line denoting latent power, it lay
motionless, awaiting those human masters who soon were to launch it into
another time world.
Occasionally during the afternoon George visited it, anxiously
verifying again and again that all was in readiness.
Evening came. The others arrived, singly and in couples. For two hours a
bustle of final preparations went on--things forgotten, last minute
plans put into execution. But by nine o'clock the moment of departure
was finally at hand.
The Banker was in a fluster of excitement. He had appointed himself the
leader of those who were to be left behind, and he felt the
responsibility keenly.
"Tell me exactly what we've got to do," he insisted. "I don't want
anything to go wrong."
Rogers slapped him on the back. "It's nothing to be alarmed over."
"No. But I want to be sure I've got it straight. Tell me all over
again."
Rogers repressed a smile. "When we have gone you will all wait some ten
minutes to be sure nothing has gone wrong to bring us immediately back.
Then you will lock up the enclosure and leave. I have made arrangements
with the club to have the enclosure left standing."
"That's all?" asked the Banker anxiously. "We leave the roof open?"
"Yes. In coming back we will want it open, and you cannot tell when we
may return."
"But no more than six months," the Banker insisted. "You promise that?"
Rogers nodded.
"Come on," George's voice called. "Let's get started." He had shaken
hands with Lylda and climbed up to the doorway of the cabin. "Come on,
Mr. Rogers. Let's get started."
Lylda stood apart. Her farewell to her husband was brief. The others
turned away, feeling that they should not intrude upon it. When Rogers
joined George on the platform of the plane, the Doctor was with Lylda,
comforting her.
With a final good-by Rogers slid the door closed. The forward
compartment, with its low arch ceiling and its concave walls, was small,
but comfortably equipped. The side windows had upholstered seats running
under them. In front, to the right, were the Frazia controls, a low seat
for the pilot and a small window above the control panel. The time
dials and the proton current switch were on the wall to the right. To
the left of the seat was the main entrance door.
The division wall between the forward compartment and the engine room
behind it held a small doorway with a sliding door.
"Are we ready?" Rogers asked. "I think we should be sitting. The shock
of departure, new to us, may be more severe than we anticipate."
His words were calm enough, but they sent a thrill of excitement through
George. "All ready," he said. "Go ahead!"
Rogers took a last look about. Then without hesitation, he moved the
switch to the first intensity. To George, the humming seemed very
different now than when he had heard it outside the plane. It was no
louder, but it seemed to hum and vibrate inside his body. He was
quivering inside, his head began reeling dizzily; then came that
sickening, horrible sensation of falling headlong--a vertigo that turned
everything to blackness.
"Are you all right? We've started."
It was Rogers's anxious voice. George opened his eyes; everything seemed
glowing, unreal and ghostlike. But he was uninjured, and his head had
steadied.
"I'm all right," he managed to say.
The sickness passed quickly. George stood up, steadying himself. "Gosh,
how light I feel! Queer in the head--don't you? I never imagined--"
He stopped abruptly. Through a side window the fur-coated figure of the
Banker was standing against the wall with the others around him. They
were staring toward the plane with an expression that clearly indicated
they could not see it.
"We've started all right," George added. "Look at them! We're already in
future time to them. They can't see us!"
Suddenly the Banker came forward walking with extraordinary swiftness,
and seemingly with little jerks, like a manikin. George held his
breath, for the Banker popped forward, his head and shoulders piercing
the glowing phosphorescent walls and floor of the cabin. He stood
motionless a brief instant, his face close to George's knees. Then, even
more rapidly than he had advanced, he threw a swift glance around and
retreated.
George recovered himself. "Boy," he said. "Wasn't that weird though? But
we're all right. I feel fine now."
The droning of the Frazia motors sounded very faintly above the humming.
It was a relief, a help toward normality. The plane was slowly raising
into the air.
As it mounted, the roof of the Scientific Club dwindled away below. It
was a dark night, with heavy clouds and a cold wind from the east. The
city, with snow on its rooftops, was sliding eastward beneath them;
vague black shadows, dark buildings dotted with lights, and seemingly
empty streets.
They were still mounting diagonally upward, and carried sidewise by the
wind, when the Hudson River slid into view.
"Rotten weather, Mr. Rogers," George suggested.
"Yes," Rogers agreed, "but that will not bother us for very long. Are
you warm enough?"
"One heater is going," George responded. "I'll switch on another." He
had familiarized himself thoroughly with the various mechanical
appliances of the plane, and he turned a switch that threw current into
another of the small electric radiators.
"Anything else?" he demanded.