Time Travel Omnibus, page 111
Elsewhere in the text of this story we have gone more fully into this. The story will give you excellent entertainment and provide you with enough thought-provoking questions for a long time to come.
The Question
of Time-Traveling
IN presenting this story to our readers, we do so with an idea of bringing on a discussion as to time-travelling in general. The question in brief is as follows: Can a time-traveler, going back in time—whether ten years or ten million years—partake in the life of that time and mingle in with its people; or must he remain suspended in his own time-dimension, a spectator who merely looks on but is powerless to do more?
Interesting problems would seem to arise, of which only one need be mentioned: Suppose I can travel back into time, let me say 200 years; and I visit the homestead of my great great great grandfather, and am able to take part in the life of his time. I am thus enabled to shoot him, while he is still a young man and as yet unmarried. From this it will be noted that I could have prevented my own birth; because the line of propagation would have ceased right there. Consequently, it would seem that the idea of time-travelling into a past where the time-travellers can freely participate in activities of a former age, becomes an absurdity.
The editor wishes to receive letters from our readers on this point; the best of which will be published in a special section.
ALTHOUGH he was a neighbor of mine, I had no more than a speaking acquaintance with him. I knew him only as a very eccentric individual given, principally, to burning the midnight oil and to conducting endless experiments in a sort of rude laboratory building he had constructed at the rear of his home. Otherwise he was a very queer recluse who tended, occasionally, a small gar ever left his premises.
It was this latter employment that served to introduce us. For, while I am a practicing physician, amateur gardening is a pet hobby of mine and some over-the-fence conversations, eventually, led to a closer understanding.
From these rare visits, I finally gleaned something of the history of Mr. Brown, my eccentric neighbor.
It seems that the gentleman in question had once occupied a position of no small repute in the professional world—not only along the line of theory but also in many practical branches of science. But, even in those days, he had been noted as an independent investigator with such a radical set of ideas that he shocked his professional associates and caused them, ultimately, to read him out of fellowship.
The principal reason for this action lay in the proposition he had set up regarding the nature and possibilities of the fourth dimension. His contention that time, “the measure of duration,” is not divided arbitrarily into the present, past and future but may, under proper conditions, be accelerated or retarded, was so radical a departure from known facts as to excite ridicule, not to mention derision, from his colleagues. What they demanded was proof and at that period, Brown was not prepared to give it.
Somewhat embittered at this cold reception of his theory, Brown had retired from active public work to his present retreat and was now engaged in a series of experiments by which he hoped to confound his enemies.
His success I, of course, had no means of gauging, and, in fact, I might have remained in ignorance indefinitely, but for an accident.
One night, when preparing to retire, I chanced to glance toward my neighbor’s laboratory. There I noticed a small blaze leaping from the roof. I quickly hastened to the place and as quickly extinguished the flames with a handy extinguisher. In the course of operating the thing, my finger was jammed and a blue mark came that never disappeared. This may seem an unimportant point; but as you will see later it is very significant. I then forced open the door of the building and entered a smoke-filled room, where I perceived Brown stretched out prone on the floor.
Dragging him outside, I summoned a passer-by and with his assistance carried the unconscious man into his home. Here, a hasty examination told my professional eye that Brown was suffering nothing worse from his experiences than a slight shock and a bit too much smoke, and would soon recover.
This diagnosis was quickly verified. My patient sat up muttering, in a dazed sort of way, “It was so wonderful—so wonderful!” This exclamation he repeated several times before he regained his composure. He then, however, elapsed into his habitual silence, nor would he volunteer any information regarding the cause of the accident. He dismissed me with an expression of gratitude, adding:
“I cannot explain matters now. It was all so thrilling, so tremendous an adventure that I require time for reflection. I promise you, though, that you shall hear the most amazing story that was ever told—on some future day.”
With this queer assurance I was forced to be content. But I could not return to my interrupted rest. My brief view of the interior of the laboratory, together with Brown’s strange words, had aroused my imagination to the nth degree.
I remember it as a sort of miniature “crystal palace,” within. Great convex and concave mirrors hung upon the walls, giving a most uncanny appearance to the room, while in the center of the floor sat a large block of pure crystal, above which glowed an endless number of lights.
What could be the use of all this bizarre arrangement, I could in no wise fathom. I finally reached the conclusion that Brown was somewhat demented, and so dismissed the enigma from my mind. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when several weeks later, I received a note from that gentleman requesting the pleasure of my company at his home the following night. Should I accept? Men with his type of dementia have been known to develop dangerous forms of insanity. This thought I speedily put aside as too fantastic. Here was a splendid chance to study Brown at first hand and, so, I decided to comply with his polite invitation.
A Challenge
I WAS cordially received by Brown in his finely-appointed study. Wine and cigars were on the table and my host performed the honors in a way that gave no hint of mental derangement.
Presently he said: “Of course I owe you some explanation for the service you rendered me some time ago. But to make myself clear, I must first enter upon a more detailed outline of my experiments. To state, offhand, that you found me, then, intoxicated by a journey of a thousand years into the future, would be simply to invite your belief into my insanity. Oh yes, I know how the world regards me and my ‘folly!’ But what I have just stated is true, nevertheless, and that is why I must approach the subject in a different manner.”
I nodded my head in agreement.
“To begin at the beginning,” he resumed: “I have made a life study of the relation of time to matter. And, after all, the problem is not so complex as many suppose. It consists, largely, in viewing time, not as a simple yard-stick for measuring the passage of the visible universe; not as some abstract quality having a definite, fixed value; but rather as a very real state of existence itself. A fourth dimension, in short, that is as solid, as substantial, as true as the other three.
“In theory, it is possible to prove this assertion; in demonstration, very difficult. The human mind, heretofore, has not trained itself to the larger outlook. We have advanced in mental development only to a degree where we can comprehend and act within the three known dimensions. Scientists accept as the gospel truth that this viewpoint is the sum total of possibilities. They do not reason that all truth is relative, a matter simple of proof; that there is no fixed value, no point of absolute verity. Rather, like blind men, they do not see the light, and, therefore, contend that there is no light. Length, breadth, depth, these are obvious facts; but time, which embraces all, they reject as a mere incident, as merely the measure of events, instead of an expression of matter as vital as any other.
“In the infinite realms of time there are, also, an infinite number of lines, angles without end. Cubes within cubes, like the leaves of a book, all forming the whole, yet each reflecting a separate plane of existence.
“It has been my mission to delve within the pages of this inspired volume. After many failures, I have at last succeeded, and it has been a most wonderful experience. I can follow the earth-line backward or forward. I can follow any quantity of divergent lines, and behold places and people that have no parallel in human understanding. Therein, of course, lies danger; and it was upon one of these untried paths that I well-nigh lost my bearings and my life. Luckily for me, the apparatus which opens the gate of these intricate mazes failed to function; and so I came back to the earth-plane in a shocked, but otherwise sound condition.”
I had listened, carefully, to this strange recital. Now, however, I interposed my first objection.
“Mr. Brown,” said I: “You will not be offended, I trust, if the whole project appears to me as a physician to be one of those common hallucinations due to excessive study and overwork. If you were a patient of mine, I should certainly prescribe a rest and other fields of interest for a while.”
He did not seem to mind my remarks in the least; perhaps he had met the same line of objections in the past. In fact, he smiled broadly.
“Another doubting Thomas,” he replied: “See here, you do not deny the positive fact of time—do you? As a matter of argument, time is the most universal, the most insistent of all phenomena. It enters absolutely into every manifestation of life. Inertia reckons time; motion takes time. Even so fleet a messenger as thought is recorded by time. Nothing escapes its omnipotent presence. It is, in truth, the Alpha and the Omega of all things. Therefore why so strange that it should encompass all things?
“But I have better proof than mere words. If you will take the risk, I will take you on a voyage of discovery that will, forever, silence your carping spirit. Do you dare?”
This bold challenge left me in a rare predicament. I could no longer interpose the plea of pathology when the very subject, himself, offered to make me the sole judge of the results. Still I hesitated. I am of a turn of mind not given, overmuch, to experiments. I prefer to tread the comfortable paths of the proven. Yet here was an unexcelled opportunity to leave the beaten trails that was so unique as to be beyond belief.
Brown was still smiling. It spurred me on to resolution.
“I accept the dare,” said I: “If there is any truth in your statements, then, the demonstration ought to be a wonder.”
He arose abruptly and led me into the laboratory. Switching on the lights, he seated me, in a slightly reclining position, upon the crystal block, previously mentioned.
“I cannot go, at the present moment, into an extended account of the workings of the machine,” said he: “In a general way, however, the results are obtained by a powerful combination of rays, mirrors, and atomic vibrations, which serves to distort the image of the real and so upset the sense of stability as to produce a state of mind wherein perception of the fourth dimension becomes a reality.”
“And, strange to say, no more is required than to act within its scope—absolutely all! It is simply a matter of bringing the mind into harmony with the plane of time, to be able to move and act within its dimension. Take the hypothetical case of a race of men, so deficient in comprehension as to recognize only one or two dimensions. To them, the cube would be completely outside their perceptions, just as truly as the fourth dimension is to the human race. But the cube does, in fact, exist and mankind comprehends and acts within its boundaries. So the mere knowledge of the fuller attributes of time is sufficient to enable one to move freely in its sphere.
“Moreover, action within time, is all relative. It may seem long, but be the work of an instant; short, yet occupy endless cycles. Time, in its exact meaning, is not measured by hours but by eternity. ‘A thousand years is as a day in the sight of the Lord.’ Do you realize the true significance of those holy words?”
CHAPTER II
A Journey Into Time
AS a matter of fact, I had begun to realize all too well. What if the second postulate should prove to be the case, and leave me, so to speak, suspended between here and eternity—what then? I had come to wish that I was out of the whole ridiculous situation but, in the face of Brown’s still-lingering smile, I could, in no wise, find a heart to do it. Rather I calmly said: “Well, let’s go, professor.”
“Go where?” said he.
I had been reading, the previous evening, a charming story of the French revolution. “I would like a close-up view of the guillotine,” I replied: “As a physician, it has for me a peculiar fascination; it was so effective a surgeon.”
He made no further comment but, after consulting a table of schedules, set the dial on an electric switch controlled by a large clock. I glanced at this clock. It was exactly nine p.m.
Suddenly, the clock became blurred. The figure of Brown, at the switch, took on a queer sort of elongated outline. All that I could see with any degree of clearness were the mirrors on the walls and, even these appeared to be revolving furiously.
Utmost confusion prevailed within my mind. I seemed to be slipping down a steep incline between an endless series of parallel lines. My perceptions of distance and of motion underwent a curious effect of expansion as though I stood upon a point remote from the earth and was a lone spectator of all that had gone before. An exhilaration of spirit possessed me and I was filled with an intense desire to shout aloud. Then my feelings changed. In a strange way, I had a feeling of limitation, as if I were on the outer edge of a vast wheel revolving towards some definite goal. As though I were reading history backwards and were, in some manner, a party to its making. I had, also, some dim memory of the multitude of things that might have been; things that had played a minor part in the divine plan and had gone again like celestial scaffolding that is torn down.
How long these vague sensations lasted, I have no means of knowing for, as abruptly as they began, they also ended. As plain as day, as real as life, I stood within a cold, dark dungeon. I seemed to move freely therein and yet I knew, in some strange fashion, that I was not a part thereof; bars and bolts had no binding effect upon my movements; that I was invisible to mere human eyes.
Three men, of aristocratic appearance, though dressed shabbily in tattered remains of former finery, were grouped around a small table, conversing earnestly. A fourth man, of younger aspect but of the same noble type, stood apart watching the faint light that fell from the high barred windows.
The eldest of the group at the table was speaking.
“Monsieur Le Comte,” said he, “it certainly does seem the refinement of cruelty these ruffians have devised. Not content with decreeing my own death, they have, now, arrested my son in the name of ‘Liberty.’ How, in God’s name, could he be involved in treason? Since the death of my wife, he has spent all his time in England completing his education; and he returned only when he learned of my arrest, to work for my release by all legal means. He is so young and manly, too; the only one left to continue my line. For myself, I do not care overmuch, but for him”—the speaker paused to wipe away a tear.
The one addressed as Le Comte placed his hand, affectionately, upon the shoulder of the elder.
“You know how I feel,” he said: “How close the ties between us. How we hoped to unite our houses when your son should marry Eloise. But we are in the hands of God, my friend. Let us hope for the best. There is one blessing in all this wretchedness. Eloise is now safe away, thanks to our good friend here, DeCoven. I have sent her to a secure retreat by means of the trusted servants whom he furnished.”
The man referred to as DeCoven had not spoken, as yet. He appeared to be in the full confidence of his companions. I noticed, however, by my quickened sense of observation, that he darted a malevolent glance towards the young man. He now turned towards the other two:
“You should have more faith in the influence I possess in high quarters. I have but recently made known the offer of gold to them. I have good reason to believe that it will soon be effective. Just as I secured the pass that enabled Monsieur Le Comte’s daughter to escape, so I am sure that the interest I have with the dictator will present obtain our pardon also.”
These bold words appeared to uplift the drooping spirits of the prisoners, for they all sat down to the meager board in a much more cheerful frame of mind.
Alas, for the vain philosophy of life! At this very moment, the iron doors swung open and admitted a file of nondescript soldiers headed by an equally nondescript officer. The four men arose with a look of terror in their faces.
“Edward Le Blanc and Citizen De Coven, step forward,” demanded the officer: “I have here an order signed by the Committee of Public Safety, for your immediate execution.”
At these terrible words, father and son fell into each other’s arms in a silent agony of fear. De Coven blanched a deadly white.
“There must be some mistake,” he shouted: “Robespierre is my protector!”
“Explain that to him, then,” said the officer. “I have the proper papers signed by the president himself. I must do my duty.”
And, forthwith, despite the violent resistance of De Coven, the two were bound and roughly hustled out of the prison. I caught but one fleeting glimpse of those left behind as I, too, followed the doomed pair to their end. Poor father, poor friend—fate is no respecter of age or position.
Into a high cart they hastily tumbled the prisoners, and the grim procession to the place of execution began. The line ran over an uneven, cobblestone-paved thoroughfare, amid a mob of jeering people; and so on, to the great square in which stood the dread guillotine. Upon this rude structure had died many distinguished figures, victims to the real or fancied wrongs of the new republic.
Here, also, came our two prisoners: Edward, reconciled to his fate and with the serene look of one who has made his peace with God; De Coven, chattering and protesting in an agony of fear.
Just as we arrived there drew up also another cart containing only one victim—a young and beautiful girl. Edward, when he saw her, gave voice to his pent-up emotions. Surprise, love, impotent agony, chased across his noble countenance in quick succession. He was not, evidently, prepared for this fearful blow of fate. He had every reason to believe that she, at least, was safely out of this inferno.
