Time Travel Omnibus, page 122
“Surely you don’t expect me to get into this,” I jested. He smiled. “Let me help you,” he said quietly.
TO my surprise the material proved wonderfully elastic, stretching without difficulty or any inconvenient strain, though to one accustomed to more and heavier clothing the suit seemed inadequate. “I feel naked,” I said.
“But doubtless quite comfortable,” replied Manuel. “You see, this cloth is specially prepared. It insulates the body against sudden changes in temperature, keeping you reasonably cool in hot weather and warm in cold. The ultraviolet rays of the sun are freely admitted to all portions of the body, while infra-red are tempered, or if too intense, repelled entirely. Long ago we abandoned wearing clothes for fashion or vanity’s sake, realizing that a well-shaped and clear-skinned body is a pleasing sort of beauty in itself. What you are now wearing is an art and health suit.” I had to admit that, artistically, the one-piece garment was much superior to the shapeless pants and coats of 1950. Manuel fastened to my feet the metal, disc-like devices I have before noted. Closer examination revealed them to be quite broad on the bottom and punctured with a score of small holes, containing a small compact atomic motor that compressed the air beneath one and made it as hard and resilient as rubber. The short metal rod handed me was hollow, and at either end, like stoppers, were what appeared to be sensitized plates. The rod was fastened to the wrist by a flexible strap of metal. Three keys, red, white and blue, were at the end of the rod nearest the wrist, and there were other devices whose function I will describe later on.
“But how do the shoes work?” I asked Manuel.
“By means of broadcast power,” he replied. “The rod is your pick-up instrument. I press this first red key—so. Do you hear the vibration? Power is now being received by radio. I press the white one. Feel the droning in your heels? Power is being communicated to the air-shoes. Now if I were to press the blue button . . .”
“I would fly,” I said.
“Fly! No,” laughed Manuel. “Who said anything about flying? You would generate beneath your feet a thousand pounds of air-pressure to the square inch. This creates an air road on which you walk. You can ascend any height you please by merely stepping higher, as on stairs; to descend, notice the white button can not only be pressed but pushed forward in this notched groove—so. Each notch represents a decrease of one hundred pounds in air-pressure. There are ten notches, as you see. Thus by lessening the air resistance beneath your feet you can descend as easily as you rise. But come! Let me illustrate what I mean.”
I shall never forget that first lesson in aerial walking. You can’t imagine the uneasy sensation of stepping on what is invisible. At first I was timid and unbelievably clumsy. In air-shoes one stepped differently, more from the hip. An aerial walker had to learn to balance himself, to poise the body so as to remain in an upright position. Several times my head felt lighter than my feet; that is, my feet went up faster than the rest of me. Once or twice my heels shot out and heavenward, and the air-pressure would have hurled me disastrously to earth if Manuel and others of my instructors had not caught and held me safely. However, I soon began to acquire the knack. The first day I achieved a fair balance; the second, I essayed a journey all by myself, keeping, however, close to earth; and on the third, I was quite proficient.
Aerial Walks
“BUT why walk,” I asked one of my instructors, “when it’s possible to fly? Have you no flying machines?
“Oh, yes,” he answered, “but they are only used for traveling long distances, and for conveying freight to and from the mechanical cities. Since man does no physical labor any more, it is considered imperative he should get as much exercise as possible. Walking is one of the simplest and best known. Of course we have the aerial autos—you have seen them. They run on compressed air roads in the same fashion as our aerial walks. But there is an exhilaration about aerial walking that’s lacking in the machine.”
I already understood what he meant The air was a springy road beneath one’s feet. A walker had the luxurious use of his limbs, combined with a freedom of movement, a birdlike sensation of rising and falling, of being a godlike creature alone in space. And with such understanding there came to me the realization that the old roads winding over hill and dale, the dusty, winding ribbons of macadamized highway had gone forever. Man now made his roads as he walked; and when he ceased walking, the road was non-existent. Nay, it lay always under his feet, but nowhere else, and the elements could not destroy it; nor did he have constantly to worry about their upkeep. The wonder, the simplicity of such road construction could net but make me marvel!
During the course of my walks—it was on the fourth day—I bent my steps in the direction of what I had known as Fruitvale and San Fernando. Outlying districts, I noticed, were being intensively farmed. Fruit trees and vegetables were still being grown. I saw the busy figures of workers tending the checker-like fields and orchards beneath, but when I descended to hold converse with them I perceived they were not human beings but mechanical robots, working with a grim precision rather appalling to watch. It was difficult to believe them machines—and as difficult to imagine them anything else.
During those four days I also saw other things of interest. There were, for instance, the books, theaters and television devices of the Arcadians. But I shall speak of these later.
After dark on the fourth day Manuel signified I was to go with him on a visit. We crossed the Bay in an air-auto to the San Francisco shore, and then turned inland, finally stopping at a grove of great pines in which a light chamber had been erected. Perhaps fifty men were assembled in the big room. I recognized Val and several others that I had seen before. Manuel took charge of the meeting.
“Bayers,” he said, “this is the Revolutionary Committee of The League for Masculine Equality. It represents directly some hundred thousand male citizens of Arcadia; and indirectly a half million more. Your coming has aroused a great deal of agitation among our membership. We feel that the time to strike is ripe. Our plans are made.
If you will co-operate with us we are confident of success.
I have brought you here tonight to tell these men whether or not you will be one of us.”
I looked at the faces surrounding me. They were of all kinds and description, but all shone with one emotion—determination!
“Gentlemen,” I said, unconsciously using that form of address, “I am a man. I cannot help but sympathize with you in your aspirations. I come from a period when men were pretty well the masters of the world. In that era woman was sexually and economically inferior. She occupied a similar position to your own, in that she was organizing and fighting for equal rights. But I also realize that the women won their battle, ushered in world-wide peace among nations, created the marvelous civilization I see surrounding me, and I am naturally anxious no act of mine shall destroy the worthy fruits of their labor and genius.”
“What do you fear?” asked one of the men.
“Violence,” I said, “fighting among the sexes which will erase all your gains.”
“Then be easy in your mind,” said another. “No weapons such as the ancients used exist among us today. Gunpowder, explosives, deadly gases are not manufactured in our mechanical cities. Psychologically we are trained to abhor the use of such things, or any violence in fact. What we contemplate is not that sort of a revolution.”
“Well, what other sort is there?” I demanded, consumed with curiosity.
MANUEL spoke slowly: “Bayers, it is natural for you to think in terms of your day, but try to understand what I am going to tell you. The whole basis of Arcadian life is mechanical. Nine-tenths of our work is done solely by machines. Those machines—and when I say machines, I mean all the devices you see immediately surrounding us, the vast cities of the middle-west and of the east that are wholly run by mechanisms—are controlled from certain centers by women operators. There is one master center that controls the whole life of the country, that commands the obedience of the mechanicals. Whoever controls this center has the power to enforce his demands: not by destroying anything, but by possessing everything. Once let us win this center and we can dictate terms to the women, make our demands on the mothers. We can force them to give us equal representation in the laboratories in the Secret City. We can ask certain securities for the carrying out of our wishes. Once we have control of this center, we can achieve equal rights for man.”
“And you promise not to use your power to deprive the women of theirs?”
“Yes; for we realize that no ruling class or sex is safe so long as there is a class or sex deprived of its privileges, that is kept inferior. All must be equal.”
“Very well,” I said, “I am in sympathy with you so far. But what is your plan for seizing the center, and of what help can I be?”
Val answered me. “No male is allowed to enter this master center. Theoretically he is kept ignorant as to how it works. But actually, by what means does not matter now, we have obtained complete knowledge regarding it and how it functions. For any of us to approach it without suspicion is impossible. But you are a visitor from another age, physically as big as a woman. In the dark you can pass for one. See, here are the plans of the control center. Notice the seat here—and the lever.” He spread before me a well-drawn plan. “The room is quite bare save for this.” He indicated the sketch of a weird-looking mechanism. “But pay no attention to it. The woman will probably rise and come to greet you. That’s your chance. Act quickly! Don’t hesitate! Win to the seat—throw the lever. Leave the rest to us.”
He illustrated what he meant; he went over and over the details painstakingly.
“When the lever is thrown this mechanical here will imprison the woman, but without injury. All over Arcadia power will stop, work will cease. No one will be hurt because the surplus energy stored in batteries incorporated in air-autos, air-shoes and air-ships will allow of their safe descent to earth. On that surplus we shall reach you quickly, once you throw the lever. Follow out these instructions to the letter.”
So it was we made our plans and on the following evening attempted to carry them out.
CHAPTER V
A Midnight Walk
HERE I must note a peculiarity. With the abolition of roads as we know them, and with the use of the air exclusively, had gone the old-fashioned methods of illuminating cities. The need for lighting systems to prevent robbery or murder had practically disappeared. The bodies of air-autos, the air-shoes on the heels of aerial walkers, the controlling rods strung to the wrists of pedestrians were all of a uniform silvery color that shone at night like phosphorus. The air-autos, of course, could switch on electric lights if necessary, and I discovered that the pressing of a sensitized plate could turn my rod into an ingenious and powerful “torch.” As for the interior of buildings and the temporary light chambers, the first were illuminated by artificial sunlight reflected from a central lamp in each building, wherever desired, by cunningly arranged reflecting devices, while the latter had the peculiar property of lighting themselves. This matter I intended to probe into more deeply when opportunity should offer, but somehow never did. The roofs of buildings were designated by symbols, letters of the alphabet, and by numbers etched in glowing phosphorus; so that a citizen knew where he was at all times and could readily locate places in the darkness.
“Why veil from our cities with superfluous lights the glory of the stars and the matchless beauty of the moon?” asked Manuel. I was made to understand that for all Arcadians, both male and female, the contemplation of the heavens at night was an aesthetic pleasure.
The central control station to which twelve members of the Revolutionary Committee guided me about ten o’clock in the evening was distinguished from other buildings by an immense circle enclosing the letter A. No attempt was made at secrecy. Numerous other walkers were abroad. In fact the air was full of traffic. We were but a group of men among thousands. But I myself could readily pass for a woman. My bulk was that of a female. In the soft darkness of the night—there was no moon—I was but a vague figure. The faint glow of phosphorus indicating shod heels and the rod in my hand revealed them alone. Walking through the balmy night on the aerial highway was a mystical and uncanny experience. Almost I imagined myself dreaming. Languorously I glided along. Like giant fireflies, air-autos went noiselessly by. Invisible feet on gleaming metal were everywhere. Far off you could see them striding, hundreds of them—thousands. The gleaming rods swung this way and that. Suspended betwixt heaven and earth I had an almost ecstatic feeling of exhilaration, of omnipotent power.
Where before had I ever experienced such emotions? Then it came to me that many times in sleep I had soared through the air, limbs trailing. Levitation! That was it. Through the machine man would master the mystery of gliding, of traveling without extraneous power. I pondered how the simple ever prevails over the complex. Then Manuel, who had glided forward, seized my arm and pointed downward. The great circle enclosing the letter A was directly underneath. The others crowded around. Not a word was spoken. Before starting, my instructions had been lucidly repeated and the rest was up to me. Further talk was useless—even dangerous. With only a nod of farewell I went down into the velvet blackness of the grove surrounding the shadowy building. I knew where to land, what preliminary steps to take, but for the first time I felt nervous. I was conscious of a rising excitement, a quickened pulse. To enter the building as a woman seemed easy enough, but after that . . .
WHAT if my attempt failed? What if, instead of the woman, I should myself he the one to be made a prisoner by the mechanical? The thought was anything but pleasant. It came to me suddenly that I knew nothing of the laws of Arcadia, what methods of punishment were indulged in. Robbery and murder no longer occurred, or very rarely. Such cases were treated psychopathically. But what of revolutionists? Surely there was a punishment for the crime of rebellion. The phrase uttered to Val by the almost girlish man at my first dinner in Arcadia came to me. “Do you want to be de-memorized?” I should have asked about that expression. But it was too late now! With the emotions of a man who feels that he is running serious risks he should have had sense enough to steer clear of, I found myself pacing the air six inches above the lawn.
Mechanicals were still toiling but took no notice of me. They were laying out a row of what appeared to be shrubbery. What a blessing such workers would be to the greedy industrial interests of America, I thought. No wages, no strikes. A little cash outlay for machines, a little lubricant from time to time, the pressing of a button or whatever it was that started them, and the twenty-four hours could roll around without their noticing their flight. A blessing indeed to the farmer, the banker—but to the workers, the wage-earners of the United States, hardly a boon!
I entered the wide-open portal of the building without interference. My nerves twitched, my muscles tensed until they hurt. It occurred to me that I was not designed by nature for such dubious adventures. A soft, rosy light filled the interior of the vast room. It was a subdued light, though to one coming in from the outer darkness it was dazzling enough. In spite of my nervousness, my inward feeling of trepidation, I moved forward quickly. I saw the grotesque mechanical to one side, the desk with the lever above it, in the center of the floor. Everything was familiar to me, from the plans I had viewed, yet at the same time strange, as is the way with places when one has merely studied pictures of them. A woman was at the desk. She rose and came forward. Undoubtedly she took me for a fellow-woman. At least she gave no sign of alarm or distrust that I could see.
I blinked my eyes to accustom them to the light, and mentally rehearsed what I must do. Spring past the woman, throw the switch. All this in a swift procession of seconds, though it seems longer in telling. The woman neared. My heart beat rapidly. Now, now . . . But I never leapt. For all thought of action was driven from my mind at sight of the woman’s face. Yes, her face! It was a lovely face, a well-remembered face, a face I had never expected to see in this life. There were the sea-green eyes that had haunted me in my dreams, waking and sleeping, the low, broad brow. Yes, there could be no mistake. It was the face of the woman whose picture I had found in the model of the time machine in Berkeley a week (or was it a dozen centuries?) before! All thought of my fellow revolutionists anxiously waiting somewhere in the velvet blackness above fled from my consciousness as I cried incredulously “Editha! Editha!”
Editha Again
AFTER those words (said Bayers) I stood staring at her like one petrified.
“You know my name!” she said.
“It was on the bottom of the picture,” I answered.
“The picture?”
“The one the time machine brought back into time.”
“Ah,” she said, “then you must be the stranger, Bayers. You found the model I made. I couldn’t help experimenting with it, though the Mothers forbade it. Was it my invention that enabled you to reach here?”
“Partly,” I said. “It clarified certain principles for me. But I had been experimenting along the same lines myself.”
She nodded. “The Mothers were right They said the inventions of such machines would only open a gateway for those of the past to flow in on us.”
“But is my coming such a terrible thing—to you?” I asked softly.
She frowned, suddenly seeming to recollect that I was a man and where I had no business to be. The opportunity was still open for me to spring past her and throw the lever, but for the life of me I could not bring myself to attempt such a thing. But my eyes flashing to the desk and back again must have revealed something to her discerning gaze, because she said, gently enough:
“You were given over in charge of Manuel. Manuel is a revolutionist. Those poor men! Bayers, I believe they sent you here to capture this place.” And then as I stared at her, my face crimson, she went on: “That must be it, of course. You didn’t come here by chance. They counted on your being taken for a woman because of your size. It was really clever of them, but the plan could never have succeeded.”
