Time Travel Omnibus, page 191
Tom was too busy to stop him. When he judged he was sufficiently high, he braced himself and carefully eased the time lever over. With his eye on the meter, he waited until it again pointed to zero. At that instant he pushed the lever into neutral.
Anxiously they looked down. Below, in the dim light, an open skylight yawned as before. With a sigh of relief, Tom cut the power and gently guided the machine down into the opening.
They were again in the laboratory. Without a word, as if this had been rehearsed, Charlie closed the skylight and held his flashlight while Tom disconnected and removed the new battery. Reconnecting the old one, each picked up his load and cautiously left the building.
On their way home, Charlie began asking questions, but Torn was’ in no mood to answer then!. He was too busy thinking. As they reached the apartment he roused himself sufficiently to Say, “Don’t say anything more about it tonight, Charlie. My head is still swimming. We’ll think about it, and tomorrow evening we can talk all night.”
II
THE NEXT DAY was Saturday, and Garmot was glad of it, for he was planning on seeing a patent attorney in the afternoon. His battery passed its trials. When he entered the laboratory, Laddo was already there, examining the machine. He called to Tom.
“Come here, Garmot. There is something peculiar about this chrome plate.”
Tom looked at it. The cage appeared the same as ever. “That’s nickel plate, not chrome.”
“So I perceive. I ordered chromium, and understood that is what you obtained.”
Tom was about to tell him that he had specifically ordered nickel, when he glanced at Laddo’s face. There was a month-old mustache which had not been there the day before. Surely, anyone who took himself as seriously as Dr. Laddo would not wear a false mustache.’ He stared bewildered.
“What’s the matter, Garmot? Drunk?” asked Laddo crisply. Tom turned away, not yet able to answer the doctor’s questions.
And then he noticed something else was wrong. The walls of the room were green. Was he dreaming? Hadn’t he painted them tan, himself? He walked to the wall and touched it. No, it wasn’t fresh paint; it was dry and slightly dusty. He turned to Laddo.
“What color are the walls?” he blurted out.
“You painted them green when you started working here. They haven’t changed color overnight, have they?”
Tom could not reply. He went to his locker and got out his work clothes. His overalls looked natural, thank goodness. No, even they were different. Where they had been torn yesterday was now whole. This couldn’t be a dream. Was he sick or—something worse?
Laddo eyed him suspiciously. Well, let him look. No matter how strange things seemed, he’d not show his surprise. He’d ask no more questions, and he’d take whatever Laddo handed him. There would be but a few more days of this, with his battery finished.
Tom found a new sketch on his bench. It was of some sort of an electrical device, he couldn’t tell just what, but the drawing was complete. All he had to do was to follow directions. He selected the proper tools, got the material he needed, and started to work.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Laddo giving the machine a thorough check. He seemed to be going over it inch by inch, wire by wire. Now he was checking the battery. Something wrong! Laddo removed a cell and carried it into his private laboratory, where he locked himself in. Tom busied himself with his work and the time passed quickly.
IT WAS ALMOST noon when Laddo unlocked the door and came toward him. From the expression on Laddo’s face, Tom prepared himself for another upbraiding.
“Garmot, what do you know about these batteries?”
“Your battery? I mean, the one in your machine?”
“Certainly. Oh, I forgot. You are the battery expert. Then perhaps you can tell me why, yesterday, each cell had a voltage of 3.65, and this morning it is down to 2.10, although they are fully charged. I tore up one cell and what do you suppose I find?”
“I don’t know, doctor.”
“Instead of that valuable isotopic lead we had so much trouble getting, these plates are made of ordinary battery lead. And instead of a solution of sulfuric acid in heavy water, the electrolyte is now a solution in ordinary distilled water.”
Tom Garmot was silent. This was all news to him. He had assembled the batteries himself, and they were made, he knew, from ordinary commercial materials.
Laddo went on. “That is not all that is wrong. There is evidence of sabotage. You have been here over eleven months. I had confidence in your integrity, although I do not credit you with great ability. Now I am tempted to accuse you of deliberately removing the battery and tampering with the entire machine.” Tom heard, but hardly realized just what Laddo was saying. He was fascinated by Laddo’s mustache. Undoubtedly it was real. He could see the separate hairs, each firmly planted in the upper lip.
“So far as I can tell, no other real harm has been done. The fact that you, or someone else, have changed wires and other parts makes little difference. They will answer the purpose. The matter of the plating, I admit, is puzzling. I was particular to have chromium plating, as it is more durable than nickel, although,” and here he took some papers from his pocket and glanced through them, “the watchman’s report, taken within a week, was positive that the plating was nickel.”
Tom saw the papers in Laddo’s hand. On the back, fastened with a paper clip, was something cut from a newspaper. The headlines were so clear he could read it readily . . .
Watchman Prophesies Election Result
FDR to win all but Maine and Vermont
Strange Flier Frightens Taggert Employee
This was about all that Tom could stand. “What is this you are reading?” he asked.
“This is that watchman’s report to the superintendent. A couple of years ago he saw a machine similar to the one we are building—but I’ve mentioned this to you before. Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Get busy and locate those missing plates. And tell me where I am to get five gallons of heavy water, with my appropriation almost used up.”
Tom had read about isotopic lead, and ventured a suggestion.
“Isn’t it possible for the lead you mentioned to turn into the ordinary kind, by itself?”
“Don’t display your ignorance. If you know where the lead is, go get it.”
TOO MUCH was enough, thought Tom. He looked Laddo in the eye. “Now get this straight,” he said. “I didn’t steal your lead, and I don’t know where it is—if you ever had any. But if you want a better battery than the one you have, I’ll lend you mine. You can call me a ‘battery expert’ if you want to, but I really do have a battery—and it’ll beat yours a mile. I’ll bring it down Monday, and you can quit worrying about your isotopes.”
Something of respect showed on Laddo’s face. “If you’ve got something good, bring it up,” he said. “But,” his voice changed, “if this is some kind of a trick to gain time or something, forget it. I’ll not only accept your resignation, but I’ll recover the cost of my battery from you so quick it will make your head swim. Any jury in the world will give me damages when only two of us have the keys to this place.”
Tom turned without replying and took off his overalls. Sue him, would he? Take all his money. Any jury in the world. By George, with so much of this funny stuff happening, Laddo might be right. And he’d get his new battery invention, too. He’d have to think this over. He turned to Laddo who was watching him.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring my battery here at nine a. m. Monday.” Laddo nodded assent and left him.
Tom changed into his street clothes and went into the hall. Then he thought of something. He returned to the laboratory door and called to Laddo.
“How strong a battery do you need?”
“About a thousand KWH to the pound.”
Still dazed by the events of the morning, Tom turned and left.
On his way home it gradually came over him that he was behind the eight-ball. A thousand KWH to the pound! That was five times as powerful as he could supply. Well, he had the rest of the day to think it out in peace.
Charlie was waiting for him, and over their lunch Garmot told him everything. “No one but Laddo would dream of a battery like that,” he said. “It will be hundreds of years before batteries that powerful are invented.”
“Well,” said Charlie, “why don’t you get him one?”
“Where?”
“Just take another trip in his machine tonight. Go as far as you can into the future, buy a battery, and bring it back with you.”
Tom studied the suggestion. Here was one way out. “It might be done, at that,” he finally said.
This, of course, brought on more talk. The discussion continued on into the afternoon. After the morning’s unusual happenings, which he vaguely associated with the preceding night’s adventure, Tom had been more or less afraid of the machine, but their talk crystallized some of his ideas. He boiled them down to this.
“The long and short of it is that we aren’t where we started. Yesterday, if you’d looked through files of old newspapers, you never would have found a story about that watchman. Now you can find it, because it once happened. It’s like a switch on a railroad track. We were on one branch. We went back in the machine and threw a switch when we talked to the watchman. We came back on another branch.”
“Can we get switched off this track in the future?” asked Charlie.
“I can’t see how, but it’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
III
TO HAVE as many cells as possible, they hurriedly purchased the necessary materials. All Saturday evening and much of Sunday was spent assembling and charging. Sunday evening came, and the cells were loaded in the back of Tom’s coupe. They waited for night. Tom hoped he wouldn’t find a new lock on the laboratory door. After the way Laddo had talked, he wouldn’t be surprised at anything.
They drew up to the service entrance of the laboratory. Heavily loaded with the new battery, they used the freight elevator to get to the top floor. Tom noticed with relief that the lock seemed unchanged. He tried his key and the door opened.
Just as they entered a blinding light flashed in their faces.
“What’s that?” Charlie blinked.
“Laddo set a trap for us. There’s a camera hidden somewhere with our picture in it. If I don’t deliver the goods now, my name is mud.”
“Then let’s go,” said Charlie, making for the machine.
They quickly replaced the old cells with the new ones and opened the skylight. Charlie turned out the lights and they took their seats. With new power, the machine rapidly ascended. Tom stopped it the usual, five hundred feet in the air.
“Ready, Charlie?” he asked.
“Gosh, yes.”
Tom pushed the time lever forward a little. Nothing happened. He pushed it farther. Still no effect. He yanked it all the way over. They still failed to experience the expected compression. Tom looked down. There was the laboratory, dim in the night, just as they had left it. But no—he recognized a car stopping in front of the building. It was Laddo’s sedan. Dr. Laddo stepped out and crossed the sidewalk.
“What’ll we do, Charlie? There’s Laddo coming. We can’t go into the future—Laddo’s right. It takes five times the power we’ve got! And if we go back down there he’ll catch us red-handed.”
“Then for Pete’s sake, go into the past.”
It seemed the only course open to them, but what good would it do? Garmot’s mind raced over possibilities and reached a decision. He eased off the power and the machine began to descend.
“Now what?” demanded Thorne. “Don’t go back to the lab. If you are afraid to go into the past, edge her over close to our coupe, so we can scram.”
Rapidly Tom gave instructions. The machine dropped through the open skylight and settled on the floor. ‘Flashlight on, Tom ran to the bookcase, selected the volume he wanted, and slipped it into his pocket. Charlie had gone to the nearest workbench and seized a radio tube. Almost as soon as they had come, they had gone up again. Just as Tom pushed the time lever back, Charlie, looking down, saw the laboratory lights flash on and Laddo enter the room.
FIGHTING the compression, Tom watched the time meter. No longer was he going as far as he could; he had a definite goal in view. As that goal neared, he moved the lever back toward neutral. The pointers moved slowly. He snapped it back into its notch. In an early dawn they floated over a suburban settlement. Directly below was one of the houses.
Garmot didn’t like this. He juggled the lever a trifle. It was night. Not a light showed below. Only the faint light of the stars told him they had come to rest on the stream of Time.
“Point the spotlight straight down,” Tom directed.
In the faint light, Tom let the machine settle, maneuvering until it rested on a flat porch roof.
“Where are we?” whispered Charlie. “If the meter is right, this is July, 1851. And you ought to recognize this house. You’ve seen it in the museum.”
“You mean the old Taggert house?”
“Yes, and if he’s at home, Thad Taggert is asleep in the back room, right now. This front room is his office. I hope the window isn’t locked.”
They had gotten out and the tin roof crackled slightly beneath their feet. Charlie reached the window first. “No screen, anyway,” he whispered.
“Not in 1851,” replied Tom. He tried the sash. It slid up easily. Charlie held it while Garmot entered the room and found a window stick to hold it in place. Charlie followed.
Against the opposite wall was the famous Taggert desk. They recognized it. This entire house had all its furnishings would one day be moved bodily into the Taggert Museum. The money old Thad Taggert had earned would support the Taggert Foundation, Dr. Laddo—and build a Time machine.
Tom flashed the light over the desk top. Thaddeus Taggert had been there recently. An unfinished letter lay before them, pen and ink beside it. Tom started when he saw almost an entire sheet of postage stamps, the 5c, 1847 issue. What a find for a stamp collector! And there were almost as many of the 10c ones, beneath, both weighted down with a pair of steel shears. “These stamps will do—we couldn’t hope to find anything better. You take charge of them while I write the note.” He tore a page from his note book and wrote:
DEAR MR. TAGGERT:
Travelers from the future leave for you a copy of the 1937 edition of the Electrical Handbook. We also leave a radio tube which is described in the book. We are taking your postage stamps as part payment. If you would help us, work like the devil on better storage batteries.
CAREFULLY closing the window behind them they got back in the machine. With a faint hum it rose into the night. Tom pushed the lever forward. The stars vanished. They were on their way—back to 1938.
When the machine stopped, the myriad lights of a great city shone beneath them in all directions. A huge factory building towered toward them. Tom let the machine settle on its roof.
“I suppose you call this 1938 again,” ventured Charlie, looking at the city around him.
“Yes, and about 10:15 p. m. Our watches ought to be all right again.”
“You don’t think we can get a single minute ahead of our watches, huh?”
“That’s the idea. See that clock tower.” Some blocks away a great illuminated dial indicated 10:15. “Now to get down off this roof.”
They walked to the parapet and looked over. There was a sheer drop of perhaps twenty stories. Charlie looked around for a penthouse. There were only a few closed scuttles.
“We’ll get into trouble if we try walking down through the building,” said Charlie. “It isn’t familiar to us, and may be full of people. Why don’t you drop the machine down into some shrubbery and hide it?”
“No,” said Tom, “we couldn’t find a better hiding place than right here. It’s a warm night. We’ll take turns sleeping, and early tomorrow, before daylight, you run me to the ground and then come back up here where you’ll not be seen.”
They were not sleepy, and spent most of the night whispering and wondering how things would turn out tomorrow. The story beneath them was occupied, judging from occasional sounds. It was well they had not tried to go down through the building. Eventually Charlie dropped off to sleep until awakened by Garmot.
“We’d better go now. It’s beginning to get light.”
They got into the machine, Charlie at the controls. He rose jerkily into the air and uncertainly descended to a fairly secluded place on the lawn.
“You know my plans—what few I have. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Maybe in three hours, maybe not until later. Watch for my signal.” Garmot held out his hand and Thorne clasped it tightly.
“Sure, Tom. I’ll be watching.” Charlie waved and began to rise. Tom watched him until he got the signal indicating a safe landing. Then he started walking toward the tall buildings, several miles away.
Tom never forgot that journey. He felt like a country boy in New York. Later, when he recounted it to Charlie, he told him how he had tried out one of his coins on a newsboy, and had been properly bawled out for attempting to pass fake money. How the buildings all seemed to be made chiefly of plastics—of the queer little one- and two-passenger fliers, which, though not in common use, were occasionally seen dropping into parking spaces alongside automobiles. Of strangely silent autos, somehow suggestive of the old-fashioned electrics, but which raced along faster than anything Tom had ever seen before. He told Charlie of the odd words he overheard on the streets—idioms whose meanings he could not guess; of the yellow sodium lights which were used as much as the familiar neons.
IV
IT WAS DAY when he reached the business district. He neared a sign reading “City Recreation Hall No. 7.” People were entering and leaving. No one seemed to be taking tickets. In spite of his slightly odd clothing—which, by the way, no one had seemed to notice—he took a chance and entered. After all, they could do nothing worse than ask him to leave.
