Time Travel Omnibus, page 82
The month of waiting—almost interminable to them all—had passed; and now, at Roger’s request, they were again secluded in a private room of the club. Rogers sat by the center table, in the circle of illumination of the electrolier, with a sheaf of penciled script, in his hand, and a torn envelope beside him. The men were facing him, expectant. Lylda, sat in the shadows near by, staring before her into vacancy.
“A month,” Rogers was saying. “It has seemed longer. I opened Loto’s letter this afternoon—and then I telephoned to you all. Let me read you the message he left us.”
He adjusted his horn-rimmed spectacles, and opened the letter.
The men stirred in their chairs; Georgie lighted a cigarette and began pulling at it vigorously.
“It says:
“My Father and my Friends:
“When you read this I shall have been gone from your time world for thirty of its days. You will know that I am not coming back. Had I been forced to slay ten or twenty years of time as I would have lived them, I would still return to the exact evening—or before it—on which you are all reading this letter together.
“That was my promise to you, father. The fact that I am not returned will let you know that probably I am never coining.
“Mamita must not worry, for I gave you another promise. When danger threatened me—or when I wanted your help—I would raise a light signal so that you coming after me might know exactly what point of time at which to stop your flight.
“As I write this, now before leaving you, I renew that promise. When I find I cannot return, I will raise a light from the southeastern tip of the island. I will hold it in the sky for a day and a night. You will see it, if your time flight is slow enough, and I shall know that when I extinguish it you will be there.
“Tell mamita I shall not wait for danger, but anticipate it. You will see my light, no matter when I raise it. A year after I get there—or ten years—it will be no different to you who follow me—only a few minutes of time progress in your plane. I shall expect you as soon as you can descend after seeing the light vanish. Do no delay then, father, for I will need you.
“Please tell mamita not to worry about me, or about you, either. We will both come back to her safely. You may bring any one or two of our friends who wish to make the trip. I think that Georgie will want to come, and I would like to have him. You need bring no weapons. They would be worse than useless.”
Rogers’s slow, solemn voice died away. He rustled the pages in his hand, folded them up carefully.
“That’s all, gentlemen. All of the message itself. The other pages give detailed instructions—data based on Loto’s first 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. Georgie decided to speak, but checked himself and sat back in his chair, his attention fixed on his cigarette.
“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 she is willing.”
Georgie turned and flashed an admiring glance to 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 Georgie suddenly. “Loto said I could. And you say so. I’m going. I decided that long ago.”
He jumped to his feet and grasped Rogers’s hand. “You can count on me, Mr. Rogers. I’ll stick—through anything—to the last.”
Rogers smiled. “Thank you, Georgie. I knew I could count on you.”
Georgie 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.
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! I’ve known right along I’d have to make this decision.”
“Come on,” urged Georgie, stopping suddenly before him. “Take a chance.” He did not wait for an answer, but went back to his pacing.
“I don’t think I’ll go,” the Banker declared, half apologetically. “You don’t really need me, do you, Rogers?”
“Of course not,” said Rogers heartily. “Use your own judgment. 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, I thought you’d never guess it perhaps. I think I’d better stay here where I’m used to things.”
“Of course,” agreed Rogers.
“But if you need money,” the Banker added hopefully, “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 Big 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 his emphatic agreement.
“Quite so,” said Rogers. “I can understand perfectly how you feel.”
Georgie 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 inclosure. 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 it was visited anxiously by a slim, boyish figure—Georgie, who was verifying again and again that all was in readiness.
Evening came. The others arrived, singly and in couples. For two hours a bustle of last 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 inclosure 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,” Georgie’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 had joined Georgie on the platform of the plane, the Doctor and the Big Business Man were with Lylda comforting her.
With a final good-by, Rogers slid the door closed. The forward compartment, with its low arched ceiling and concave walls, was small, but comfortably equipped. The side windows had upholstered seats running under them. In front, to the right, was a low seat with the Frazia controls before it, and a small window above them looking forward. The time dials and the Proton current switch were on the wall to the right. On the left of this seat was the outer, sliding 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 Georgie. “All ready,” he said. “Go ahead!”
Rogers took a last look about. Then without hesitation, he moved the switch to the first intensity.
Georgie was seated, gripping the arms of his chair. 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; there 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. Georgie 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. Georgie 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 at the plane with an expression that clearly indicated they could not see it.
“We’ve started, all right,” Georgie 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. Georgie 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 Georgie’s knees. Then, even more rapidly than he had advanced, tie threw a swift glance around and retreated.
Georgie recovered himself. “Oh,” 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, drawn vertically by the helicopters and carried sidewise by the wind, when the Hudson River slid underneath.
“Rotten weather, Mr. Rogers,” Georgie suggested.
“Yes,” Rogers agreed. “But that will not bother us for very long. Are you warm enough?”
“One heater is going,” Georgie 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.
“No, I think I shall try the higher intensities of the Proton current. I want our time-progress accelerating as much as possible right from the beginning.” Georgie selected a seat hastily.
It was not much of an ordeal. The humming seemed to move up a scale, to a higher pitch, as Rogers pulled the lever around. The reeling of the senses came again, but passed almost at once.
“There,” said Rogers’s voice. “I’m glad that’s accomplished. We are at the fifteenth intensity—the highest that Loto used.”
Georgie was staring down through the floor window. “I can see the lights down here. The highest speed Loto used? Why he didn’t describe it this way—”
“Our acceleration will pick up over several hours,” Rogers replied. “Our time-progress is still comparatively slow.”
The drone of the Frazia motors was still sounding.
“How high are we, do you suppose?” Georgie demanded after a moment.
“Possibly five thousand feet. We’re blowing westward over New Jersey. And a little to the south, I think. Soon it will be—” His words were anticipated. The scene lighted swiftly. It was day—a dull, cold-looking, cloudy morning. Below them lay New Jersey—almost a network of villages on the fringe of lowlands. A more congested area of buildings was almost directly beneath and slid under them as they watched it.
“Newark!” exclaimed Georgie. “And we’re into tomorrow. We’re making it—we’ll soon be with Loto.”
They were up higher than Rogers realized—ten thousand feet at least. And their drift seemed constantly of a more southern trend. It was still uncomfortably cold in the cabin.
“Perhaps we should stay at this level,” Rogers remarked. “We seem to have caught a wind from the north.”
He slowed down the helicopters until the plane was no longer rising. As though they had been in a balloon, they were hanging level, blowing over the country—nearly south at some twenty miles an hour.
NIGHT came again in a few moments. Lights dotted the landscape below—but they were vague, flickering lights. Then day, with sunlight. The wind subsided. The plane’s southern drift was stilled. And then came night with a moon plunging across the sky, and stars dizzily sweeping past. Then day again, until presently the daylight and the darkness were blended into gray. The drift was permanently passed. In a blending of all the diversified air currents, the plane remained almost stationary.
The white, snowy hills of New Jersey soon turned to green. The cabin air warmed a little. Then autumn and winter came again—and passed in a moment or two.
Rogers sighed with relief. “We’re fairly started. One year out of twenty-eight thousand!”
“And we’ve got eight hundred or a thousand miles of space to travel also,” said Georgie. “We’re going to make that simultaneously, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” agreed Rogers.
Georgie took a last look through the floor window at the blurring gray landscape beneath, and stood up to join him. “Let’s talk things over,” he suggested. “I’ve got a lot of questions—plans and things.”
Rogers had taken a sheaf of script from his pocket.
“Loto’s notes to guide us,” he explained. “I’ve followed them closely so far. We have a flight through time of something more than twenty-five thousand years at the fifteenth intensity, and then slacken. Simultaneously we must fly southward, some thousand miles or more through space directing our course for the southern tip of Florida. Loto specifies that we should, under all circumstances, reach the latitude of north Florida coincident with twenty-five thousand years of our time-progress. We will then—or perhaps a thousand years further along—see the island. We cannot miss it, of course. It is so large, and it must certainly endure over a great period of time.”
“How long did Loto take to reach twenty-five thousand years?”
“About twelve hours,” Rogers consulted I the memoranda. “He computes his average speed as equivalent to the twelfth intensity. We are using the fifteenth continuously. Our clocks should register no more than the passage of ten hours for the time-flight.
“Ten hours,” he added thoughtfully. “And flying directly south at a hundred miles an hour, we would reach the island in those ten hours.”
“But we haven’t started flying yet,” Georgie protested. “We’re moving through time all right, but we’re still right over Newark—and look at it!”
The New Jersey metropolis was spreading west to the Orange Mountains, and eastward, already it seemed linked solid with Jersey City. Factories dotted the intervening meadows, which now were drained of their stagnant water.
“You’re right,” exclaimed Rogers. “We have barely nine hours left—we must start our horizontal flight.”
In a few moments more they were speeding south, and slightly west, at an altitude of some five thousand feet, with their progress through time steadily accelerating.
An hour, by their clocks, went by. They were over Delaware Bay. Its shores seemed in the more congested areas almost solid with buildings. There was a great city on each side at the mouth of the river, with a gigantic bridge connecting them. The bridge rose into being under the eyes of the watchers in the flying plane, but they swept on past and in a moment left it far in the distance behind them.
Georgie was seated on the floor watching the changing landscape—a huge, concave, gray surface, shadowless, stretching out and up to the circular horizon. Steadily, like a panorama unrolled, it slid side-wise beneath them. The motion was greatest directly below. To the west the mountains seemed, by an optical illusion to be following, speeding forward with them.
The sea or its arms, constantly occupied a portion of the scene, for they were still flying south and somewhat west, following the Atlantic coast. And of everything in sight, the sea only seemed unchanging.
In time-progressing, that height of civilization Loto had described lay under them. They were flying lower now.
Rogers in his seat at the controls, said, “I think we’re making it as we should. That’s the four thousand year mark just passed. And we are flying at a hundred and ten miles an hour.”
“Are you sure we’ll hit it right?” Georgie asked anxiously.
“I think so. It is about as Loto figured so far. Those buildings—what a civilization that must be down there! It will fade presently. In three or four thousand years—”
Georgie joined him at the forward window. “Where are we? Are we still over Virginia?”
“Yes. At least, I think we haven’t crossed into North Carolina yet. That was Chesapeake Bay a while ago. Look! That city there! It’s melting—going down fast! What changes time does make! How little of it we can see or realize in a lifetime!”
The cabin interior was unlighted and dark, save for that phosphorescence with which everything glowed. In their absorption in the scene below, the travelers had forgotten their own curious aspect, until Georgie suddenly remarked:
