Robert Lionel, page 3
We are moving through it so relentlessly-rclentlessly," he repeated senilely. The officer snapped his fingers. "It is clear to me now; please continue."
"It is very remarkable iliat it is so extensively overlooked," went on old Eric Rhinegow. "Really this is what is meant by the fourth dimension, iliough some pe0-ple who talk about the fourth dimension do not know that
iliey mean it. It is only another way of looking at time.
There is no real dilierence between time and .any of the three dimensions of space, except that our consciousness moves along. But some fools have gotten hold of the wrong side of that idea. You know what they say about this fourth dimension, don't you?" He might have been addressing a class of students; it was tragic to see the shattered remains of that majestic intellect spilling its knowledge like a flood of liquid gold at the feet of these pagan, savage, boorish Philistines.
"Well, it is simply this," he went on. The pld professor was throwing his choicest pearls at the feet of the swine who were destroying him. "Simply this," he muttered to himself. "Space, as our mathematicians have it, is spoken of as having three dimensions, which one may. call length, breadth and thickness. It is always definable by reference to three planes, each of which is at right angles to each oilier. But some philosophers have been asking why there are three dimensions particularly; why not anoilier at right angles to the oilier three? They've even tried to construct a four-dimensional geometry. Ah, there was a professor once, many years ago, expounding to the New York Mathematical Society how, on a flat surface, which has only two dimensions, we can represent the figure of a three-iimensional solid. And similarly they think that on a model of three dimensions they could represent one of four, if they could only master tIle perspeotive of the thing.
I'm sure iliat must be clear to you." There was a long pause. The old eyes closed, and the professor's head lolled forward on his chest as though he were exhausted. . . .
"It's tIle effect of the drug," said the captain shortly.
"It's narcotic as well as hypnotic; he'll continue soon.
Just switch the recorder off for a couple of seconds." The guard obeyed. looking up expectantly for the first sign of movement from their prisoner. . . . Rhmegow's lips began to twitch again. "On," snapped the captain.
"I've been working on this geometry of the fourth dimension for a very long time--a very long time indeed,"
went on Rhmegow. "For instance, I had a collection of portraits, a portrait of a child about six years old, another at ten, another at fifteen, another at seventeen, another at twenty-three, another at twenty-five and so on, right through the life of the man until he was well over forty.
All these in my opinion are sections--cross sections--of his three-dimensional representation; a three-dimensional representation of his four-dimensional being, which is in its completeness a fixed and unalterable thing. We scientists know that time is only a kind of space. Think again of that very simple thing, the weather record. If you trace the line made by the movement of the barometer with its little ink pencil, you will see that yesterday it was at a certain height, that during the night it fell, and this morning it rose again. And so it goes up and down, up and down again." He leaned forward as though to emphasize his point, while his voice droned on in the same semi-dazed monotone. "The mercury in that barometer did not trace that line in any of the dimensions of space generally recognized, but certainly it traced such a line. That line, we must therefore conclude, was alon.2 the time dimension."
"I have a question," interposed the captain quietly, "if time is only a fourth dimension of space, why is it, and why has it always been regarded as something different, even by the magnificent scientists of the Eurasian technological colleges? Why can't we move about in time as we move about in the other dimensions of space?"
"Are you really sure that we can move about in the other dimensions of space? We can go to the right and the left; we can go backwards and forwards freely enough.
Men have always done so, from prehistoric times; I admit we move freely in two dimensions. But how about up and down? Gravitation limits us there, you know."
"Gravitation limits us?" ejaculated the captain, astonished in spite of himself. "When our battleships, equipped with their anti-grav shielding, can fly into the depths of the solar system itself? When we can transverse the universe in all directions, you say we are limited by gravity? You're living in the past, old man; you're living in the past."
"But before anti-grav, before airplanes, before bal-loons," went on the old man, "before these scientific marvels appeared~xcept for jumping up and down, and but for the inequalities of the surface of this earth, man had no freedom of vertical movement."
"Yes, but he could still move up and down a little."
"Would it not be easier," said the old scientist "far, far easier for him to move down than to move up?"
"We can't move at all in time," said the captain. "We can't move away from the present moment. . . ."
"That's just where you are wrong," said the old man.
"That's just where the whole world has gone wrong. We are always getting away from the present moment. Our mental existences, which are immaterial and have no dimension, are passing along the- time dimension with a uniform velocity from the cradle to the grave. Just as we should travel down if we began our existence fifty miles above the earth's surface. . . ."
"But the great difficulty is this," said the captain.
"Surely you can see this-you can move about in all directions of space, even though I will agree with you that before the invention of mechanical assistance, some of thOse dimensions were limited. Some of our movement in those dimensions was highly limited. On the other hand, we could quite definitely move in them all, but you cannot move in time." The old professor scratChed the arm of the thick lea.ilier chair with his fingertips.
"But you are wrong to say that we cannot move about in time. That is th~ essence of my great discovery. It is the germ of my idea. For instance, if I am recalling some incident in my past life very vividly, I go' back to the instance of its recurrence. I go back in my mind, in my memory, in my recollection. I become absent minded, we say. Just for a moment, I jump right back into time. And I live once more the moment that I lived ten, twenty, thirty years ago.
Of course, we have not the means of staying back for any length of time,' any more than a savage animal would be able to jump into the air and stay six feet above the ground. But a civilized man, a member of the great Eurasian community."
The: captain noted with pleasurable triumph how far the
indoctrination of the doctor's hypnotic suggestion had been successful--old Rhinegow was now doing his best to bestow the benefit of his entire knowledge upon the Eurasian community. . . .
"Of course," he repeated, "we have no means of staying back for any length of time--but a civilized man-" He was becoming confused; he was wandering a little; his head was dropping onto his chest. "If a civilized man can go up and down in his anti-grav machine, surely he may be able to stop or to accelerate his drift along the time dimension; he may even turn about and travel the other way."
"Do you really believe this?" asked the captain.
"But of course," said the professor simply. "It's the truth."
"It's against all reason and all science," said the captain.
"What science? What reason? What logic?" asked the professor.
"Oh, but you can prove black is white by arguing," said the captain, "but you'll have a job to conVince me. . . ."
"Possibly I will, and possibly I won't," said old Eric.
"But now you begin to see the object of my investigations, investigations into the reality of four dimensions. Long ago, when Eurasia was still a young power, I had a vague inkling of a machine; a machine that could travel through time; a 'machine that could travel indifferently in any direction through space and time, as the driver determined. But I had to modify my original hopes and plans, and confine it to movement into time itself."
"By the asteroids: that great glass cylinder that we couldn't understand! The disappearance of the other man, with no passages, no secret tunnels, nowhere he could have hidden. Our electric devices proved that that room was as empty of that man as this old fool's head is empty of will-power."
"Experimental verification," muttered the old man.
"Experimental verification."
The greyness cleared completely; the glass cylinder had gone. So had the underground room; so had everything except the ghostly semi-material horses. And even as he watched, Mike Grafton saw them grow increasingly more solid with every passing second. He was aware, too, someone had passed him, a man of about his own age and build with a white, strained, frightened face. Passed him at tremendous speed and then seemed to dissolve into a patch of grey mist before Grafton's unbelieving eyes. But before the man vanished, there was a rustle, as of something falling.. Grafton stooped and snatched it up. It was a small leather package. which from the feel of it, contained papers or documents.
It was carefully sealed at both ends. Unthinkingly, he thrust the packet into his pocket and. with the instinct of a fugitive, fled into the dark shadows at the other side of the horses. There was something vaguely familiar about the little town in which he found himself. A dozen things here and there made sense; others didn't. . . . With a start he realized that the town in which he found himself was almost, but not exactly, like the town in which he had taken
sanctuary when the prehistoric jet crashed. He knew suddenly with a terrifying shock, just exactly where the greatest differences lay. The whole place seemed somehow smaller, the old buildings more numerous, and with a flash of blinding inspiration, he had the ghost of an understanding of the meaning of the strange grey mist.
"No," he breathed, "it can't be." Yet how elSe could,it be? How else could he have escaped the relentless pursuit of the security forces of Eurasia? How else could he have drifted through nothingness, and then suddenly found himself outside--when he had previously been inside a cellar?
At no point had he lost consciousness, though he had been very close to it. Yet he knew that at no time had his consciousness slipped so far from him that he would have been aware of being carried out of the cellar into the street beyond. And this wasn't just the street beyond. It was the street beyond with certain essential differences. He made his way quietly back over the cobblestones in the direction of the horses. A group of anxious men surrounded them and appeared to be looking for someone. He thought at once of that fleeing figure that had passed him and vanished. Who could it have been? Where had he gone?
How? And why? And what of the mysterious package which he carried? The package the stranger had dropped in his frightened flight?
He made his way toward the group. One of them crossed to him and asked him a question of some sort. He knew German reasonably well, but this was not the German that was taught in the linguistic colleges of Eurasia.
This was an old, archaic German. which he had some difficulty in comprehending. Finally he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He pointed down the road. The questioner seemed satisfied, though he notiCed that the ostler beside the horses was eyeing his strange clothing curiously, He made his way to the inn door. He must hide, he- told himself, away from prying eyes; mix with the crowd, find out who and what they are; study tbeir habits, blend in among them. like a pebble on the beach. . . . That was the way to escape recognition and detection. It was the fugitive instinct. very strong in his mind. . . .
The landlord was a broad-shouldered, thick-set individual running a bit toward middle-aged spread; a powerful man for all that. Matching his modern accent to the collo-quial German that he had heard outside, he asked for a room. The inn-keeper looked at hiM suspiciously.
"Do you have any money?" he inquired. It suddenly struck Grafton that he hadn't. At least he hadn't anything that would satisfy these people.
"I have just come from abroad," he said suddenly. "It had slipped my. mind." He flashed a roll of inter-continental credits. By the standard of printing that the innkeeper had seen, they looked magnificent. . . but he shook his head. "What bank are they issued on? What credit house?"
"They come from the other side of the Atlantic," said Grafton, lying desperately, and trying to think of somewhere sufficiently reIttote to conviJIce the simple Perleberg inn-keeper. "But if you do not wish to accept them, perhaps there is some other way, maybe something that r could sell to you? I have a very fine wrist watch."
He took his watch off and showed it to the inn-keeper. It was an electronic masterpiece, operated by a battery about the size of a match head, which would run for about tenor fifteen years. The ghostly fear that had gripped him, that had told him the dreadful truth about what had happened, warned hiM that if, as he feared, he had indeed gone back through time, he must not allow the watch to seem too marvelous. "There is a special winding device inside which fits right to the back of a man's wrist," he lied plausibly. "It is a most wonderful watoh, and will not require winding for many years. The actions of your oWn hands will wind it as you move about. If you keep it sufficiently wound, and put it in the drawer at night, it will not stop until you put it on again." The inn-keeper's eyes opened in honest astonishment.
"It has no tick. It runs so silently," explained Grafton.
"It is the most beautiful piece of machinery I have ever seen anywhere," exclaimed the inn-keeper. "How much do you want for it?"
Grafton indicated a thick gold chain suspending the man's own watch. ,"How much did you pay for the watch you have?" he asked.
"Many guilders," sighed the inn-keeper ruefully.
"You look an honest man to me," said Grafton. "I'll accept twice the price you paid for that-"
"But I am a poor man and Cannot pay so much money."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Grafton suddenly. "Give me a thousand guilders and let me stay with you as long as I wish. A thousand guilders and a month's free board, and the watch is yours-what say you?" The inn-keeper n(Jd-ded immediately. "If it were not that you cannot change my notes, I would not dream of parting with so wonderful a watch," said Grafton, "which you can well understand.
However, until I can visit Berlin and change my currency for gold or guilders, I must be prepared to make some sacrifices." He,leaned forward and whispered confidingly in the inn-keeper's ear, "One has to be very careful these days. Very often a man has to travel with great speed and stealth, but of course you understand. You must see many such." The inn-keeper nodded.
"The English gentleman who just left was another such.
He was a coUriec, I believe, not traveling under his own name. They do say," his voice dropped to a low whisper,
"they do say the gentleI11an has disappeared. They're looking for him now out in the inn yard. It's my belief the others have got him. . . ." ,
"The others"?" inquired Grafton eagerly, seeking as much knowledge as possible of his environment. The one thing he wanted to find was the date~ for history had never been his strong point. He knew that he was somewhere in the past, but the thing was-where? and when? That this place was still recognizable as Perleberg he had little doubt, but the Perleberg of which period?
Horse travel took it back a considerable way, yet the people were not primitive, as you wquld have expected from genuinely medieval types. Jt was difficult to know.
He listened intently to the landlord's account of the wars.
And suddenly the name Napoleon nailed the date as near as need be to Grafton's inquiries.
"We are such an unconscionable time coming over," he said suddenly, apropos of nothing, "and rve come straight from the coast." He laughed a little bit sheepisly. "You know, this may surprise you, but rm not sure of the date--is it Wednesday or Thursday?"
"Why, good gracious me, it's Friday," said the innkeeper, not a little surprised, but apparently fully comprehending the reason. "Friday, sir, the 25th November, in the year of our Lord, 1809."
"The 25th November. . ." echoed Mike Grafton. "I had no idea it was so late." He looked staggered; his miAd felt 3S though it had been kicked by the foot of some evil deity. . . . "Twenty-fifth of November," he whistled over to himself, "1809." He had gone back into the past five hundred years. Gradually, through his shock-dinlmed consciousness, he became aWare that the inn-keeper was speaking again.
"You can have the room the English gentleman came out of, if you like, sir. If you're not superstitious about that, with him disappearing."
"No, no, not at all. I don't mind in the least." A room, thought Grafton, any room, to get out of the sight of my fellow men for a few moments.
"You haven't such a thing as a change of clothes you can set me up with?" he asked the inn-keeper.
"I'll have a look, sir. Are they the new fashion over the Atlantic, now?"
"Yes, they are, and I had to oome in a hurry; there was no time to stop for clothing. I was lucky enough to get a ship."
"I dare 'say you were, sir. What are their feelings there about the war?" Grafton shrugged his shoulders. "They're pretty mixed, as they always are."
"Yes, I can understand that," said the inn-keeper. "Surprising how a simple man like myself gets to know about politics-you'd never think a little town like Perleberg could have so much excitement one way and another. Oh, tis very strange. . . .
Oh, thought Grafton, we've got the date and the place. I was right. I haven't traveled in space, at least not very far, but I've traveled in time. By the gods, how I've traveled
. . . five hundred years, 1809. He shook his head sadly,
"1809," he whispered. . . . "Five hundred years, five centuries before the Eurasian dictatorship. Five hundred years before anyone ever heard of Rajak the Magnificent." He recalled what little history he did know. He realized that looking retrospectively at history, looking back into the past, was like looking down into the lions'
den from the safety of the parapet rocks. But looking forward to a horror that he knew must come, be it five centuries away, Was like being chained to a railway track while a distant express gathered its destructive speed, an, force.
