The Technicolor Time Machine

7

“A miracle of logistics, that’s what I call it, Mr. Hendrickson, getting all this done in less than four days,” Betty said, as they walked along the column of trucks and trailers that stretched along the concrete roadway leading to sound stage B.

“That’s not what I would call it,” Barney said, “but I’m always very careful what words I use in front of women. How does the list check out?”

“All systems go. All the departments have turned in their check lists completed and signed. They’ve really done wonderfully.”

“Fine—but where is everybody?”

They had passed almost all the vehicles and Barney realized that, other than a few drivers, he had seen nobody.

“It was after you left last night to get the raw film, and everyone was sitting around and we couldn’t leave and that sort of thing. Well, you know, one thing led to another…”

“No, I don’t know. What sort of things led to what sort of things?”

“It was fun, really, and we did miss you. Charley Chang ordered two cases of beer from the commissary because he said he hadn’t had a beer in a year, and someone else got some drinks and sandwiches, and before you knew it there was a real swinging party going. It went on very late, so I guess they must all be pooped and still asleep in the trailers.”

“Are you sure? Did anyone make a head count?”

“The guards weren’t drinking and they said no one left the area so it must be all right.”

Barney looked at the row of silent trailers and shrugged. “Good enough, I guess. We’ll do a roll call after we arrive and send back for anyone who is missing. Let them sleep during the trip, it’s probably the best way. You better get some sleep yourself if you have been up all night.”

“Thanks, bossman. I’ll be in trailer twelve if you need me.”

The sound of rapid hammering echoed from the gaping doors of the sound stage, where the carpenters were putting the final bit of flooring onto the time platform. Barney stopped just inside the door and lighted a cigarette and tried to work up an enthusiastic attitude toward the jerry-rigged fabrication that was to take the company on location in the Orkneys. A rectangular channel-iron frame had been welded to the professor’s specifications, then floored with heavy planks. As soon as the first bit of planking was down at the front end a windowed control room had been built and Professor Hewett had mounted his enlarged vremeatron—which in addition to being larger seemed to have far more festooned wires and glittering coils than the original—and a heavy-duty diesel motor-generator. Almost two dozen large truck tires had been fastened to the bottom of the platform to absorb any landing shock, a pipe railing had been put along the sides and a rickety-looking pipe structure went across the top to delimit the edges of the time field. The whole thing looked insubstantial and shoddy and Barney decided that the best thing he could do would be not to think about it.

“Start it up,” Professor Hewett said, crawling out from behind his apparatus with a smoking soldering iron in his hand. A grip bent over the diesel engine, which groaned and turned over, then coughed out a cloud of blue exhaust and broke into hammering life.

“How is it going, Prof?” Barney asked through the open door. Hewett turned and blinked at him.

“Mr. Hendrickson, good morning. I presume you are enquiring about the condition of my vremeatron mark two, and I am pleased to answer in the affirmative. It is ready to begin operation at any time, the circuits are all tested and I am ready whenever you are.”

Barney looked at the carpenters, who were hammering home the last boards, then kicked a scrap of wood off the platform. “We’ll leave at once—unless you’ve found a way to beat the return trip trouble?”

Hewett shook his head no. “I have experimented with the vremeatron to see if this barrier can be crossed, but it is impossible. When we return in time we cut an arc through the continuum, using energy to warp our own time lines out of the world time line. The return trip, after a visit in the past, no matter how prolonged the visit, is a reverse voyage along the same time-vector that was established by the original time motion. In a sense the return voyage may be called endotempic, an absorption of time energy, just as the outward or backward voyage was exotempic. Therefore we can no more return to a point in time before the time of our original parting from the world time line, than a dropped ball on rebound can bounce higher than its original point when first dropped. You understand?”

“Not a single word. Could you try it again—in English this time?”

Professor Hewett picked up a clean piece of pine board, licked the tip of his ball-point pen and drew a simple diagram.

“Examine this,” he said, “and all will be instantly clear. The line A'Z' is the world time line, with A' the past and Z' the future. The point B represents our consciousness, today, our ‘right now’ in time. The line AZ is the time line of the vremeatron making a voyage in time, or our own time lines as we travel with it. You will note that we leave the world line at point B, today, and arc back through the extratemporal continuum to arrive at—say 1000 A.D., at point C. Therefore the arc BC is our voyage. We re-enter the world time line at C and stay for a while, moving with the world line, and the duration of our visit is represented by the line CD. Do you follow?”

“So far,” Barney said, tracing the lines with his fingertip. “So keep talking while I still know what you’re talking about.”

“Surely. Now note the arc DE, our return voyage in time to an instant in time, perhaps just a fraction of a second after the time we orginally left, point B that is. I can control the arrival at point E until it comes just after point B—but I can never arrive before point B. The graph must always read BE, never EB.”

“Why?”

“I am glad you asked that question, because that is the heart of the matter. Look again at the graph and you will note point K. This is the point where are BC crosses arc DE. That point K must exist or it would be impossible to make the return voyage, for K is the interchange of energy point, where the scales of time are balanced. If you put point E between D and B the arcs will not cross, no matter how close they come, the energy will not balance, the trip will not be made.”

Barney unknotted his brows and rubbed the sore spot between his eyes. “All of which adds up,” he said, “to the fact that we can’t come back to a time earlier than the time we left.”

“Precisely.”

“So all the time we have used up this week is gone forever?”

“Correct.”

“So if we want the picture to be completed by ten o’clock Monday morning we have to go back in time and stay there until it is done.”

“I could not have phrased it more succinctly myself.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road since it is already Saturday morning. The carpenters are finished so it’s time to roll.”

The first vehicle in the parade was a jeep: Tex was asleep in the front seat and Dallas in the back. Barney went over and leaned on the horn button, then found himself staring down the barrel of a long six-shooter held in Tex’s quivering grip.

“I got a headache,” Tex said hoarsely, “and I wish you wouldn’t do that.” He reluctantly slid the gun back into the holster.

“Nervy this morning, aren’t we?” Barney said. “What you need is some nice fresh air. Let’s go.”

Tex gunned the jeep to life while Dallas stumbled over to the platform and dragged two metal ramps into place at the back. As soon as the jeep had been driven aboard he pulled the ramps in after it.

“That’s all for the first trip,” Barney said. “We’ll find a level spot and come back for the rest. Take it away, Professor, back to the same landing site as the other trips, but right weeks later.”

Hewett mumbled to himself as he set the dials, then activated the vremeatron. The mark two was an improvement on the original model in that it compacted all the electrocution and nausea symptoms into a single quick twang of sensation—as though the passengers were harp strings plucked by a celestial finger—which was finished almost before it began. The sound stage vanished and salt spray and sharp, clear air took its place. Tex moaned softly and pulled up the zipper on his jacket.

“Over there, that meadow looks like a good spot,” Barney said, pointing to a fairly level field that ran down to the beach. “Drive me over there, Tex, and Dallas stay with the professor.”

The jeep ground up the rise in compound low, the popping of its exhaust sending the black-faced gulls screaming in circles over their heads.

“Looks big enough,” Barney said, climbing out and kicking at a tuft of short grass. “You can drive back and tell the Prof to jump forward in time a bit and to land the platform over here, just to make sure he can find the right spot when we start bringing the company back.”

Barney dropped to the ground and dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, but it was empty. He crunched it up and threw it away while Tex wheeled the jeep in a circle and roared back to the platform. The ramps were still down and the jeep bounced up them again. Barney had a clear view as Dallas pulled the ramps in and the professor turned to the vremeatron.

“Hey…” Barney said, just as the whole thing vanished, leaving nothing but the jeep tracks and the impression of the rows of tires on which the platform rested. He hadn’t intended Tex to go on with the others.

A cloud passed in front of the sun and he shivered. The gulls were settling down at the water’s edge again and the only sound now was the distant rush of the surf as the small waves broke on the beach. Barney glanced at the cigarette pack, the only familiar thing in the alien landscape, and shivered again.

He never looked at his watch, but surely no more than a minute or two passed. Yet in that short time he realized only too well how Charley Chang had felt, stranded on prehistoric Catalina with the eyes and teeth, and he hoped that Jens Lyn wasn’t too unhappy after his two months’ stay. If his conscience had not been eroded away by years in the movie business he might have felt a twang of pity for them. As it was he just felt sorry for himself. The cloud moved away and the sun shone warmly upon him, but he was still cold. For those few minutes he felt alone and lost in a manner he had never experienced before.

The platform appeared and dropped a few inches into the meadow close by.

“About time,” he shouted, the authority coming back with a rush as he stood and squared his shoulders. “Where have you been?”

“In the twentieth century—where else?” the professor said. “You have not forgotten point K already, have you? In order to come forward these few minutes in your subjective time I had to first return the time platform to the time we had left, then return here with the correct physical and temporal displacement. How long did it take—from your point of view?”

“I don’t know, a few minutes I suppose.”

“Very good, I should say, for a round trip of approximately two thousand years. Let us say five minutes, that would give a microscopically small figure for the error of…”

“All right, Prof, work it out on your own time. We want to get the company back in time and to work. Drive that jeep off and you two stay here with it. We’ll start shuttling back the vehicles and I want you to move them as soon as they arrive so we can have room for the next ones. Let’s roll.”

This time Barney returned with the platform and never for an instant did he think about how the two men must feel who had been left behind.

The transfer went easily enough. Once the first few trips had been made the trucks and trailers moved smoothly through the doors of the sound stage and vanished into the past. The only mishap was on the third transfer when a truck overhung the platform, so that when the time trip was made two inches of exhaust pipe and half a license plate clattered to the floor. Barney picked up the piece of pipe and looked at the shining end, flat and smooth, as if it had been polished. Apparently this bit had been outside the time field and had simply stayed behind. It could happen as easily to an arm.

“I want everyone inside the vehicles during the trip, all except the professor. We can’t afford accidents.”

A tractor towing the motorboat trailer and the deepfreeze truck made up the last load, and Barney climbed on after them. He took one last look at the California sunshine, then signaled the professor to take it away. His watch said 11:57, just before noon on Saturday as the twentieth century winked out and the eleventh century appeared, and he took a deep, relieved breath. Now time—in the century they had left—would have a stop. As long as they stayed in this era to film the picture, no matter how long they took, no time would elapse back home. When they returned with the film it would be noon Saturday, almost two full days before the Monday deadline. For the first time the pressure tension drained away. Then he remembered that he had an entire picture to shoot, with all the problems and miseries that would entail, and the pressure dropped heavily back onto his shoulders and the knot of tension returned, full strength.

A roar of sound burst over him as the tractor driver revved up his engine, and the clear air was filled with reeking exhaust. Barney got out of the way as the motorboat trailer was carefully backed off, and he looked across the meadow. The trucks and trailers were scattered about at random, though some of them had been drawn up in a circle like a wagon train getting ready for the Indians. A few figures were visible, but most of the people were still asleep. Barney wished that he were too, but he knew that he wouldn’t sleep even if he tried. So he might as well get some work done.

Tex and Dallas were just settling down in the grass with cushions from the jeep when he came up. “Catch,” he said, flipping a quarter toward Dallas, who grabbed it out of the air. “Toss. I want one of you to go with me to pick up Jens Lyn, the other can catch up on his beauty sleep.”

“Tails you go,” Dallas said, then cursed at George Washington’s portrait. Tex laughed once, then settled himself down.

“You know,” Dallas said, as they drove down to the beach, “I don’t even know where we are.”

“The Orkney Islands,” Barney said, watching the gulls rocketing into the air before them, screaming insults.

“My geography was always weak.”

“They’re a little group of islands north of Scotland, about the same latitude as Stockholm.”

“North of Scotland—come off it! I was stationed in Scotland during the war and the only time I ever saw the sun was through a hole in the clouds, but not often, and it was cold enough to freeze the—”

“I’m sure of it, but that was in the twentieth century. We’re now in the eleventh and in the middle of something called the Little Climactic Optimum. At least that’s what the Prof called it and if you want to know more ask him. The weather was—or is—warmer, that’s what it adds up to.”

“Hard to believe,” Dallas said, looking suspiciously up at the sun as though he expected it to go out.

The house looked the same as when they had seen it last, and one of the servants was sitting by the door sharpening a knife when they drove up. He looked up startled, dropped the whetstone and ran into the house. A moment later Ottar appeared, wiping his mouth on his forearm.

“Welcome,” he shouted as the jeep braked to a stop. “Very pleased see you again. Where is Jack Daniels?”

“The language lessons seem to have worked,” Dallas said, “but they did nothing for his thirst.”

“There’s plenty to drink,” Barney reassured him. “But I want to talk to Dr. Lyn first.”

“He’s out in back,” Ottar said, then raised his voice to a bellow. “Jens—kom hingat!”[11]

Jens Lyn tramped sluggishly around a comer of the house carrying a crude wooden bucket. His legs were bare and he was caked in mud as high as his waist. He wore an indifferent sort of sacklike garment, very ragged and caught about the middle with a length of hide, while his beard and hair were shoulder length and almost as impressive as Ottar’s. When he saw the jeep he stopped dead, his eyes widening, then shouted a harsh cry, raised the bucket over his head and ran toward them. Dallas jumped out of the jeep to face him.

“Hold it, Doc,” he said. “Put the pail down before someone gets hurt.”

The words or the stunt man’s waiting figure penetrated Lyn’s anger and he slowed to a halt, lowering the bucket. “What went wrong?” he asked loudly. “Where have you been?”

“Getting the production rolling, what else?” Barney said. “It’s only been a couple of days since I dropped you, for us that is, though I realize that for you it has been two months—”

“Two months!” Jens bellowed, “it’s been over a year! What went wrong?”

Barney shrugged. “I guess the Prof made a mistake. All those instruments, you know…”

Jens Lyn grated his teeth together so hard that the sound could clearly be heard across the intervening space. “A mistake… that’s all it is to you. While I’ve been stranded here with these louse-ridden barbarians, taking care of their filthy animals. Five minutes after you were gone Ottar hit me in the side of the head, took all my clothes and supplies and all the whiskey.”

“Why work for whiskey when it just there to take it,” Ottar said with simple Viking logic.

“What’s done is done,” Barney said. “You’ve served your year here, but I’ll see you don’t suffer for it. Your contract is still valid and you’ll get a full year’s pay. That’s not bad money for a couple of days’ work, and you still have your sabbatical coming up and a full year’s pay for that. You did your job and taught Ottar English…”

“His thirst did that. He was repellently drunk for almost a month and when he recovered he remembered about the English lessons. He made me teach him every day so he could get some whiskey if you ever returned.”

“Ottar speak pretty good, that’s right. Where’s whiskey?”

“We have plenty, Ottar, just relax,” Barney said, then turned back to Jens, thoughts of law suits dancing darkly in his head. “What do you say we call it even, Doc? A year’s salary for teaching Ottar English and you’re still working for us while we shoot the picture. I’m sure it’s been an interesting experience…”

“Aaaarh!”

“And one you won’t easily forget, plus the fact I bet you’ve learned a lot of Old Norse…”

“Far more than I ever wanted to know.”

“So let’s call it quits. How about it?”

Jens Lyn stood for a long moment, fists clenched, then he dropped the bucket and savagely kicked it to pieces.

“All right,” he said. “Not that I have much choice. But I don’t do one moment’s work until I have a shower, a delousing and a change of clothes.”

“Sure, Doc. Well drive you back to the company in a few minutes, we’re right around the headland…”

“I’ll find it myself if you don’t mind,” he said, stamping off down the beach.

“Whiskey,” Ottar said.

“Work,” Barney told him. “If you’re on a whiskey salary you’re going to earn it. This picture starts rolling tomorrow and I want some information from you first.”

“Sure. Come in house.”

“Not on your life,” Barney said, shying away. “I remember what happened to the last guy who did that.”