Herrera cursed angrily as it grew more dense. Keep close together now. Of all the luck![15]
Soon they were walking with their hands on each others shoulders, blasters ready, peering into the impenetrable fog.
Herrera?
Yeah?
Are you sure were going in the right direction?
Sure. I took a compass course before the fog closed in.
Suppose your compass is off?
Dont even think about it.
They walked on, picking their way carefully over the rock-strewn ground.
I think I see the ship, Paxton said.
No, not yet, Herrera said.
Stellman stumbled over a rock, dropped his blaster, picked it up again and fumbled around for Herreras shoulder. He found it and walked on.
I think were almost there, Herrera said.
I sure hope so, Paxton said. Ive had enough.
Think your girl friends waiting for you at the ship?
Dont rub it in.
Okay, Herrera said. Hey, Stellman, you better grab hold of my shoulder again. No sense getting separated.
I am holding your shoulder, Stellman said.
Youre not.
I am, I tell you!
Look, I guess I know if someones holding my shoulder or not.
Am I holding your shoulder, Paxton?
No, Paxton said.
Thats bad, Stellman said, very slowly. Thats bad, indeed.
Why?
Because Im definitely holding someones shoulder.
Herrera yelled, Get down, get down quick, give me room to shoot! But it was too late. A sweet-sour odor was in the air. Stellman and Paxton smelled it and collapsed. Herrera ran forward blindly, trying to hold his breath. He stumbled and fell over a rock, tried to get back on his feet
And everything went black.
The fog lifted suddenly and Drog was standing alone, smiling triumphantly. He pulled out a long-bladed skinning knife and bent over the nearest Mirash.
* * *The spaceship hurtled toward Terra at a velocity which threatened momentarily to burn out the overdrive. Herrera, hunched over the controls, finally regained his self-control and cut the speed down to normal. His usually tan face was still ashen, and his hands shook on the instruments.
Stellman came in from the bunkroom and flopped wearily in the co-pilots seat.
Hows Paxton? Herrera asked.
I dosed him with Drona-3, Stellman said. Hes going to be all right.
Hes a good kid, Herrera said.
Its just shock, for the most part, Stellman said. When he comes to, Im going to put him to work counting diamonds. Counting diamonds is the best of therapies, I understand.
Herrera grinned, and his face began to regain its normal color. I feel like doing a little diamond-counting myself, now that its all turned out okay. Then his long face became serious. But I ask you, Stellman, who could figure it? I still dont understand!
* * *The Scouter Jamboree was a glorious spectacle. The Soaring Falcon Patrol, number 22, gave a short pantomime showing the clearing of the land on Elbonai. The Brave Bisons, number 31, were in full pioneer dress.
And at the head of Patrol 19, the Charging Mirash Patrol, was Drog, a first-class Scouter now, wearing a glittering achievement badge. He was carrying the Patrol flag the position of honor and everyone cheered to see it.
Because waving proudly from the flagpole was the firm, fine-textured, characteristic skin of an adult Mirash, its zippers, tubes, gauges, buttons and holsters flashing merrily in the sunshine.
A Thief in Time
Thomas Eldridge was all alone in his room in Butler Hall when he heard the faint scraping noise behind him. It barely registered on his consciousness. He was studying the Holstead equations, which had caused such a stir a few years ago, with their hint of a non-Relativity universe. They were a disturbing set of symbols, even though their conclusions had been proved quite fallacious.
Still, if one examined them without preconceptions, they seemed to prove something. There was a strange relationship of temporal elements, with interesting force-applications. There was he heard the noise again and turned his head.
Standing in back of him was a large man dressed in ballooning purple trousers, a little green vest and a porous silver shirt. He was carrying a square black machine with several dials and he looked decidedly unfriendly.
They stared at each other. For a moment, Eldridge thought it was a fraternity prank. He was the youngest associate professor at Carvell Tech, and some student was always handing him a hardboiled egg or a live toad during Hell Week.
But this man was no giggling student. He was at least fifty years old and unmistakably hostile.
Howd you get in here? Eldridge demanded. And what do you want?
The man raised an eyebrow. Going to brazen it out, eh?[16]
Brazen what out? Eldridge asked, startled.
This is Viglin youre talking to, the man said. Viglin. Remember?
Eldredge tried to remember if there were any insane asylums[17] near Carvell. This Viglin looked like an escaped lunatic.
You must have the wrong man, Eldridge said, wondering if he should call for help.
Viglin shook his head. You are Thomas Monroe Eldridge, he said. Born March 16, 1926, in Darien, Connecticut. Attended the University Heights College, New York University, graduating cum laude[18]. Received a fellowship to Carvell last year, in early 1953. Correct so far?
All right, so you did a little research on me for some reason. It better be a good one or I call the cops.
You always were a cool customer. But the bluff wont work. I will call the police.
He pressed a button on the machine. Instantly, two men appeared in the room. They wore lightweight orange and green uniforms, with metallic insignia on the sleeves. Between them they carried a black machine similar to Viglins except that it had white stenciling on its top.
Crime does not pay, Viglin said. Arrest that thief!
For a moment, Eldridges pleasant college room, with its Gauguin prints, its untidy piles of books, its untidier hi-fi, and its shaggy little red rug, seemed to spin dizzily around him. He blinked several times, hoping that the whole thing had been induced by eyestrain. Or better yet, perhaps he had been dreaming.
But Viglin was still there, dismayingly substantial.
The two policemen produced a pair of handcuffs and walked forward.
Wait! Eldridge shouted, leaning against his desk for support. Whats this all about?
If you insist on formal charges, Viglin said, you shall have them. He cleared his throat. Thomas Eldridge, in March, 1962, you invented the Eldridge Traveler. Then
Hold on! Eldridge protested. It isnt 1962 yet, in case you didnt know.
Viglin looked annoyed. Dont quibble. You will invent the Traveler in 1962, if you prefer that phrasing. Its all a matter of temporal viewpoint.
It took Eldridge a moment to digest this.
Do you mean you are from the future? he blurted.
One of the policemen nudged the other. What an act! he said admiringly.
Better than a groogly show, the other agreed, clicking his handcuffs.
Of course were from the future, Viglin said. Where else would we be from? In 1962, you did or will invent the Eldridge Time Traveler, thus making time travel possible. With it, you journeyed into the first sector of the future, where you were received with highest honors. Then you traveled through the three sectors of Civilized Time, lecturing. You were a hero, Eldridge, an ideal. Little children wanted to grow up to be like you.
Of course were from the future, Viglin said. Where else would we be from? In 1962, you did or will invent the Eldridge Time Traveler, thus making time travel possible. With it, you journeyed into the first sector of the future, where you were received with highest honors. Then you traveled through the three sectors of Civilized Time, lecturing. You were a hero, Eldridge, an ideal. Little children wanted to grow up to be like you.
With a husky voice, Viglin continued. We were deceived. Suddenly and deliberately, you stole a quantity of valuable goods. It was shocking! We had never suspected you of criminal tendencies. When we tried to arrest you, you vanished.
Viglin paused and rubbed his forehead wearily. I was your friend, Tom, the first person you met in Sector One. We drank many a bowl of flox together. I arranged your lecture tour. And you robbed me.
His face hardened. Take him, officers.
As the policemen moved forward, Eldridge had a good look at the black machine they shared. Like Viglins, it had several dials and a row of push buttons. Stamped in white across the top were the words: Eldridge Time Traveler property of THE EASKILL POLICE DEPT.
The policeman stopped and turned to Viglin. You got the extradition papers?
Viglin searched his pockets. Dont seem to have them on me. But you know hes a thief!
Everybody knows that, the policeman said. But we got no jurisdiction in a pre-contact sector without extradition papers.
Wait here, Viglin said. Ill get them. He examined his wristwatch carefully, muttered something about a half-hour gap, and pressed a button on the Traveler. Immediately, he was gone.
The two policemen sat down on Eldridges couch and proceeded to ogle the Gauguins.
Eldridge tried to think, to plan, to anticipate. Impossible. He could not believe it. He refused to believe it. No one could make him believe
Imagine a famous guy like this being a crook, one of the policemen said.
All geniuses are crazy, the other philosophized. Remember the stuggie dancer who killed the girl? He was a genius, the readies said.
Yeah. The first policeman lighted a cigar and tossed the burned match on Eldridges shaggy little red rug.
All right, Eldridge decided, it was true. Under the circumstances, he had to believe. Nor was it so absurd. He had always suspected that he might be a genius.
But what had happened?
In 1962, he would invent a time machine.
Logical enough, since he was a genius.
And he would travel through the three sectors of Civilized Time.
Well, certainly, assuming he had a time machine. If there were three sectors, he would explore them.
He might even explore the uncivilized sectors.
And then, without warning, he became a thief.
No! He could accept everything else, but that was completely out of character. Eldridge was an intensely honest young man, quite above even petty dishonesties. As a student, he had never cheated at exams. As a man, he always paid his true and proper income tax, down to the last penny.
And it went deeper than that. Eldridge had no power drive, no urge for possessions. His desire had always been to settle in some warm, drowsy country, content with his books and music, sunshine, congenial neighbors, the love of a good woman.
So he was accused of theft. Even if he were guilty, what conceivable motive could have prompted the action?
What had happened to him in the future?
You going to the scrug rally? one of the cops asked the other.
Why not? It comes on Malm Sunday, doesnt it? They didnt pare. When Viglin returned, they would handcuff him and drag him to Sector One of the future. He would be sentenced and thrown into a cell.
All for a crime he was going to commit.
He made a swift decision and acted on it quickly.
I feel faint, he said, and began to topple out of his chair.
Look out he may have a gun! one of the policemen yelped.
They rushed over to him, leaving their time machine on the couch.
Eldridge scuttled around the other side of the desk and pounced on the machine. Even in his haste, he realized that Sector One would be an unhealthy place for him. So, as the policemen sprinted across the room, he pushed the button marked Sector Two.
Instantly, he was plunged into darkness.
When he opened his eyes, Eldridge found that he was standing ankle-deep in a pool of dirty water. He was in a field, twenty feet from a road. The air was warm and moist. The Time Traveler was clasped tightly under his arm.
He was in Sector Two of the future and it didnt thrill him a bit.
He walked to the road. On either side of it were terraced fields, filled with the green stalks of rice plants.
Rice? In New York State? Eldridge remembered that in his own time sector, a climatic shift had been detected. It was predicted that someday the temperate zones would be hot, perhaps tropical. This future seemed to prove the theory. He was perspiring already. The ground was damp, as though from a recent rain, and the sky was an intense, unclouded blue. But where were the farmers? Squinting at the sun directly overhead, he had the answer. At siesta, of course.
Looking down the road, he could see buildings half a mile away. He scraped mud from his shoes and started walking. But what would he do when he reached the buildings? How could he discover what had happened to him in Sector One? He couldnt walk up to someone and say, Excuse me, sir. Im from 1954, a year you may have heard about. It seems that in some way or
No, that would never do.
He would think of something. Eldridge continued walking, while the sun beat down fiercely upon him. He shifted the Traveler to his other arm, then looked at it closely. Since he was going to invent it no, already had hed better find out how it worked.
On its face were buttons for the first three sectors of Civilized Time. There was a special dial for journeying past Sector Three, into the Uncivilized Sectors. In one corner was a metal plate, which read:
Caution: Allow at least one half-hour between time jumps, to avoid cancelation.
That didnt tell him much. According to Viglin, it had taken Eldridge eight years from 1954 to 1962 to invent the Traveler. He would need more than a few minutes to understand it.
Eldridge reached the buildings and found that he was in a good-sized town. A few people were on the streets, walking slowly under the tropical sun. They were dressed entirely in white. He was pleased to see that styles in Section Two were so conservative that his suit could pass for a rustic version of their dress.
He passed a large adobe building. The sign in front read:
PUBLIC READERY.
A library. Eldridge stopped. Within would undoubtedly be the records of the past few hundred years. There would be an account of his crime if any and the circumstances under which he had committed it.
But would he be safe? Were there any circulars out for his arrest? Was there an extradition between Sectors One and Two?
He would have to chance it. Eldridge entered, walked quickly past the thin, gray-faced librarian, and into the stacks.
There was a large section on time, but the most thorough one-volume treatment was a book called Origins of Time Travel by Ricardo Alfredex. The first part told how the young genius Eldridge had, one fateful day in 1954, received the germ of the idea from the controversial Holstead equations. The formula was really absurdly simple Alfredex quoted the main propositions but no one ever had realized it before. Eldridges genius lay chiefly in perceiving the obvious.