They turned to watch. The final box car was loaded and the engine drew
them away. The mislink crane returned for the final time and was stowed
on the platform. A hush fell over the crew, and the windows in the back
were filled with faces, watching.
The silence was intense. Peter realized that practically every man was
holding his breath, and yet it would be at least a half hour before the
mislink began to follow the crane, and some time after that before the
mislink caught up to the scene of the accident.
He let his breath out with a sigh, and mentioned the fact to Ben and
Simpkins. The foreman nodded and agreed, saying: "We know, but there
isn't one of us who won't try to hold his breath for the next two
hours."
"Impractical," muttered Peter Wright. "There must be a way."
* * * * *
The mislink was a husky section in its own right. The crane boom was no
weakling. Thin rods, jointed on toggles, floated about ten inches from
the main "I" beam, just as long as the temporal treated section itself.
It made an eerie sight, this monstrous slab of solid metal, moving back
and forth with determination and purpose, _with no visible means of
support_. To add to the alien sight, the telltale rods maintained their
ten-inch separation with a metallic rigidity, though no connection was
visible to the main girder.
On the loading deck were three painted circles. The inner one was a
four-inch stripe of brilliant red. The circle approximated the scene
of the accident. Outside of that by a considerable safety-factor was
an orange stripe, almost yellow. Another safety-factor distance away
the third stripe of green inclosed the area. As the mislink crossed the
green stripe, all eyes fastened on it. As it crossed the yellow-orange
stripe, the watchers tensed, and as the mislink crossed into the danger
section, there was a sudden, audible indrawing of breath, which was
held solid until the mislink passed across the red line on the way out.
The out-go of breath was definitely audible.
The tension mounted. A large clock, set up for the case, swept around
and around toward the estimated zero hour. The watchers no longer
looked into one another's eyes and when eyes met inadvertently, they
both fell with a sickly smile that lacked courage.
_Why were they there?_ Peter asked of himself, and he knew. They
were there because of morbid curiosity. The thing that made people
watch three-hundred-foot dives into a large washtub of water; people
watching a tightrope walker somersault on the wire above Niagara:
watching the high trapeze artists performing with no net. That one of
them was certain to be called into the act, the element of chance and
the element of danger, always a gamble, made them stay. With nothing
to win, they stayed to watch, which is a basic characteristic of human
nature.
They were there because they were human!
And when the accident came, the laws of the lines would be broken,
though everything in every man's power would be done to maintain the
safety. For the mislink would stop, after the accident, just as the
crane had been stopped automatically by the contact with the telltale
rods in their temporal extension of the crane itself. The green line,
across which no one must pass save the authorities; the yellow line
across which only the medical corps may cross, and the red line across
which only two men may cross and then only to take the victim to the
medical set-up on the dock. Men would rush forward, crossing the
lines, and the victim would be carried away with a trailing number of
watchers. Then, someone would have to forget the victim to keep the
rest of the men from getting in the way of the mislink as it resumed
operations. But, of course, no one else had been hit, so this, at
least, would be successful, and the men were very confident that no
matter what they did, they would not be hit.
The minutes wore on interminably. Coffee came in great tanks, and
sandwiches in stacks. The men ate in gulps, swallowing great lumps of
unchewed food, and all courted indigestion. The strain was terrific as
the timing clock drew close to the minute.
_Who--?_
* * * * *
Then--came the zero minute.
There was an intake of breath as the clock chimed once, to mark the
beginning of the period of probability. No man moved a muscle, yet all
muscles were tense with expectancy. Nervously, Ben felt in his pocket
and took out a cigarette, stuck it into his mouth, and fumbled for a
match. "Match?" he grumbled.
Simpkins fumbled and shook his head.
"Nope," he said, and his voice was loud and raw.
Peter felt in his pocket and found a match.
He lit one and held it over. His eyes were solid on the scene, he did
not want to miss it.
"Look out!" someone cried in a strident voice.
The mislink was approaching the circles again.
Peter turned and faced the place squarely, casting an eye across the
men's faces. They were all set, and in every man's body were muscles
tensed against moving forward.
_How_, asked Peter of his mind, _can they expect anything to happen
now? Every man is psychologically unable to move forward._
There came a stabbing pain, and Peter whirled with a wordless scream.
The shock was searing. Instantaneously, he whirled, hitting his
upflinging elbow against the wall. The obstruction in motion set him
off balance, and he automatically moved a foot to regain it. His foot
hit the foot of Ben, who was standing solidly, partly turned, his face
just changing from solid-set to one of surprise.
The solid foot tripped Peter, and he fell forward. He flung the
still-burning match from his fingers as he put both hands forward
to break his fall. The loading deck came up to meet him, and his
forward-flung hands went down toward--
_The red line!_
There was a coruscating flare of stars, bars, and screaming color in
his mind, that contracted to a pinpoint and then expanded to infinity,
leaving only peaceful blackness.
He returned to consciousness in the ambulance, but his return was
brief. He was conscious only long enough to hear:
"Some day we'll lick it," said Ben.
"Only when you lick the regular accident rate. The trouble is,"
mused the medical attendant, "that people think there's something
about mislink accidents that is different. Like either predestiny or
something that makes you able to change the future. Fact of the matter
is, it is the _past_ that they're trying to change. Funny, to think of
this guy getting it."
"Last one got it by a different set of factors," said Ben, "but you
can't stop an accident that's already happened."
Peter Wright, adjuster for the solar system's greatest insurance
company, Interplanetary Industrial Insurance, went under. His mind was
whirling with a mixed desire to argue about temporal accidents, and the
certain knowledge that he was in no position to mention the avoidance
of same.