"Of course."
"Granted this is the year 3300, give me a reason to believe you. A
fundamental one. I live in the Twentieth Century, in the year 1940. We
recognize the theory that time and space are relative, that the past
can still exist. But the future--"
The man's head nodded approvingly. "A sound question, Winslow. For
that request, I introduce myself. I am Vasper, assigned to instruct
you. Believe me when I say you actually are in the year 3300 and upon
the North American continent, in a region once known as Arkansas. So
much for that. You grasp the falseness of past time, balanced against
space. You understand dimly, I am certain--for it was shortly after
1940 that the Palonian theory of the spiral universe was developed from
previous ideas. Well, we know now that the same rule applied to time
and space without beginning, has no final boundary. Thus, if there is
no beginning, there is no end. If past time and space zones exist, then
so must future time and space zones exist. We have proved that very
definitely, in your case. I must go now," Vasper added quickly. He
smiled, eyes flicking to the dazed Jim Kenley struggling to his feet.
"The barrier is gone now. We put it up, for unbelievers. Walk into the
screen. I shall visit you there, within the hour."
The disks ceased whirling. The screen faded to flat white, and
Jim Kenley leaned against his bed, mumbling. "A nut," he said.
"A goof, with the baseball season coming on--and the Belmont
Stakes--and--everything. And my job--a bonus if I finished by the first
of the month!"
Bob went across to his friend. He felt sick, shaky. The impact of
Vasper's revelation was sufficient to daze any man, Bob felt. Now he
patted Jim's shoulder. "Then we're two nuts, Jim.
"We're in something, too big to grasp all at once. I'll stick by you,
Jim. Come on, let's do what--what Vasper said."
Jim looked long and searchingly at Bob. He gripped his hand. "I'm
dumb," he said slowly. "Yeah, I saw men, and a funny looking thing like
a gold tank--before they jumped us."
"I saw it, too, Jim."
"Then--then we're really somewhere else." Jim shuddered, then
straightened his body. "Okay Bob. I'll try and take it, if I don't go
nuts. We walk into the screen, huh? Boy--if that isn't hot. Walking
into screens over a thousand years ahead of your time--or is it after."
Still bewildered, the two walked slowly to the screen, kept on as
the disks sprang into life again. Bob flinched involuntarily, but he
felt no obstacle. They just walked through the screen as if it were
a shadow, and they were in a smaller room, with beds similar to the
ones they had vacated. There was a screen, much smaller, and chairs of
translucent, blue substance. The ceiling was low and glowed faintly,
as if reflecting daylight. But there were no windows. Jim walked to a
door, and it swung open of itself. "Huh. Kind of an electric eye. Hey,
look. Monkey suits."
There was clothing, and the metal helmets like Vasper wore. Bob rubbed
his chin. "Well, we might as well try 'em on."
"Yeah," Jim agreed. "But if anybody else I know sees me, I'll be ribbed
for life. Say, that's the funniest stuff. Soft as velvet, but thick. Oh
well--"
They got into everything but the helmets. "Now what," Jim wondered,
handling the headpiece. "Lighter'n aluminum. And it's got earphones, or
something. See."
"Put them on," a voice suggested behind them. Turning, they saw Vasper
as he stepped casually through the screen. He was a six footer, built
like a halfback, with ruddy hair and blue eyes. "We must all wear them
in Taval."
"Why?" Jim demanded bluntly.
"Why? For instructions from The Three, of course. They are our leaders
and no man may be out of their reach."
At a nod from Bob, Jim slipped on the featherweight headgear. Bob found
it didn't interfere with ordinary conversation. Vasper regarded them,
smiling. "I know how you feel," he said. "My special task covers your
century. That's why I speak your language so well. All Taval speaks
English, with variations, for we are descendants of North American
peoples. But first, you are to go with me to the Twentieth Century
dining-room." He led the way to the screen. By now Bob wasn't surprised
at entering a room with a familiar look. It was a restaurant, with a
white coated waiter, and the smell of steaming foods. "Boy," Jim cried.
"I could eat a four-inch steak smothered with onions. And coffee--smell
it Bob. Just smell."
Bob felt like an animal, was conscious of a hunger he had never
possessed before. Obviously Jim was in the same mood, for he fairly
yanked a bowl of soup from the waiter's grasp. And there was steak,
juicy and appetizing. There was bread, coffee, vegetables and even pie.
And as they ate, Vasper sat there, smiling as if very much pleased.
At last both men knew they were filled. Jim sighed, reached dreamily
for a cigarette. "Anyway," he reflected, "it's worth this namby pamby
business--a feed like that. Okay, Vasper--let's hear details."
Vasper got up. "I've warned you sufficiently," he said. "I think
perhaps I had better take you outside. To see Taval."
"That the name of your city?" Jim inquired, winking at Bob. "How far is
it from our home?"
"A few hundred miles," Vasper answered. "And more than a thousand
years, this way--"
They walked into the inevitable screen Vasper indicated, and at once
found themselves in a green world, almost jungle-like in appearance,
with what appeared to be a mist overhead concealing the sun. There
were buildings, all domed and apparently resting upon queer looking
cushions. There were paths through trees, palms, hardwood, all sorts
of flowers and shrubs, but no streets. Through the foliage people were
moving leisurely, but not in profusion.
"What's this, a park?" Jim asked.
"Taval," Vasper answered. It was then Bob, drawn by curiosity, began
to study the sky. It wasn't blue, but ashy gray. Then he exclaimed,
peering more closely. "Why--we're under a great dome--a mile-high one,"
he cried.
Vasper nodded, smiling. "That's right. Taval--one of the domed cities.
There are others--many. All of the Brotherhood."
Jim found a bench nearby, sat down. "One story houses on cushions. With
funny round tops. No streets. Everything under glass, or something. My
good gosh, and encore. Why did I ever leave home, or did I?"
Bob joined him. He was excited, and yet strongly moved. His keen,
scientific mind told him thousands of problems had been solved here in
Taval, that Vasper surely was right about the time element. It would
take time to grasp all this. And it was too soon to puzzle why he and
Jim had been brought here. Now he forced a smile. "Suppose," he said,
"you tell us, in a general way, what it's all about."
Vasper sat down between them, while Jim fumbled for another cigarette.
"Who'll win the World Series?" he muttered. "The Yanks, of course.
But--and there's Placer in the Belmont, smacking 'em over in the Derby
the other day. Placer against Agate Second! What a race. And Tennessee
and Southern Cal--and Texas A & M. Will they be out in front this fall?
Goshamighty. It happened a thousand odd years ago, all this. And I
dunno how it came out. I--" Jim's mouth opened. He slapped his knee.
"Great day, Bob. Suppose I could check up on all the Derbies, and World
Series, and Bowl games for ten years, and got back. Wouldn't I rake in
the dough. Say, that's an idea?"
"There is no money in Taval," Vasper said quietly. "You do your task
and you are cared for." He turned to Bob. "We are Americans in Taval.
At least," he added, "the descendants of your stock. The machine age
you created with the United States as the driving force, eventually
brought chaos. That and natural disasters. We had few survivors in the
world, by comparison. And then there came Taval, for whom this city is
named. He discovered the key that divorced time and space--"
"He did," Bob broke in excitedly. "How? We were working on the theory
of overtaking time--by spiraling our speed."
Vasper nodded. "Yes, that resulted, of course, in the two adventures
to our satellite you called the moon. They were disastrous because
you were ignorant of ether frequencies at the upper end of the cosmic
ray band. But you cannot overtake space by the spiral theory. Always
there would be fractional time, and, therefore, you're always bound by
ordinary dimensions."
"One million--two million--ten million, as Amos would say," Jim Kenley
put in. "How clear you are, Grandma."
"Shut up," Bob told him. "Then how did Taval work his theory, Vasper?
That screen--is it a kind of fourth-dimensional business?"
"It is. But that was worked out later, by a group of his pupils. We
use the same base idea of Taval's, as he perfected it back in 2800.
Discarding time to overtake, or unwind space as you might define it, he
chose to search for a physical way of stopping motion--"
"I've got it," Bob cried, leaping to his feet. "It came to me--the
night--the night of the storm--absolute zero! That's it! Absolute zero
to stop motion, and therefore, eliminate time and space!"
"Sit down," Jim advised. "I'm Napoleon and you're Little Caesar.
Remember? And tomorrow's Mayday.... Absolute zero, huh? Well, I said I
felt like I was in a chunk of ice that night."
"But this screen affair," Bob put in. "It--it's different."
"Our method of transportation entirely," Vasper affirmed. "Yes, we
need no streets. No walks, save for exercise. Throughout Taval there
are outdoor screens, for convenience. Winslow, I said Taval's idea is
unchanged. It is, although refined. You were right about your absolute
zero. We came to you that way. In the only machine we employ today,
save for the manufacture of the skydome, and our laboratory equipment.
With absolute zero stopping motion, there is neither time nor space.
You know that. Well, the first contact, creating new motion, brings one
to the time in which he is revived."
"Freezing like that would kill anybody," Jim protested. "It breaks up
tissue."
"You and Winslow suffered all stoppage of motion in approximately
one-two millionth of a second, my skeptical friend. We brought you to
the portable laboratory, kept you in suspended animation for ten days,
then revived you in another fraction as short as the means we took
possession of your bodies."
"How long did the process last?" Bob asked.
"It was exactly thirty days since you reached Taval."