by Earl
“Your father says,” mimicked Elda.
A hidden gleam of mockery shone from her green eyes. “At least our world wasn’t a dull one.”
Stuart stared at the girl, puzzled. Hers was a complex personality. She said disturbing things like that at odd times. She was enigmatic, if only because she was a woman. And she was disturbing—in other ways.
“Why did you leave it, then?” he asked a little sharply. “Why did you and your, father leave that wonderful time?”
He had thought to make her swallow her words. He was not prepared for her sudden, bitter outburst.
“We were driven! We couldn’t stay and be—”
Horror was in her eyes. Then abruptly, in a mercurial change, she was laughing.
“How dramatic I make it sound! It was nothing. I’ll let my father explain.”
Stuart knew she was hiding something. There was an aura of mystery about the two who had deserted one age for another. They had not left their times purely for scientific principles, as his father had left the 20th century. It was something deeper, more vital.
Elda broke into his thoughts.
“Look. See that leaning tower? I’ll race you to it!”
She sprang lightly on her horse, grazing nearby. Her green eyes flashed challenge. Stuart helped Leela mount, then leaped on his own horse. With an exuberant shout, they were off.
Neck and neck the three horses thundered along, till heaps of broken masonry forced the headlong pace down. With daring skill, Elda urged her charger in a flying leap over a tumbled wall, gaining head position. Stuart grinned ruefully. He had thought he was a horseman.
She was an Amazon, her hair streaming out like metallic fluff. She glanced back at times, laughing, mocking, firing his blood. They flew along toward the tower goal, among the piled ruins, courting a broken neck.
Leela fell far behind.
LATER, panting and laughing, they entered the radio laboratory. They had waited for Leela. They sobered at the tense atmosphere within.
It was the interior of a low brick hut nestled between the radio towers. Connecting wires led through the roof to the aerial outside. Harnessed to lead-in wires was a crammed jumble of generators, transformers, bus-bars, vacuum-tubes. All the paraphernalia of radio transmission, in crude form. A bit of 20th century transplanted.
Knight felt that, seated before a panel of switches. Almost like the control room of a broadcasting station of his time. Among the apparatus was his staff of helpers, watching dials and voltmeters with hawk eyes. An air of tense expectancy rode over the hum and drone of apparatus. Something from the dead past was being resurrected.
Would it work?
It was not so easy, as Knight had told Lar Tane, to re-invent the machine marvels of the science age, starting at zero.
A large clock hung on the wall, one of Knight’s first productions. Its hands crept to the hour of six. Knight poised his fingers over the telegraphic key before him. His hand trembled a little.
AT the precise moment, he depressed the key. Three times he pressed down, in short “dots.” He paused. Then three times again—a pause—three times—a pause. . . .
Outside, in obedience to his finger, the aerial crackled invisibly with triplesurges of energy. The three-dot signal hurled itself, by short-wave, out over the broad Atlantic.
After a minute of the signalling, Knight stopped, and fitted earphones to his head. He closed the receiver switch and turned up the power dial. Then he listened, pressing the earphones tightly against his ears. All he heard, for a minute, was the howling of static.
Then it came.
Three sharp dots, a pause—three dots—a pause. . . .
Clear as a bell it sounded. Knight removed the earphones and plugged in a horn-speaker.
Ping-ping-ping—ping-ping-ping—ping-ping-ping. . . .
It rang through the hum-filled room loudly.
Knight listened as if to some divine music. It was just the letter “S,” in code, broadcast from Europe across the ocean. It faded at times, and at times the demon-howls of static obscured it. But Knight listened with a choked wonder.
Three thousand years before, a long-dead inventor had carried out this precise experiment. It was a reenactment of Marconi, listening to the letter “S” hurled from the far shores of another continent.
But Marconi had not realized, save dimly, that this whisper of man’s voice across the ocean would grow to a shouting chorus, shrinking the world. Knight, reviving this feat, knew it as a milestone in the budding science of the 50th century.
He knew, standing and listening raptly, that it was another bond to unite mankind.
Back of him, the dozen technicians smiled tiredly but happily at one another. They had helped bring about the success of the project, through months of intensive labor. Yet they looked with awe at Knight. His brain and 20th century knowledge had been the prime factor. Without him, the 50th century wouldn’t have this, or the long list of other inventions flowing from him in the past quarter-century.
“It is a stupendous achievement, Lord Stirnye!” said a blonde-skinned Nartican. “We had nothing like it in Nartica.”
“Magic! It is near to that,” murmured a darker Triber. “Lord Stirnye has the mind of a god!”
Knight thrilled. For twenty-five years he had been looked up to as almost a super-being. He turned back to the key, and began tapping in the international code of his century.
“Y-o-u-r ‘S’ s-i-g-n-a-l r-e-c-e-i-v-e-d c-l-e-a-r-l-y. C-o-n-t-a-c-t s-u-c-c-e-s-s-f-u-l. C-o-m-e b-a-c-k t-o-m-o-r-r-o-w t-o d-i-s-c-u-s-s a-p-p-a-r-a-t-u-s f-o-r v-o-c-a-l t-r-a-n-s-m-i-s-s-i-o-n.
K-n-i-g-h-t.”
Almost instantly the signal came back.
“O-K d-a-d.”
“O.K.”—Knight had revived that too, from the 20th century.
As he turned away, Lar Tane was the first to offer congratulations.
“Radio transmission will give the world a voice, like in our times. And before this, you invented the telegraph, telephone, X-ray, electric motor, electric light, and all the other things I saw. I realize now what a remarkable feat it is, condensing centuries of inventions into twenty-five years.”
Knight shook his head.
“Not invented—re-invented. Better minds than mine devised these things. I’m just handing them on. I’m a super-Edison only by proxy.
“In time, all those things of our day will gradually spread out among mankind today. It’s still a Stone Age. Twenty-five years is such a short time. I’ve only been able to devise the first of the inventions. We haven’t the factories yet to spread them widely. But we’re laying the foundations for a new and wonderful world.”
Stuart looked at the visionary light in his father’s eyes, this man who saw things in such great sweeps.
“But you’ve been driving yourself too much, father! Hardly sleeping or eating. You should take time to rest—”
“Time!”
Knight spoke the word as though it were a net cast about him. As though his every thought and impulse was a race against the clock.
“Time is infinitely precious, to me. So many things from my 20th century must be passed along. And I have only one lifetime. I’m all right—”
BUT even as he said it, Knight stiffened. His face paled. He clutched at the panel board for support, then collapsed on the floor. Stuart knelt beside him with a muffled cry of alarm.
A doctor was hurriedly summoned. A Nartican, he had been their family physician for a decade. One glance at the still face and he took out a hypodermic, injecting below the heart.
Knight came to, gasping. When he was breathing easily again, he smiled weakly, arising. He looked at the silent, anxious faces about him.
“Just a twinge of the heart,” he said lightly. “After all, I’m three thousand years old!”
But Knight did not tell what the doctor had told him a year before. The electro-lepsis that had brought him through an age had left its mark. A heart that had stopped beating for 3000 y
ears and then resumed, might at any moment stop again—forever.
But still, it had been a day of triumph.
THE next day, despite weakness, Knight insisted on going over plans for voice-radio. Perry and Aran Deen had returned from Gibraltar, by plane. When they reached a knotty problem, Lar Tane made a helpful suggestion.
Engrossed in the problem, they hardly noticed that Stuart and Elda had entered, with Leela.
Elda’s green eyes flashed.
“You’re remaking the world now, too?” she said half banteringly to her father. “I’ve become interested myself. Stuart told me today of the Magna Charta, which was adopted last month. In fact, the day we arrived.”
“Not adopted, but ratified for adoption,” corrected Stuart, smiling.
“I don’t understand these democratic methods.” The girl was frankly puzzled, and somewhat amused. “Conventions, congress, debate, vote, ratification—it all seems slow and ponderous. In our time—”
She exchanged glances with her father. Lar Tane’s eyes were reminiscent. He made an involuntary gesture, as though imitating a ruler of his time—to signify a new edict.
He faced Knight.
“Magna Charta?”
Knight nodded. He explained in brief phrases.
“It is a document,” he concluded, “passing government into the hands of a World Congress.”
Lar Tane was staring.
“And on the day it’s finally ratified—”
“On that day, five months from now,” Knight said, “I am no longer Lord of Earth. My title, and all it has meant, passes into history. But Stuart will be the first president of the World Congress. I requested that, and I know it will be granted as my final wish.”
Elda’s eyes were on Stuart.
“You will be ruler of Earth, then?”
“Only a constitutional ruler,” Stuart responded quickly. “My father will still be my guide. Then, within my lifetime, all the legislative powers of the Congress will be defined. The World-State will gather momentum. A slow process, but a certain one. The final result—true democracy.”
Stuart’s calm, sure tones rang through the room. He added, as if in afterthought, “I shouldn’t forget my brother. Perry will be my right-hand man, building and spreading science and industry through the world.”
Perry flushed under the attention. Elda’s lidded eyes flicked to him, then back to Stuart.
“But you,” she murmured again, “will be ruler of Earth!”
“You are rebuilding civilization,” Lar Tane said to Knight. “You and your two sons. In some way, Elda and I can help.” He smiled curiously. “As a matter of fact, though we once had a secure place, we now have to earn a living!”
KNIGHT felt again his kinship with them. He, too, had awakened with a new life to begin.
“Why did you leave your time?” he asked. For a month, busy explaining the new world, he had not thought to ask. Lar Tane had volunteered nothing.
“There was a World State or World Empire in your time,” piped the voice of Aran Deen. “I remember that, though I can’t find the exact record. It cracked apart, in five years, through war. The year it ended, 2907, was the year you were interred. Is that right, Lar Tane?”
Tane nodded.
“Yes, I remember too,” Knight mused. He had made it a point to read ail the historical records in the libraries of Nartica. He knew the history between the 20th and 50th centuries in broad detail. “The third evanescent World State. Based on the principle of military power, like the others, it fell apart, rotten to the core.”
“And were you a high government official?” pursued Aran Deen vaguely. “Lar Tane—the name sticks in my mind.”
Tane’s face was blank.
“No. Not a high official, though I was in the government. When the World-State of 2907 crashed, I took the door to the future, hoping to find it reformed in a better pattern. It was my sole reason for passing into suspended animation. I’m wholeheartedly with you in forming a World-State today.”
His eyes were suddenly shining.
“A new world! Rebuilding civilization! I feel almost as though fate had planned this, Stuart Knight. How can I serve? I was a scientist as well as administrator. Tell me, how can I serve?”
His manner was suddenly impatient, hurried, as though his dynamic nature, shrugging off the last shreds of agelong sleep, demanded activity.
Knight’s eyes were reflective. Lar Tane, despite his former life in a century where might was right, was a valuable man. One thing he had in common with Knight—a view of world affairs through a perspective of time. That alone was a priceless gift, second only to Knight’s greater range.
“Yes, rebuilding civilization,” Knight said slowly. “And the World-State. And in that, Lar Tane, your experience is invaluable.” He came to a mental conclusion. “I hereby appoint you director of the Rhine powerplant, in Europe. I’m sure you’ll prove your worth, and be elected to an important post in the new government.”
Lar Tane bowed slightly, looking pleased.
CHAPTER VI
Listen, Stone Age!
A WEEK later, a sailing vessel denuded of its sails but with masts and ropes intact for emergency, fared from New York harbor under steam. The spectators at the dock hardly realized the significance of the name painted on the prow—Dogstar II.
An age before, in 1838, another Dogstar had made the first Atlantic crossing under steam, from England to America. And the Dogstar of 5000 A.D. would also stamp the sailing vessel with the word “obsolete.” Mark the close of a sailing era, usher in a steamship age. Pump the blood of trade vigorously through the arteries of the world.
Knight blessed fate, that allowed him to witness these twice-told events.
Sometimes the wonder of it shook him. It was as though he had been plucked from tottering Earth entirely, in the 20th century, and placed by the gods in a new Earth, once again back in the Stone Age. It was as though the gods had said: “The first experiment failed. We will start all over, before civilization. You, Stuart Knight, guide this second one. With what you know of the past, you know the pit-falls. Dowell!”
And then it was as though the gods laughed behind his back, and said among themselves: “He is such an optimistic, energetic little worm-that-dreams. He thinks he will succeed. He does not know the storm may break at any moment!”
Knight didn’t know why he had that last thought. During the quiet, restful voyage across an ocean that seemed bent to please, he reviewed the past twenty-five years. It was the first time he had really stopped his bustle and drive, and sat down to think it over, with the perspective of those years.
All had gone well.
Power-and-metals were once again at hand, to muscle the stricken body of civilization, give it vigor and life. Mechanical inventions, culminating in radio and this steam-driven vessel, were once more ready to form its arms and legs and voice. The Magna Charta would soon breathe into it a heart and soul.
Yes, all had gone well.
But—
And suddenly, Knight knew what ticked in his brain. It must have the latter, or the rest would mean nothing. Knight had dug into the grave of the past, patching the new world-body together. Without heart and soul—without the Magna Charta—the new civilization would be a Frankenstein monster, laying waste the world again in war and chaos.
Knight knew he would not feel at ease till the World-State was safely launched. Five months more and then the gods would nod their heads and stop laughing behind his back.
THE Dogstar Second’s new engine worked like a clock.
Shining alloy casings hid the great pistons that thrust powerfully, turning the four-bladed screw. Five years before Knight and his son Perry had started its construction. Effort well spent.
Knight was always a little amazed himself at the “fuel.” It consisted simply of a few large lumps of the miraculous radioactive wax. Releasing infra-energy far out of proportion to its size, it churned an endless head of steam through the engine
, as long as water was supplied. A few pounds of the wax were equal to hundreds of tons of coal. It was more than combustion that the wax underwent—it was disintegration. The 20th century would have called it radioactivity speeded up—or “Atomic Energy!”
“And the cost of producing this amount of wax,” Knight told Lar Tane, “was less than a hundred dollars, in financial terms. Freighters crossing the Atlantic for less than what used to be a docking charge!”
Knight was almost childishly pleased at the wondering look on Lar Tane’s face. It was the sign of a new and vaster science that the 50th century would inherit.
THE Dogstar II docked in the harbor of what had once been Gibraltar, beneath its frowning ramparts. It picked its way majestically among sail-driven craft. Sailors’ faces stared in astonishment at the swift ship driven by hidden magic, not aware yet that their age-long craft were outmoded. In the harbor town a crowd of Tribers quickly collected, staring in wonder.
Knight noticed they did not cheer. The news of both the Magna Charta and the steamship, though sped to Europe by the new radio, was yet too novel for them to accept unreservedly, as in America. The tribal-states of America, closer to the center of the new things, and better informed, were the only ones already in line, wholeheartedly.
“The first crossing of the Atlantic under steam, in this age,” Knight said in commemoration. “They will accept it soon for the great event it is.”
The party made its way to the radio station, beyond the town, where several aircraft lay ready for service.
Knight pointed to one.
“This will take you, Lar Tane and Elda, to Vinna. Chief Hal Doth, at my request, offers you the hospitality of his house. I thought you would prefer to live there, for the time being, at the site if not the city you once knew.”
“It’s thoughtful of you,” Lar Tane returned sincerely. He added, in a reminiscent murmur: “Vinna!”
“The plane,” Knight resumed, “is at your service. Refueling facilities at the Rhine. You can commute to the Rhine powerplant in an hour, from Vienna, and apportion your time there as you wish. In two months the plant should be completed. It will then need a capable director. I leave it to your judgment to build its productive capacity to a peak. We are ready to launch an industrial program.”