Adventures in Time and Space

by Raymond J Healy

  So nothing. There was no answer.

  After a while he went to bed.

  At luncheon the next day he brought Cassen’s “Social Literature” to show Fitzgerald.

  “What about it?”

  “Look here,” Kerry flipped the pages and indicated a passage. “Does this mean anything to you?”

  Fitzgerald read it. “Yeah. The point seems to be that individualism is necessary for the production of literature. Right?”

  Kerry looked at him. “I don’t know.”

  “My mind goes funny.”

  Fitzgerald rumpled his gray hair, narrowing his eyes and watching the other man intently. “Come again. I don’t quite‌—‌”

  With angry patience, Kerry said, “This morning I went into the library and looked at this reference. I read it all right. But it didn’t mean anything to me. Just words. Know how it is when you’re fagged out and have been reading a lot? You’ll run into a sentence with a lot of subjunctive clauses, and it doesn’t percolate. Well, it was like that.”

  “Read it now,” Fitzgerald said quietly, thrusting the book across the table.

  Kerry obeyed, looking up with a wry smile. “No good.”

  “Read it aloud. I’ll go over it with you, step by step.”

  But that didn’t help. Kerry seemed utterly unable to assimilate the sense of the passage.

  “Semantic block, maybe,” Fitzgerald said, scratching his ear. “Is this the first time it’s happened?”

  “Yes … no. I don’t know.”

  “Got any classes this afternoon? Good. Let’s run over to your place.”

  Kerry thrust away his plate. “All right. I’m not hungry. Whenever you’re ready‌—‌”

  Half an hour later they were looking at the radio. It seemed quite harmless. Fitzgerald wasted some time trying to pry the panel off, but finally gave it up as a bad job. He found pencil and paper, seated himself opposite Kerry, and began to ask questions.

  At one point he paused. “You didn’t mention that before.”

  “Forgot it, I guess.”

  Fitzgerald tapped his teeth with the pencil. “Hm-m-m. The first time the radio acted up‌—‌”

  “It hit me in the eye with a blue light‌—‌”

  “Not that. I mean‌—‌what it said.”

  Kerry blinked. “What it said?” He hesitated. “ ‘Psychology pattern checked and noted,’ or something like that. I thought I’d tuned in on some station and got part of a quiz program or something. You mean‌—‌”

  “Were the words easy to understand? Good English?”

  “No, now that I remember it,” Kerry scowled. “They were slurred quite a lot. Vowels stressed.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, let’s get on.” They tried a word-association test.

  Finally Fitzgerald leaned back, frowning. “I want to check this stuff with the last tests I gave you a few months ago. It looks funny to me‌—‌damned funny. I’d feel a lot better if I knew exactly what memory was. We’ve done considerable work on mnemonics‌—‌artificial memory. Still, it may not be that at all.”

  “Eh?”

  “That‌—‌machine. Either it’s got an artificial memory, has been highly trained, or else it’s adjusted to a different milieu and culture. It has affected you‌—‌quite a lot.”

  Kerry licked dry lips. “How?”

  “Implanted blocks in your mind. I haven’t correlated them yet. When I do, we may be able to figure out some sort of answer. No, that thing isn’t a robot. It’s a lot more than that.”

  Kerry took out a cigarette; the console walked across the room and lit it for him. The two men watched with a faint shrinking horror.

  “You’d better stay with me tonight,” Fitzgerald suggested.

  “No,” Kerry said. He shivered.

  The next day Fitzgerald looked for Kerry at lunch, but the younger man did not appear. He telephoned the house, and Martha answered the call.

  “Hello! When did you get back?”

  “Hello, Fitz. About an hour ago. My sister went ahead and had her baby without me‌—‌so I came back.” She stopped, and Fitzgerald was alarmed at her tone.

  “Where’s Kerry?”

  “He’s here. Can you come over, Fitz? I’m worried.”

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “I … I don’t know. Come right away.”

  “O. K.,” Fitzgerald said, and hung up, biting his lips. He was worried. When, a short while later, he rang the Westerfield bell, he discovered that his nerves were badly out of control. But sight of Martha reassured him.

  He followed her into the living room. Fitzgerald’s glance went at once to the console, which was unchanged; and then to Kerry, seated motionless by a window. Keny’s face had a blank, dazed look. His pupils were dilated, and he seemed to recognize Fitzgerald only slowly.

  “Hello, Fitz,” he said.

  “How do you feel?”

  Martha broke in. “Fitz, what’s wrong? Is he sick? Shall I call the doctor?”

  Fitzgerald sat down. “Have you noticed anything funny about that radio?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Then listen.” He told the whole story, watching incredulity struggle with reluctant belief on Martha’s face. Presently she said, “I can’t quite‌—‌”

  “If Kerry takes out a cigarette, the thing will light it for him. Want to see how it works?”

  “N-no. Yes. I suppose so.” Martha’s eyes were wide.

  Fitzgerald gave Kerry a cigarette. The expected happened.

  Martha didn’t say a word. When the console had returned to its place, she shivered and went over to Kerry. He looked at her vaguely.

  “He needs a doctor, Fitz.”

  “Yes.” Fitzgerald didn’t mention that a doctor might be quite useless.

  “What is that thing?”

  “It’s more than a robot. And it’s been readjusting Kerry. I told you what’s happened. When I checked Kerry’s psychology patterns, I found that they’d altered. He’s lost most of his initiative.”

  “Nobody on earth could have made that‌—‌”

  Fitzgerald scowled. “I thought of that. It seems to be the product of a well-developed culture, quite different from ours. Martian, perhaps. It’s such a specialized thing that it naturally fits into a complicated culture. But I do not understand why it looks exactly like a Mideastern console radio.”

  Martha touched Kerry’s hand. “Camouflage?”

  “But why? You were one of my best pupils in psych, Martha. Look at this logically. Imagine a civilization where a gadget like that has its place. Use inductive reasoning.”

  “I’m trying to. I can’t think very well. Fitz, I’m worried about Kerry.”

  “I’m all right,” Kerry said.

  Fitzgerald put his fingertips together. “It isn’t a radio so much as a monitor. In this other civilization, perhaps every man has one, or maybe only a few‌—‌the ones who need it. It keeps them in line.”

  “By destroying initiative?”

  Fitzgerald made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know! It worked that way in Kerry’s case. In others‌—‌I don’t know.”

  Martha stood up. “I don’t think we should talk any more. Kerry needs a doctor. After that we can decide upon that.” She pointed to the console.

  Fitzgerald said, “It’d be rather a shame to wreck it, but‌—‌” His look was significant.

  The console moved. It came out from its corner with a sidling, rocking gait and walked toward Fitzgerald. As he sprang up, the whiplike tentacles flashed out and seized him. A pale ray shone into the man’s eyes.

  Almost instantly it vanished; the tentacles withdrew, and the radio returned to its place. Fitzgerald stood motionless. Martha was on her feet, one hand at her mouth.

  “Fitz!” Her voice shook.

  He hesitated. “Yes? What’s the matter?”

  “Are you hurt? What did it do to you?”

  Fitzgerald frowned a little. “Eh? Hurt? I don’t‌
—‌”

  “The radio. What did it do?”

  He looked toward the console. “Something wrong with it? Afraid I’m not much of a repair man, Martha.”

  “Fitz.” She came forward and gripped his arm. “Listen to me.” Quick words spilled from her mouth. The radio. Kerry. Their discussion‌—‌ Fitzgerald looked at her blankly, as though he didn’t quite understand. “I guess I’m stupid today. I can’t quite understand what you’re talking about.”

  “The radio-you know! You said it changed Kerry‌—‌” Martha paused, staring at the man.

  Fitzgerald was definitely puzzled. Martha was acting strangely. Queer! He’d always considered her a pretty level-headed girl. But now she was talking nonsense. At least, he couldn’t figure out the meaning of her words‌—‌there was no sense to them.

  And why was she talking about the radio? Wasn’t it satisfactory? Kerry had said it was a good buy, with a fine tone and the latest gadgets in it. Fitzgerald wondered, for a fleeting second, if Martha had gone crazy.

  In any case, he was late for his class. He said so. Martha didn’t by to stop him when he went out. She was pale as chalk.

  Kerry took out a cigarette. The radio walked over and held a match.

  “Kerry!”

  “Yes, Martha?” His voice was dead.

  She stared at the … the radio. Mars? Another world‌—‌another civilization? What was it? What did it want? What was it trying to do?

  Martha let herself out of the house and went to the garage. When she returned, a small hatchet was gripped tightly in her hand.

  Kerry watched. He saw Martha walk over to the radio and lift the hatchet. Then a beam of light shot out, and Martha vanished. A little dust floated up in the afternoon sunlight.

  “Destruction of life-form threatening attack,” the radio said, slurring the words together.

  Kerry’s brain turned over. He felt sick, dazed and horribly empty. Martha‌—‌ His mind‌—‌churned. Instinct and emotion fought with something that smothered them. Abruptly the dams crumbled, and the blocks were gone, the barriers down. Kerry cried out hoarsely, inarticulately, and sprang to his feet.

  “Martha!, he yelled.

  She was gone. Kerry looked around. Where‌—‌ What had happened? He couldn’t remember.

  He sat down in the chair again, rubbing his forehead. His free hand brought up a cigarette, an automatic reaction that brought instant response. The radio walked forward and held a lighted match ready.

  Kerry made a choking, sick sound and flung himself out of the chair. He remembered now. He picked up the hatchet and sprang toward the console, teeth bared in a mirthless rictus.

  Again the light beam flashed out.

  Kerry vanished. The hatchet thudded onto the carpet.

  The radio walked back to its place and stood motionless once more. A faint clicking proceeded from its radioatomic brain.

  “Subject basically unsuitable,” it said, after a moment. “Elimination has been necessary.” Click! “Preparation for next subject completed.”

  Click.

  “We’ll take it,” the boy said.

  “You won’t be making a mistake,” smiled the rental agent. “It’s quiet, isolated, and the price is quite reasonable.”

  “Not so very,” the girl put in. “But it is just what we’ve been looking for.”

  The agent shrugged. “Of course an unfurnished place would run less. But‌—‌”

  “We haven’t been married long enough to get any furniture,” the boy grinned. He put an arm around his wife. “Like it, hon?”

  “Hm-m-m. Who lived here before?”

  The agent scratched his cheek. “Let’s see. Some people named Westerfield, I think. It was given to me for listing just about a week ago. Nice place. If I didn’t own my own house, I’d jump at it myself.”

  “Nice radio,” the boy said. “Late model, isn’t it?” He went over to examine the console.

  “Come along,” the girl urged. “Let’s look at the kitchen again.”

  “O. K., hon.”

  They went out of the room. From the hail came the sound of the agent’s smooth voice, growing fainter. Warm afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows.

  For a moment there was silence. Then‌—‌ Click!

  TIME-TRAVEL HAPPENS!

  A. M. Phillips

  Despite the incredible happenings with which it is concerned, this is a fact article. According to the evidence furnished, time travel, at least involuntary time travel, is possible. The experience of the Misses Moberly and Jourdain has been checked by every test that skeptical science can offer. As Mr. Phillips remarks, the evidence against their being deliberate liars, or victims of collective hallucination, “seems to surmount all reasonable objection.” It would appear, then, that all theories of time travel have an undeniable basis of fact. When will such theories be translated into practical accomplishment?

  * * *

  IS IT possible that two women of the twentieth century have literally, physically, walked in the France of 1789? If the evidence of two English ladies may be believed, they have seen and spoken to people of the eighteenth century! They have known the actual landscape of that vanished period‌—‌and walked across a bridge that has not been in existence for more than a hundred years!

  The account of this visit to the year 1789 is one of the most astounding records of human experience I have ever encountered. And almost as thrilling is the story of the long years of research, the slow compilation of hard, unemotional facts, which, piled like brick upon brick, builds a wall of objective evidence that seems irrefutable.

  Miss C. Anne E. Moberly became first principal of St. Hugh’s College at Oxford in 1886. She resigned in 1915.

  Miss Eleanor F. Jourdain was vice principal for some years, and succeeded Miss Moberly as head of the college. She was an M. A. of Oxford, and a doctor of the University of Paris. Her knowledge of the French language was so extensive that her services were requested by the government during the war. She died in 1924.

  These are the two ladies who testify to this remarkable story‌—‌ladies whose intelligence and character are unquestioned. Of the care with which they examined and substantiated each point of their experience, you shall judge for yourself.

  Miss Moberly and Miss Jourdain visited Versailles on August l0, 1901. They were residing in Paris at the time‌—‌Miss Moberly as the guest of Miss Jourdain‌—‌and were making expeditions to the various places of historical interest in the neighborhood. Neither lady had visited Versailles or the Trianon before; this was their first visit. They thought it might be a “dull expedition”!

  While at Versailles, they decided to visit the Petit Trianon, a villa in the park at Versailles, which was a favorite resort of Marie Antoinette.

  Although it had been hot all week, August l0th was pleasant‌—‌the sky overcast, hiding the strong sun, and a wind blowing. Leaving the palace at Versailles, they walked past the Grand Trianon, and came upon a drive that, had they known it, would have taken them directly to the building they sought. Instead, they crossed this drive and followed a lane. The course they took led through the gardens to the rear of the building.

  Their preternatural experience probably began on this lane. It was here they saw a plow, among other farm implements lying about near some buildings. It was here, too, that they inquired of two men directions to the Trianon. These men, who appeared to be guards of some sort, were dressed in green uniforms and wore three-cornered hats. They directed the ladies to proceed along a path, straight forward.

  As they walked along the path, both became conscious of an inexplicable depression of spirits. Together with this feeling of depression, the landscape became eerily unnatural‌—‌windless, shadowless, and deeply silent. This impression of utter loneliness, and of deep stillness and silence, was one of the strongest features of their experience. And loneliness, stillness, a museumlike silence, form a background that might be expected by those who wander through
the untraveled glades of Time, a century back.

  At the end of the path they followed, where it was crossed by another, they encountered a thick woods. Set in among the trees, in the indefinable gloom they made, was a small, circular, roofed building with a number of pillars and a low wall. Miss Moberly called it “a light garden kiosk,” and it is this name‌—‌kiosk‌—‌that is applied to it throughout.

  Seated, either near the kiosk or upon its steps, was a man of particularly evil countenance. His face was pock-marked, and his expression so repulsive that the ladies were genuinely alarmed. He wore a dark, heavy cloak and a large, slouch hat‌—‌clothes that seemed those of another period. As they approached he turned his head slowly toward them.

  They heard with relief the sound of someone running toward them. Turning, they found another, younger man close behind them. He was flushed with exertion, and very much excited. His clothes were of the kind worn by the man by the kiosk; the dark cloak was wrapped about him, with one end flying behind in the wind caused by his haste. He was speaking to them in a voice made breathless by hurry, and in the midst of a long sentence, most of which they lost, they caught the words, “‌—‌cherchez la maison,” and instructions to go to the right.

  They were surprised both by his insistence and excitement, but went as he directed, crossing a small bridge by a tiny waterfall that descended on the right so close they could have wetted their hands in it. Beyond, they passed a meadow bordered by trees, and came within sight of the house.

  At this point the two ladies were in the English garden, to the north of the house. A woman was seen here by Miss Moberly, but not by Miss Jourdain. Miss Moberly gives a very detailed description of her dress and appearance, which, like the men encountered, suggested a long-gone year. She was sitting, apparently upon a camp stool, near the house, and appeared to be sketching the trees before her, for she had a sheet of paper in her hand. As the two visitors passed her she turned the paper so that its face could not be seen, and glanced up at them. Miss Moberly saw her again from behind, and confirmed her description of the woman’s clothing.