by Henry Hasse
Well, then, suppose that after leaving this sphere—after descending into another atomic universe—I should choose not to alight on any planet? Suppose I should remain in empty space, my size constantly diminishing? That would be one way of ending it all, I suppose. Or would it? Is not my body matter, and is not matter infinite, limitless, eternal? How, then, could I ever reach a ‘nothingness’? It is hopeless. I am eternal. My mind, too, must be eternal, or it would surely have snapped long ago at such concepts.
I am so very small that my mind is losing contact with the mind of him who sits here before me writing these thoughts in words of his own language, though his mind is under the hypnotic spell of my own and he is oblivious to the words he writes. I have clambered upon the top of the table beside the pile of pages he has written, to bring my mind closer to his. But why should I want to continue the thought-contact for another instant? My story is finished; there is nothing more to tell.
I shall never find others of my kind ... I am alone ... I think that soon, in some manner, I shall try to put an end to it ...
I am so very small now ... the hypnosis is passing from his mind ... I can no longer control it ... the thought-contact is slipping ...
EPILOGUE
National Press-Radio Service, Sept. 29, 1937 (through Cleveland Daily Clarion): —Exactly one year ago today was a day never to be forgotten in the history of this planet. On that day a strange visitor arrived—and departed.
On September 29, 1936, at 3:31 P.M., that thing from outer space known henceforth only as ‘The Alien’ landed in Lake Eerie near Cleveland, causing not so much destruction and terror as great bewilderment and awe, scientists being baffled in their attempts to determine whence it came and the secret of its strange steady shrinkage.
Now, on the anniversary of that memorable day, we are presenting to the public a most unusual and interesting document purported to be a true account and history of that strange being, The Alien. This document was presented to us only a few days ago by Stanton Cobb Lentz, renowned author of
‘The Answer to the Ages and other serious books, as well as scores of short stories and books of the widely popular type of literature known as science-fiction.
You have read the above document. While our opinion as to its authenticity is frankly sceptical, we shall print Mr. Lentz’s comment and let you, the reader, judge for yourself whether the story was related to Mr. Lentz by The Alien in the manner described, or whether it is only a product of Mr. Lentz’s most fertile imagination.
“On the afternoon of September 29 a year ago,” states Mr. Lentz, “I fled the city as did many others, heeding the warning of a possible tidal wave, should The Alien land in the lake. Thousands of persons had gathered five or six miles to the south, and from there we watched the huge shape overhead, so expansive that it blotted out the sunlight and plunged that section of the country into a partial eclipse. It seemed to draw nearer by slow degrees until, about 3:30 o’clock, it began its downward rush. The sound of contact as it struck the lake was audible for miles, but it was not until later that we learned the extent of the flood. After the landing all was confusion and excitement as combat planes arrived and very foolishly began to bombard the creature and crowds began to advance upon the scene. The entire countryside being in such crowded turmoil, it took me several difficult hours to return to my home. There I listened to the varied reports of the happenings of the past several hours.
“When I had that strange feeling that someone was behind me, and when I whirled to see The Alien standing there in the room, I do not presume to say that I was not scared. I was. I was very much scared. I had seen The Alien when it was five or six hundred feet tall—but that had been from afar. Now it was only eleven or twelve feet tall, but was standing right before me. But my sacredness was only momentary, for something seemed to enter and calm my mind.
“Then, although there was no audible sound, I became aware of the thought: ‘I know that you would like to learn things about myself, things which those others—your scientists—would have liked to know.’
“This was mental telepathy! I had often used the theory in my stories, but never had I dreamed that I would experience such a medium of thought in real fact. But here it was.
“‘Those others, your scientists,’ came the next thought, ‘would never have believed nor even understood my story, even if their minds were of the type to receive my thoughts, which they are not.’ And then I began to feel a strain upon my mind, and knew that I could not stand much more of it.
“Then came the thought that he would relate his story through my subconscious mind if I had some means of recording it in my own language. For an instant I hesitated; then I realised that time was fleeing and never again would I have such an opportunity as this. I went to my desk, where only that morning I had been working on a manuscript. There was paper and ink in plenty.
“My last impression was of some force seeming to spread over my mind; then a terrific dizziness, and the ceiling seemed to crash upon me.
“No time at all had seemed to elapse, when my mind regained its normal faculties; but before me on the desk was a pile of manuscript paper closely written in my own longhand. And—what many persons will find it hard to believe—standing upon that pile of written paper upon my desk top was The Alien—now scarcely two inches in height—and steadily and surely diminishing! In utter fascination I watched the transformation that was taking place before my eyes—watched until The Alien had become entirely invisible. Had descended down into the topmost sheet of paper there on my desk ...
“Now I realise that the foregoing document and my explanation of it will be received in many ways. I have waited a full year before making it public. Accept it now as fiction if you wish. There may be some few who will see the truth of it, or at least the possibility; but the vast majority will leap at once to the conclusion that the whole thing is a concoction of my own imagination; that, taking advantage of The Alien’s landing on this planet, I wrote the story to fit the occasion, very appropriately using The Alien as the main theme. To many this will seem all the more to be true, in face of the fact that in most of my science-fiction stories I have poked ridicule and derision and satire at mankind and all its high vaunted science and civilisation and achievements—always more or less with my tongue in my cheek, however, as the expression has it. And then along comes this Alien, takes a look at us and concludes that he is very disappointed, not to mention disgusted.
“However, I wish to represent a few facts to help substantiate the authenticity of the script. Firstly: for some time after awakening from my hypnosis I was beset by a curious dizziness, though my mind was quite clear. Shortly after The Alien had disappeared I called my physician, Dr. C.M. Rollins. After an examination and a few mental tests he was greatly puzzled. He could not diagnose my case; my dizziness was the after-effect of a hypnosis of a type he had never before encountered. I offered no explanation except to say that I had not been feeling well for the past several days.
“Secondly: the muscles of my right hand were so cramped from the long period of steady writing that I could not open my fingers. As an explanation I said that I had been writing for hours on the final chapters of my latest book, and Dr. Rollins said: ‘Man, you must be crazy.’ The process of relaxing the muscles was painful.
“Upon my request, Dr. Rollins will vouch for the truth of the above statements.
“Thirdly: when I read the manuscript, the writing was easily recognisable as my own free, swinging longhand up to the last few paragraphs, when the writing became shaky, the last few words terminating in an almost undecipherable scrawl as The Alien’s contact with my mind slipped away.
"Fourthly: I presented the manuscript to Mr. Howard A. Byerson, fiction editor of the National Newspaper Syndicate Service, and at once he misunderstood the entire idea. ‘I have read your story, Mr. Lentz,’ he said a few days later, ‘and it certainly comes at an appropriate time, right on the anniv
ersary of The Alien’s landing. A neat idea about the origin of The Alien, but a bit farfetched. Now, let’s see about the price; of course, we shall syndicate your story through our National Newspaper chain and—’
“‘You have the wrong idea,’ I said. ‘It is not a story, but a true history of The Alien as related to me by The Alien, and I wish that fact emphasised: if necessary, I will write a letter of explanation to be published with the manuscript. And I am not selling you the publication rights; I am merely giving you the document as the quickest and surest way of presenting it to the public.’
“‘But surely you are not serious? An appropriate story by Stanton Cobb Lentz, on the eve of the anniversary of The Alien’s landing, is a scoop; and you—’
“‘I do not ask and will not take a cent for the document,’ I said; ‘you have it now; it is yours, so do with it as you see fit.’
“A memory that will live with me always is the sight of The Alien as last seen by me—as last seen on this earth—as it disappeared into infinite smallness there upon my desk—waving two arms upward as if in farewell ...
“And whether the above true account and history of The Alien be received as such, or as fiction, there can be no doubt that on a not far off September, a thing from some infinite sphere above landed on this earth—and departed.”
The End
*****************************
A Miracle in Time,
by Henry Hasse
Astonishing Stories, June 1940
Novelette - 9935 words
Her crime: that she was a human being,
as were the people of old. Her punishment:
that she be torn from her own world and flung down
the ages back to the days of which she dreamed.
CHAPTER ONE
Sentenced
CHYANA looked up calmly at the faces of the Council. There were seven of them, implacable and stern, like masks crudely carved in brass. The Master spoke first, a faint but cruel smile tightening his thin lips.
“There is still time,” he said, “if you wish to reconsider. You need not persist in your atavism. You have only to shear off that unsightly yellow hair and submit in all other ways to the dictates of Science, your master, instead of persisting in the thought that you are a free entity entitled to do as you please.”
The lesser colleagues in the Council of Scientists nodded sagely at his words, and looked with pitiable contempt at the radiant creature standing so steadfastly before them.
“The Master is right,” one murmured. “Such a thing as this is a disgrace to the Genetics Bureau!”
“Why don’t they obliterate these—these freaks in their infancy?” another whispered to his neighbor, in a tone the girl could not hear.
The Master continued:
“And there is yet another matter. It has been reported that you have in your possession a book. You are aware, of course, that this is strictly against our dictates. What is this book, and how did it come into your possession?”
The girl spoke now for the first time, and her voice was a monotone:
“I suppose it can make no difference now. The book is Vahn’s The New Beginning. I found it among the ruins of one of the old museums.”
“The New Beginning,” the Master repeated, frowning. “And why did you not submit your find to us? We have found many copies of this book, and it is by far the worst of all the rubbish we liave destroyed. It is a preposterous fable, an insult to the intelligence—”
“It was a sort of—of imaginary history,” Chyana stammered. “About the twenty-sixth century. I cannot see what harm—”
The Master turned slightly and smiled at his associates—a thin, purely mechanical smile. “History of the twenty-sixth century,” he repeated. “She cannot see what harm.”
“It—it was a romantic book,” Chyana said hopelessly.
“Romantic! A word. Merely another proof of your atavistic tendencies. But I repeat, if you wish to reconsider, you have only to put yourself under the surveillance of a committee for a period of three months, during which time we shall receive a report as to your conduct and habits. Otherwise—” He purposely left the alternative unspoken, and leaned forward, awaiting her reply.
SHE looked at them, returning their implacable stares. Then, realizing they were waiting for her to speak, her attitude changed. Her lips tightened. She took a step forward, arms stiffly at her sides and fists clenched.
“I can only say that for cold, calculating scientists which you claim to be, you are reacting to my case in a most emotional manner! Do you arrive at all your decisions governing state affairs with such hesitancy? You say I am atavistic. Surely you do not hesitate to spare the feelings of such an unfit subject as I? I demand to know my fate, for I tell you again I refuse to submit to be examined like a guinea-pig!”
The scorn in her voice stung the Master to action. He rose swiftly to his feet. The rest of the Council also rose as the Master pronounced sentence:
“Since you are a unique case, indeed the first to appear before the Council in nearly two hundred years, we have determined upon an equally unique and satisfactory solution. One of our scientists has recently completed a time-transportation device. It has not yet been actually tested, but he is sure it will behave strictly according to his theory. Since this is a dangerous thing, we have passed a decree forbidding any more time experiments. You, however, are to be sent back through time to a period of human evolution in which you more logically belong.”
The Master paused and looked down at Chyana coldly, expecting her to show some emotion, but she remained silent.
“Since you seem so interested in the twenty-sixth century,” he continued, “we shall set the dials roughly at that remote era. Upon your arrival the device will automatically be disrupted, so you need not anticipate using it to return!”
“Return!” she exclaimed, and there was something like a fervent prayer of thanks in her voice. “May all the gods I believe in prevent that I should ever return!”
Chyana did not flinch when they led her to the time-device, a glassy box with bewildering mechanism in one end. Nor, when they had sealed her in, was she afraid at the sudden minatory whine that assailed her ears, like, the drone of an angry, prodigious metal bee. She stood there tense, her hands upon the glassy walls, awaiting whatever sensation a flight through time might incur.
Then, overcome by a strange drowsiness, she felt herself slipping slowly to the floor. Her last glimpse of the world she hated was the pale white row of the Council’s faces pressing close, peering in at her; and her last conscious thought was to wonder if this were not some diabolic trick . . .
CHAPTER TWO
A Bizarre Friend
CHYANA was aware of silence and pleasant warmth. She opened her eyes. Bright sunlight hurt them and she quickly turned her head away. Blinking, she discovered that the crystalline time-sarcophagus reposed in what seemed to be a green-walled canyon.
As she sat up and her gaze encompassed more of the surroundings, she discovered she was lying in a little alcove. It was formed on three sides by crumbling, lichen-covered walls. On the fourth side were tangled weeds.
She pushed at the glass door and it opened easily. She stepped out, but hadn’t taken five steps when there was a splintering, tinkling crash behind her. She spun around and saw all that was left of the time-device: a heap of twisted metal and shattered glass. She had been a little bewildered, her mind far away somewhere. But now memory was flooding back swiftly, and with a little shock she remembered. A world she hated . . . the Council . . . they had sent her back, and they had indeed been thorough to prevent her possible return.
This, then, must be the twenty-sixth, century. But how strange! She had not had time enough to know what to expect in the twenty-sixth century—but certainly not this! Something must be wrong.
Such were her thoughts as she stepped from between the walls and looked out upon a vast expanse of crumbled ruins! In every dir
ection, as far as she could see, they extended—hideous remains of what must have been once a proud and glorious city. Many walls still stood, but none were more than three stories high; crumbling and cracked, and all green with climbing vines. In some places bare steel girders reached higher, but these were corroded, and some of them drooped to the ground, giving the effect of huge spiders poised to spring. In other places only heaps of powdery masonry and tangled metal marked the spots where buildings had stood.
What had once been streets were long since blown over with the dust and dirt of ages, from which tall tangled grass flourished.
Not knowing which way to turn, Chyana walked straight ahead along what had been a wide thoroughfare. With a sudden shrinking of the heart she looked about her at this unexpected denouement to her time trip. But she tried not to be panicky, and as she walked along she tried to think. There was something else wrong here; she had felt it almost at once. And now suddenly she knew what it was.
In all the luxuriant, almost tropical vegetation she saw around her, there should have been something else: life. The flitting of birds and the tiny, scarce-heard insect noises. But here there was none of that. In all this deadly calm and ruin there was neither the moving nor sounding of any other living thing.
Chyana did not try to delude herself with any false hope. She could not be certain, but she considered it quite probable that she was the only person now alive on this world. These ruins around her were not the result of some sudden cataclysm. They seemed the final toll of relentless centuries. At least, whatever people had built this city must have long preceded it to dust. Could this really be, then, the twenty-sixth century? Might not the Master have set the dial wrong and sent her ahead into time instead of back? Chyana shrugged her shoulders and dismissed the question.