"Chapman, John L - Time, Inc" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chapman John L)

he insisted that I go. He remained at the laboratory, saying he would be along
later, and that he would go over the apparatus with me in order to avoid
mistakes. He never arrived, for he proceeded to experiment with a new deconite
bomb, the bomb that wrecked the laboratory late last night. My time-flyer was
destroyed as well. But I still have the weapon, and I must get it to the Hordes
in 2012!"
"That," muttered Jack Stanley, "is where we leave off. Our machine doesn't go to
the future. It goes only to the past."
I STILL maintain," argued Henry Holmes, "that a flight to the future is
impossible. The future is not tangible, even in the time state."
Casmir of the Hordes looked at the scientist strangely. "Impossible? Not at
all."
"Have you done it?" Holmes inquired, astonished.
"No. We of the Hordes have not travelled in time before. But our principle for
future travel is quite simple. It is like the ancient sport called fishing. The
fisherman casts his line, and when he makes a catch, he draws the line back to
him."
Holmes scoffed. "Fishing and time-travelling--bah!"
Casmir resumed without comment. "In time travel the fisherman is the present.
Its time state is stable, and can be used as a pivot to travel pastward or
futureward."
"True," murmured Forthmiller. "Our own trips have used the present as a tow, so
to speak."
"Of course," said Casmir. "Thus, in your return trips to the present, your
flights were not in the exact sense futureward. Had you travelled in the
opposite direction from your pivot, you would have gone forward--"
"Into nothing!" growled Henry Holmes. "The future is not there yet!"
Casmir ignored him. "The fisherman, in this case the present, casts the time
machine in the opposite direction of the pivot. The return flight is similar to
the rewinding of the reel."
"The pivot of your time flight," put in Stanley, "was 2012. Right?"
"Exactly. The destruction of my machine was like the fish breaking the line. I
lost contact with my pivot. Now then, a minor change or two in your apparatus,
and I will show you that future travel is by no means impossible. Are you
willing?"
"No," snapped Holmes.
It's worth a try, Henry," said Stanley. "We'll give him a chance, anyway."
"That settles it," said Forthmiller. "Bring your radio bomb into the lab and
we'll turn you loose on Bessie."
BESSIE was eight feet high and fifteen long, and wide enough for the four men to
stand comfortably before the intricate control board. Casmir of the Hordes
grimaced as he gazed at the array of meters and indicators.
"Strange," he murmured, "that you of the past should have the advanced
mechanisms. Had I lacked interest for the ancient books, I'd never have
understood your machine."
"It'll be a failure," muttered Holmes.
"We'll see," said Casmir. "Everything is ready. The exact stopping point is
clocked. We can start."
Stanley gripped the starting lever, hesitated, and plunged it.
Through the lone circular port the outside world went hazy and vanished. The