Time After Time by Karl Alexander Read Free Book Online Page A

people of 1979? If technology had in fact freed them from
the drudge of mindless toil, the oppression of conservative political systems and the scourge of poverty, then they would be an artistic and unabashed people. They would patronize and participate in music, dance, poetry, painting and other forms of culture. They would be open and honest. They would accept Stephenson as one of their own and they wouldn’t know! And what if he went on another ghastly rampage as he had done in ’88 and ’92? If they weren’t used to crime, the people of 1979 would be helpless when faced with London’s most notorious butcher. There would be panic. A great deal of panic.
    H.G. stared at the control panel. He had to do something. Quickly.
    Suddenly angry again, he climbed out of the machine and slammed the heavy door shut. A bloody murderer using my unprecedented device to escape justice, he thought. My time machine that was built for and should exist for the betterment of mankind; that was named for a perfect human society. Then a horrible thought struck him. Had he created a technological monster? If he hadn’t built the device in the first place, Stephenson would not have traveled into the future. That meant that Stephenson was his responsibility, and he didn’t want to be accountable for what that maniac would do in 1979. It wasn’t merely principles of justice and morality; it wasn’t just H.G.’s personal sense of worry and outrage. It was as if he were the owner of the trading ship that had brought the black plague to Europe in the Middle Ages.
    He paced and fumed and quickly made up his mind. Dr. Leslie John Stephenson might not believe in retribution, but H.G. Wells was of a different opinion. There was only one thing to do: get Jack the Ripper and bring him back.
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    He strode resolutely to a safe built into the wall of the laboratory, spun the combination and opened the door. He removed the fifty
pounds that he kept there for emergencies, started to put the money into his billfold, then stopped and thought. What about Mrs. Nelson? It wasn’t as if he were taking a trip to Africa and could mail her a few pounds from Johannesburg if she needed it. No, he had best leave her the fifty pounds. It would keep her solvent for at least six months, and if he weren’t back by then … . He shuddered.
    He moved back to his workbench, put the money into an envelope, then hastily scribbled a note.

    My Dear Mrs. Nelson:
    I must leave London for a while. If I have not returned in thirty days, please use what is left of this currency to help yourself secure another position.
    My Best,
HGW

    He folded the note and put it into the envelope, hoping that its implications weren’t too ominous. Then he placed the packet outside the laboratory, closed and locked the door. He moved back to the safe, reached farther in and took out some heirloom jewelry that his mother had given him for his firstborn daughter, whenever that happened. He grimaced as he looked at the precious stones. Children? There were too many in the world already.
    He pocketed the jewelry, moved to the time machine, took a deep breath—desperately hoping that it would not be one of his last—and climbed inside. He locked the door, got into the chair and strapped himself in. There was no need to reset the Time-Sphere Destination Indicator, for Stephenson had already determined it: year, 1979; month, November; day, five.
    He synchronized his pocket watch with the clock on the control panel, quickly figuring that 1979 was forty-three minutes away. It was now 7:14 A.M. Stephenson had at least an hour and a half head start.

    He engaged the series of switches that activated the engine. A low hum from below told him that energy fields were already interacting and building up to speed. He was only moments away. A small light on the control panel flashed. The machine was ready.
    He hesitated. It still wasn’t too late to