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

change his mind. Stephenson had left out of desperation, but he, H. G. Wells, didn’t have to go hurtling through time. He could remain in the present and go on tinkering, writing and dreaming. He could lead a decent, productive life without jumping off into the unknown. Hadn’t his mother always warned him about being impulsive? He remembered one of the last times she had chastised him. He had refused to study for his third-year examinations at the university because he was in the middle of writing a short story. The piece was published in the Journal, but he lost his scholarship and was asked not to return to the Normal School of Science.
    He moved to shut down the engine. He was halfway through deactivating the switches when he suddenly stopped himself. What the devil was he thinking of? Had he put in all those years of study and research and construction for nothing? The story had been “The Chronic Argonauts” and had started him thinking about fourth-dimensional geometry in the first place! Impulsive, yes; but foolhardy, never! Besides, was not his entire raison d’être to chart the unknown? To do what no man had ever done before?
    He reactivated the switches.
    When the machine was ready again, he released the brake on the Accelerator-Helm lever with a trembling hand, then gently pushed it. Nothing happened. He swore under his breath. He had been so timid he hadn’t even moved it. He gritted his teeth and resolutely shoved the lever all the way forward until it locked in the flank position.
    He was not prepared for The Utopia’s response. It very quickly
picked up speed and soon was turning so fast that the blurred walls of the laboratory became translucent. At once he felt like he was falling helplessly, and at the next moment it seemed that a great invisible force was pushing him upward. He imagined that he was in the eye of a giant tornado’s funnel, then became dizzy. His head rolled against the back of the chair; his stomach churned, and he felt that he was going to be sick. Had he done something wrong? Had he failed to anticipate something? Had he violated some unknown precept of the universe?
    The machine continued to accelerate, and his sense of logic left him. The feeling of motion changed to that of a careening, headlong rush; the physical momentum became awesome. He began to scream. He knew he was going to crash, explode and die somewhere in the extra-temporal fog that whirled around him. Terrified, he fought to get out of the chair as if that would do him any good. But time traveling had already weakened him so much that he did not have the strength to unbuckle the straps that held him in the seat. It was a good thing, too, for if he had left the chair he would have been thrown into the vortex and disintegrated instantly.
    He whimpered and trembled as the machine swayed and jarred along its odyssey-twirl. He felt lost and doomed. Suddenly he dropped his chin down onto his chest, closed his eyes tightly and, for the first time since he was a child of nine, automatically began praying. Tears of agnostic remorse ran down his cheeks. He asked for repentance. He asked for release. Then he abruptly opened his eyes and shook his head to clear it. Now was no time to revert to religion. He had to regain control of himself. But it was no use. His eyelids drooped. He imagined that a blackness was coming over his body and enveloping his mind. He grew sleepy. He felt as if he were floating. Melting. There was no substance anymore. Nothing. His last conscious thought was that he was painlessly dissolving somewhere along the fourth dimension.

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    He woke with a start. The grayness had lifted and the hum of The Utopia was less pronounced. He rubbed his eyes and saw that the swirl around him was now a myriad of bright colors. Then he dug into his vest, pulled out his pocket watch and held it out in front of him. He blinked, then gasped and stared. Not only was the watch a myriad of