Flight From Tomorrow | Page 3

was a click as
the shielding went out and the door opened. A breath of cool night air drew into the
hollow sphere.
Then there was a loud bang inside the mechanism, and a flash of blue-white light which
turned to pinkish flame with a nasty crackling. Curls of smoke began to rise from the
square black box that housed the "time-shift" mechanism, and from behind the

instrument-board. In a moment, everything was glowing-hot: driblets of aluminum and
silver were running down from the instruments. Then the whole interior of the
"time-machine" was afire; there was barely time for Hradzka to leap through the open
door.
The brush outside impeded him, and he used his blaster to clear a path for himself away
from the big sphere, which was now glowing faintly on the outside. The heat grew in
intensity, and the brush outside was taking fire. It was not until he had gotten two
hundred yards from the machine that he stopped, realizing what had happened.
The machine, of course, had been sabotaged. That would have been young Zoldy, whom
he had killed, or that old billy-goat, Kradzy Zago; the latter, most likely. He cursed both
of them for having marooned him in this savage age, at the very beginning of atomic
civilization, with all his printed and recorded knowledge destroyed. Oh, he could still
gain mastery over these barbarians; he knew enough to fashion a crude blaster, or a
heat-beam gun, or an atomic-electric conversion unit. But without his books and records,
he could never build an antigrav unit, and the secret of the "temporal shift" was lost.
For "Time" is not an object, or a medium which can be travelled along. The
"Time-Machine" was not a vehicle; it was a mechanical process of displacement within
the space-time continuum, and those who constructed it knew that it could not be used
with the sort of accuracy that the dials indicated. Hradzka had ordered his scientists to
produce a "Time Machine", and they had combined the possible--displacement within the
space-time continuum--with the sort of fiction the dictator demanded, for their own
well-being. Even had there been no sabotage, his return to his own "time" was nearly of
zero probability.
The fire, spreading from the "time-machine", was blowing toward him; he observed the
wind-direction and hurried around out of the path of the flames. The light enabled him to
pick his way through the brush, and, after crossing a small stream, he found a rutted road
and followed it up the mountainside until he came to a place where he could rest
concealed until morning.

2
It was broad daylight when he woke, and there was a strange throbbing sound; Hradzka
lay motionless under the brush where he had slept, his blaster ready. In a few minutes, a
vehicle came into sight, following the road down the mountainside.
It was a large thing, four-wheeled, with a projection in front which probably housed the
engine and a cab for the operator. The body of the vehicle was simply an open
rectangular box. There were two men in the cab, and about twenty or thirty more
crowded into the box body. These were dressed in faded and nondescript garments of
blue and gray and brown; all were armed with crude weapons--axes, bill-hooks,
long-handled instruments with serrated edges, and what looked like broad-bladed spears.
The vehicle itself, which seemed to be propelled by some sort of chemical-explosion

engine, was dingy and mud-splattered; the men in it were ragged and unshaven. Hradzka
snorted in contempt; they were probably warriors of the local tribe, going to the fire in
the belief that it had been started by raiding enemies. When they found the wreckage of
the "time-machine", they would no doubt believe that it was the chariot of some god and
drag it home to be venerated.
A plan of action was taking shape in his mind. First, he must get clothing of the sort worn
by these people, and find a safe hiding-place for his own things. Then, pretending to be a
deaf-mute, he would go among them to learn something of their customs and pick up the
language. When he had done that, he would move on to another tribe or village, able to
tell a credible story for himself. For a while, it would be necessary for him to do menial
work, but in the end, he would establish himself among these people. Then he could
gather around him a faction of those who were dissatisfied with whatever conditions
existed, organize a conspiracy, make arms for his followers, and start his program of
power-seizure.
The matter of clothing was attended to shortly after he had crossed the mountain and
descended into the valley on the other side. Hearing a clinking sound some distance