through time and want the machine to stay, I focus the field into this little space under the hatch. But if I want to move through time myself, I expand the field so that it includes the whole machine. Except that the power consumption will be greater. How many amps are your fuses?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t think they’ll take the load. Even before, when you … sent that book, the lights dimmed.”
“No problem. I can replace the fuses with larger ones, if you don’t mind; that is…”
“Be my guest.”
He set to work. His pockets were a compact electronics workshop. In ten minutes he was done.
“I’m off,” he said, coming back into the room. “I’ll need to go at least thirty years forward.”
“Why so far?” I asked. We stood before the black machine.
“In a few years, specialists will know about the project, but in a quarter of a century every child will. It will be taught in school, and I will be able to get from any passer-by the names of the people who sponsored it.”
He smiled wanly, shook his head, and got into the machine with both his feet.
“The lights are flickering,” he said, “but that’s nothing. The fuses will hold. But … there may be a problem with the return trip.”
“How do you mean?”
He threw a quick glance at me.
“You never saw me here before?”
“What are you saying?” I did not follow.
“Well, yesterday, or a week or month ago—even a year ago—you never saw me? Here, in this corner, did a man ever suddenly appear, with both his feet in such a machine?”
“Ah!” I cried, “I understand. You’re afraid that when you return, you might overshoot the mark and come to rest some time in the past. But no, I never saw you before. True, I returned from a voyage nine months ago; before then my apartment was unoccupied.”
“One minute…” He frowned. “I’m not sure myself. If I was here before—for instance, when your apartment was unoccupied, as you say—then I should remember that, shouldn’t I?”
“Not at all,” I was quick to reply. “That’s the paradox of the time loop. You were somewhere else then and doing other things—the you of then, I mean. Of course, you could accidentally enter that then from this now, in which case—”
“Well,” he said, “it doesn’t really matter. If I go back too far, I’ll make a correction. At the worst, the project will be delayed a little. Anyway, it is my first experiment and I must ask for your patience.”
He leaned over and pushed a button. The lights dimmed at once; the machine gave a faint, high-pitched tone like a glass rod that had been struck. Molteris raised one hand in a farewell gesture and with the other flipped the black lever, straightening himself at the same time. The tubes glowed with their full light again, and I saw his figure change. The clothing on him darkened and blurred, but I paid no attention to that, astounded by what was happening to his head. The black hair became transparent and simultaneously turned white. The body dissolved and shrank, and when he disappeared, along with his machine, and when I found myself facing an empty corner of the room, an empty floor—a white, bare wall in which there was no plug—when, I say, I stood there open-mouthed, with a cry of horror frozen in my throat, I could still see the gruesome metamorphosis that had come over him. Because, gentlemen, as he disappeared, swept away by time, he also aged at an incredible rate. He must have gone through decades in a fraction of a second! I tottered to a chair, moved it to have a clear view of that empty, brightly lit corner, sat, and began to wait. I waited the whole night, until morning. Seven years, gentlemen, have passed since then. I do not believe that he will ever return, for, caught up in his idea, he forgot about a simple, an extremely simple, a truly elementary thing, yet one that all the authors of science fiction neglect to mention, whether out of ignorance
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t think they’ll take the load. Even before, when you … sent that book, the lights dimmed.”
“No problem. I can replace the fuses with larger ones, if you don’t mind; that is…”
“Be my guest.”
He set to work. His pockets were a compact electronics workshop. In ten minutes he was done.
“I’m off,” he said, coming back into the room. “I’ll need to go at least thirty years forward.”
“Why so far?” I asked. We stood before the black machine.
“In a few years, specialists will know about the project, but in a quarter of a century every child will. It will be taught in school, and I will be able to get from any passer-by the names of the people who sponsored it.”
He smiled wanly, shook his head, and got into the machine with both his feet.
“The lights are flickering,” he said, “but that’s nothing. The fuses will hold. But … there may be a problem with the return trip.”
“How do you mean?”
He threw a quick glance at me.
“You never saw me here before?”
“What are you saying?” I did not follow.
“Well, yesterday, or a week or month ago—even a year ago—you never saw me? Here, in this corner, did a man ever suddenly appear, with both his feet in such a machine?”
“Ah!” I cried, “I understand. You’re afraid that when you return, you might overshoot the mark and come to rest some time in the past. But no, I never saw you before. True, I returned from a voyage nine months ago; before then my apartment was unoccupied.”
“One minute…” He frowned. “I’m not sure myself. If I was here before—for instance, when your apartment was unoccupied, as you say—then I should remember that, shouldn’t I?”
“Not at all,” I was quick to reply. “That’s the paradox of the time loop. You were somewhere else then and doing other things—the you of then, I mean. Of course, you could accidentally enter that then from this now, in which case—”
“Well,” he said, “it doesn’t really matter. If I go back too far, I’ll make a correction. At the worst, the project will be delayed a little. Anyway, it is my first experiment and I must ask for your patience.”
He leaned over and pushed a button. The lights dimmed at once; the machine gave a faint, high-pitched tone like a glass rod that had been struck. Molteris raised one hand in a farewell gesture and with the other flipped the black lever, straightening himself at the same time. The tubes glowed with their full light again, and I saw his figure change. The clothing on him darkened and blurred, but I paid no attention to that, astounded by what was happening to his head. The black hair became transparent and simultaneously turned white. The body dissolved and shrank, and when he disappeared, along with his machine, and when I found myself facing an empty corner of the room, an empty floor—a white, bare wall in which there was no plug—when, I say, I stood there open-mouthed, with a cry of horror frozen in my throat, I could still see the gruesome metamorphosis that had come over him. Because, gentlemen, as he disappeared, swept away by time, he also aged at an incredible rate. He must have gone through decades in a fraction of a second! I tottered to a chair, moved it to have a clear view of that empty, brightly lit corner, sat, and began to wait. I waited the whole night, until morning. Seven years, gentlemen, have passed since then. I do not believe that he will ever return, for, caught up in his idea, he forgot about a simple, an extremely simple, a truly elementary thing, yet one that all the authors of science fiction neglect to mention, whether out of ignorance
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