Cyborgs -- Fiction; Science fiction; Time travel -- Fiction
Arthur remained in stupefied silence. He did not know what to make of
these antics. The Clockwork man looked at him, and seemed to be trying
hard to remould his features into a new expression, faintly benevolent.
Apparently, however, it was a tremendous effort for him to move any
part of his face; and any change that took place merely made him look
rather like a caricature of himself.
"Of course," he said, slowly, "you don't understand. It isn't to be
expected that you would understand. Why, you haven't even got a clock!
That was the first thing I noticed about you."
He came a little nearer to Arthur, walking with a hop, skip and jump,
rather like a man with his feet tied together.
"And yet, you look an intelligent sort of being," he continued, "even
though you are an anachronism."
"Arthur was not sure what this term implied. In spite of his confusion
he couldn't help feeling a little amused. The figure standing by his
side was so exactly like a wax-work come to life, and his talk was
faintly reminiscent of a gramophone record.
"What year is it?" enquired the other suddenly, and without altering a
muscle of his face.
"Nineteen hundred and twenty-three," said Arthur, smiling faintly.
The Clockwork man lifted a hand to his face, and with great difficulty
lodged a finger reflectively against his nose. "Nineteen hundred and
twenty-three," he repeated, "that's interesting. Very interesting,
indeed. Not that I have any use for time, you know."
He appeared to ruminate, still holding a finger against his nose. Then
he shot his left arm out with a swift, gymnastic action and laid the
flat palm of his hand upon Arthur's shoulder.
"Did you see me coming over the hill?" he enquired.
Arthur nodded.
"Where did you think I came from?"
"To tell the truth," said Arthur, after a moment's consideration, "I
thought you came out of the sky."
The Clockwork man looked as though he wanted to smile and didn't know
how. His eyes twinkled faintly, but the rest of his face remained
immobile, formal. "Very nearly right," he said, in quick, precise
accents, "but not quite."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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