Dictatorship -- Fiction; Inventors -- Fiction; Science fiction; Short stories; Time travel -- Fiction
"Your Excellency generously condescended to supply me with facilities
to investigate these theories. After finding Foster's mechanism to
be ineffectual I experimented with Ronferth rays, until I found that
the A and F output, interlaced at dissonant frequencies and reflected
from thionite crystals in Madderhern tubes, would actually pierce the
veil between us and the past. The case upon your desk throws a hollow
beam of these dissonances, which it absorbs from the cabinet relays,
and within this beam, light rays from the adjacent part of the next
loop of the time spiral penetrate to the visor, subject to the same
laws of optics that hold in our present time. The core of the visor
is an ordinary electrically magnifying binocular, with stabilizers.
The period of the time coil is sixty-six years, one hundred five days,
and nine hours. Therefore, your Excellency, some minutes ago you were
seeing the world as it was at seven o'clock, May 18th, 1940. For proof
that this is indeed so, and not a deception, I can but trust to your
Excellency's own acumen."
"You speak only of the past, Heidkamp. Can you not show me the loop
beyond--the future?"
"The future is not visible, your Excellency, and I do not believe
it yet exists. Through eternity time stretches backward, and as our
instruments grow stronger, it shall yield its secrets. But you are
the point at which the spiral builds, and the future waits for your
shaping."
"It is well." Responding to Heidkamp's subtle flattery, the Master's
thin lips curled with pleasure as he thought of a future shaped to his
will. His hands twisted and twitched as he contemplated his own endless
power. "Heidkamp, it is well. The Guards will accompany you to the
reception chamber. You may go."
As the elevator silently started downward, the Master returned to the
visor, impatiently turning the controls until he again found the white
house with the gravel path, in the long-forgotten village of Nyack.
Long he waited until he could see again the girl to whom he felt so
strangely drawn. Darkness fell, and the city became a glory of colored
lights around him, but he did not heed, as he steadily watched a path
that lay sleeping in the afternoon of a beautiful spring day.
At last his vigilance was rewarded. A shining four-wheeled roadster
stopped before the gravel path, and from it alighted the girl and a
man, a man who was as tall and blonde and sleepy as the Master was
small and dark and intense, a man with whom she laughed and talked as
they went up the path and into the house. This time she did not look
toward the Master at all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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