The Third Time Travel Read online

  George then took them to the portable television set and turned it on. When faces, music, and words appeared the Indians jerked back, then jabbered and gathered closer to watch. A girl singer, clad in a gown that came up to her neck, caused Moon Water to inquire, “Why does she hide herself? Is she ashamed?”

  The standards of modesty, George reflected as he glanced at the lovely nude form of the prehistoric Indian girl, change with the ages.

  Of the people and noises on the TV screen Good Fox wanted to know quite solemnly, “Are these crazy people? Is it the way you treat your people who go crazy?”

  George laughed. “You might say it’s something like that.”

  A shout came from Sidney at the card table near the tent where he was taking down Huk’s story. “George! He’s just told me why the cliff people left! And why the desert people will have to leave in time. It’s a reason we never thought of! It’s because—”

  Just then a big multi-engined plane came over, drowning out his words. The Indians stared skyward, now in great alarm. They looked about for a place to run and hide, but there was none. They held their hands over their ears and glanced fearfully at the TV which now spluttered, its picture and sound thrown off by the plane. Awesomely, they waited until the plane went over.

  “We fly now in machines with wings,” George explained.

  “To make such a noise in the air,” Moon Water said, “is wicked, destroying all peace.”

  “I’ll agree with you there,” said George.

  “You have this,” Good Fox observed, indicating the TV, which was now back to normal, “and you send the other through the sky to make it crazier than before.” He shook his head, not comprehending.

  George shut off the TV. He took up a camera of the kind that automatically finishes a picture in a minute’s time. Grouping Good Fox, Moon Water and the other warriors, he took their picture, waited, then pulled it out and showed it to them.

  They cried out, one man shouting in fear, “It is great magic!”

  George took a number of photographs, including several of Huk as he sat talking with Sidney. No matter what happened he would have this record as Sidney would have that he was taking down on the typewriter.

  Next he showed them a pair of binoculars, teaching them how to look through them. They exclaimed and Good Fox said, “With this we could see our enemies before they see us.”

  “You have enemies?” George asked.

  “The Apache,” Good Fox said fiercely.

  George handed him the binoculars. “It is yours to use against the Apache.”

  Solemnly the young chief answered, “The man with white skin is thanked. The red man gives in return his atlatl and lances.” He held out his throwing stick and unslung his quiver of lances. George accepted them with thanks; they would be museum pieces.

  Finally George showed them a rifle. He looked about for game and after some searching saw a rabbit sitting on a mound in the excavations. As he took aim Good Fox asked, “You would hunt it with your stick?”

  George nodded.

  “This cannot be done from here,” stated one warrior.

  George squeezed the trigger. Instantaneously with the explosion of the shell the rabbit jumped high and then came down, limp and dead. The Indians yelled with fright and ran off in all directions. Huk jumped up from the table. Then all stopped and cautiously returned. One went to the rabbit and picked it up, bringing it back. All, including Huk who left the table, stared with fright at it and at the rifle.

  Moon Water expressed their opinion of it. “The thunder of the killing stick is evil.”

  “Moon Water speaks the truth,” said Huk.

  “It would make hunting easy,” said Good Fox, “but we do not want it even if given to us.”

  He drew back from the rifle, and the others edged away from it.

  George put it down.

  Sidney held up a sheaf of papers. “I’ve got it all, George,” he said exultantly in English, “right here! I asked Huk if they can stay with us in our time, at least for a while. We can study them more, maybe even take them back to show the world.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t have a chance to reply when you shot the rifle.”

  George put it formally to the Indians, addressing Huk, Good Fox, Moon Water and the rest. “You have seen something of the modern world. We would like you to stay in it if it is your wish. I don’t know how long you could stay in Huk’s vision, but if you can remain here permanently and not go back to your time and—well, not being alive there any more—we hope you will consider this.”

  Huk replied, “It is possible that we could stay in your time, at least as long as my vision lasts, which might be for as long as I lived.” He glanced at Good Fox.

  The young chief in turn looked at Moon Water. Her gaze went to the station wagon, to the TV, then up at the sky where the plane had appeared, at the rifle, the camera, the thermos, and all else of the white man. She seemed to weigh their values and disadvantages, looking dubious and doubtful.

  Good Fox announced, “We will hold a council about it. As is our custom, all have words to say about such a thing.”

  Abruptly he led his people away, into the excavations and over a slight rise of ground, behind which they disappeared.

  Sidney murmured, “I don’t like that so much.”

  “They must do as they want.” George led the way to the card table and they sat there. On it rested Huk’s aspergill.

  “He gave it to me,” Sidney explained.

  George placed Good Fox’s netted clay water jug and his atlatl and furred quiver of lances on the table, together with the pictures he had taken of the ancient Indians. They waited.

  Sidney, glancing at the low hill behind which the Indians had gone, said, “What they’re doing is choosing between living in modern civilization and remaining dead. What do you think they’ll do?”

  “I don’t know,” said George. “They didn’t think so much of us.”

  “But they couldn’t choose death and complete oblivion!”

  “We’ll see.”

  They waited some more.

  “At least,” said Sidney, indicating the articles on the table, “we’ll have these for evidence.” He held up the sheaf of papers containing Huk’s story. “And this, giving the real reason the cliff dwellers left. I haven’t told you what it was, George. It’s so simple that—”

  He didn’t complete his sentence, for just then Huk, Good Fox, Moon Water, and the other warriors made their choice. It was announced dramatically.

  The water jug, the aspergill, and the atlatl and quiver of lances disappeared from the table. In their places, suddenly, there were the thermos and the binoculars.

  Sidney stared stupidly at them.

  George said quietly, “They’ve gone back.”

  “But they can’t do this!” George protested.

  “They have.”

  Sidney’s hand shook as he picked up the sheaf of papers holding Huk’s story. Indicating it and the photographs, he said, “Well, they haven’t taken these away.”

  “Haven’t they?” asked George. He picked up some of the pictures. “Look.”

  Sidney looked and saw that the pictures were now blank. His glance went quickly to the typewritten sheets of paper in his hands. He cried out and then shuffled them frantically.

  They, too, were blank.

  Sidney jumped up. “I don’t care!” he exclaimed. “He told me and I’ve got it here!” He pointed to his head. “I can remember it, anyway.”

  “Can you?” asked George.

  “Why, certainly I can,” Sidney asserted confidently. “The reason the cliff dwellers left, George, was that they…” Sidney stopped.

  “What’s the matter, Sid?”

  “Well, I—it—I guess it just slipped my mind for a second.” His brow puckered. He looked acutely upset and mystified. “Huk told me,” he faltered. “Just a minute ago I was thinking of it when I started to tell you. Now…I
can’t remember.”

  “That’s gone, too.”

  “I’ll get it!” Sidney declared. “I’ve just forgotten it for a minute. I’ll remember!”

  “No,” said George, “you won’t.”

  Sidney looked around. “There must be something left.” He thought. “The atlatl lances they shot at us!” He looked at the U-Haul-It. The lances no longer stuck in its side. Nor were those that had fallen to the ground to be seen.

  Sidney sat down again, heavily. “We had it all,” he moaned. “Everything we’d been working for. And now…”

  “Now we’ll have to dig for it again,” said George. “Do it the hard way. We’ll start tomorrow when the workmen come.”

  Sidney looked up. “There’s one thing!” he cried. “The dent in the car made by the lance! It’s still there, George! However everything else worked, that was forgotten. It’s still there!”

  George glanced at the dent in the side panel of the station wagon. “It’s still there,” he agreed. “But only to tell us this wasn’t a dream. No one else would believe it wasn’t caused by a rock.”

  George groaned. He stared at the rise of ground behind which the Indians had disappeared. “Huk,” he pleaded. “Good Fox. Moon Water. The others. Come back, come back…”

  No one appeared over the rise of ground as the cool desert night began to close in.

  GUARANTEED TENURE, by H.B. Fyfe

  Previously unpublished.

  Yeah, Jimmy, pie and coffee to finish with. “Finish” is right, I guess. Probably the last time I eat in this diner.

  No, no, the food’s swell—that’s why I always kept coming here and putting on a little extra weight, even since they made me head of the detective bureau. That’s where the trouble is—I’m out!

  Never mind the “Inspector” Keeler; from now on you can call me Johnny. Say, if you have a spare job behind that counter…

  You ain’t heard? Well…I see why there won’t be much said. Probably nobody will ever notice, what with all the talk about the new colony on Mars and our second anniversary of passing 2050, the time travel limit year.

  Yeah, two lumps, thanks.

  That time limit! Why did those boobs from the future have to set it at 2050? Only for that, Joe Balton never could’ve pulled such a raw deal on me.

  That’s right. Joe Balton, the biggest crook in the city, if we could’ve proved it. Nobody’s ever going to prove it now—he took care of that. I nearly had him, but— What?

  Naw, that wasn’t really Joe we sent up. I know what they said in the papers and on video, but Joe’s still running his rackets. In fact, he’s got himself a new “in” you wouldn’t hardly believe. All on account of me getting on his list. I guess he was real annoyed at me about the trial.

  I s’pose you heard all about the raid we pulled on that warehouse that wasn’t no warehouse, and caught Slippery Tyner selling that new dope from Mars. Well, I thought we were pretty smart tying in Balton as the brains behind it. Of course, everybody knows he owns every racket in the city, but tying him in was something else again. The D.A. looked like he found the end of the rainbow when I showed him the evidence.

  Sure, sure, the trial. I didn’t get to see all of it, except when they had me on the stand, but I thought Joe looked a little strange. Then the judge gives him ten to twenty, and I put my mind on my live file.

  That’s why I nearly drop through the floor a couple of weeks later, when Reilly comes in and says there’s somebody to see me. Over his shoulder, I see Balton.

  Yeah, I’ll have another cup. Two lumps.

  Well, I think I’m seeing things, but no such luck. It’s Joe, all right. He walks in and sits down, cool as you please.

  “How did you get out?” I ask him.

  He looks around the office like he’s measuring it for new furniture. Finally he gets to me, and puts on that oily grin.

  “Out of what, Keeler? Was I in something?”

  I can’t help biting.

  “But I saw the judge sentence you!” says I, wondering already who he had that could promote a pardon so fast.

  “Oh, not me, Keeler,” says he. “You saw a…friend…who’s doing me a little favor. I’m too busy to go myself.”

  Then I get it. I remember all the stories I heard about him having three or four doubles on his payroll, just like those old dictators. The gall of him! Just sits back and sends one of his stooges to take the rap. When I come out with it, he just grins and tells me I’m right.

  “However, Keeler,” he says, “arranging that cost me a big cut of the take. If you’d like to think I hold it against you, go right ahead—because I do! In fact, I think I’ll have to make some changes around here.”

  That’s where I blew up, I guess. He gets out, but not as fast as I tell him to, and there’s something about the way he goes that leaves me a little worried. I call Reilly.

  “Was it really Joe Balton?” he asks as soon as he’s inside.

  “He said he was,” I tell him, “and I believe it. Put some good men to tailing him! Every time he sneezes, let me know!”

  There’s lots of work, but I put it off till they report.

  * * * *

  The boys do pretty good. They cover Balton like a fog.

  They watch him meeting with two new operators he imported, to take Slippery Tyner’s place I guess. They follow him to that penthouse he pays for on King Avenue. They tell me how long he stays and even get the girl’s telephone number. I got to admit Joe picks them nice. I wonder if the boys watch what goes on inside, too.

  Then the story comes in that Joe’s been nosing around the time station, talking to that tall, skinny, wise-guy supervisor, Qualu, that says he’s from 2280. Ever see his pix on video?

  Yeah, always looks like he thinks we’re all too damn funny for words but he’s too refined to come right out and say so.

  Well, I go to see him after Balton leaves.

  Qualu won’t open up a bit.

  “You see, Inspector,” he says, looking me up and down like I was dressed up for Halloween, “we are not permitted to adjust local-time affairs, for the simple reason that laws vary with time. The legal or moral, I am sure you understand, is a matter not only of place but also of time.”

  “Sure, sure,” I mumble, “but this Balton is a crook any time you look at him. Laws don’t change that much.”

  “It is not my prerogative to decide that, Inspector,” he smirks. I could see him trying to count the pockets in my jacket. “The laws permit us to transmit only a certain number of selected persons backward and forward through time—and within stated limits. There are strict rules as to how far anyone may travel and what objects may be taken along.”

  “Joe Balton wouldn’t be promoting a deal to get himself out of the present, would he?” I ask him.

  “I am supposed to keep such requests confidential.”

  “I don’t like the look in his eye. He knows more than I do, and he’s getting a laugh out of knowing that I know he does.”

  “However,” he says, grinning a little, “I will say this much. If Mr. Balton, or any similar person, requests transmission, I must refuse. There are stringent rules against challenging any period’s judgment of what constitutes an undesirable character.”

  “You mean you can’t take a crook like Balton?”

  “Not from or to this particular period. In other times, such a man might be quite respected and you, Inspector, might be persona non grata.”

  “What d’you mean? What’s the matter with me?”

  “Oh, nothing at all…in this time. In contrast to Mr. Balton, you could time travel legally. Let me assure you of that!

  I think it over a minute. I never had time to read up on the Interperiod Time Travel Bureau. They’ve only been with us a couple of years, you know.

  “How about information?” I ask.

  He leans back in that funny chair he has that seems to bend right with him all the while and looks at the ceiling like he had a book of regulations up th
ere to read from.

  “Research is out of the question, Inspector. I cannot find out for you when you will die, for instance, or tomorrow’s stock prices, or even whether your guess of what someone will do is correct. Nor—if you have been worrying about it—may I do any such thing as obtaining some powerful weapon from the future at the request of…well, Mr. Balton, for example.”

  I was thinking along that line about then. I guess my face looks kind of funny when he comes out with that crack.

  He turns his head away, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch. I change my mind about clouting him one.

  “You say you’d let me travel in time. What’s to keep somebody else from going for Balton?”

  “We have become extremely accomplished at preventing that sort of thing, Inspector. Extremely! In fact, you would be deeply hurt if I described how much better than your department we are at keeping control of the movements of persons we are watching.”

  * * * *

  Reilly didn’t have any big news about Balton when I got back to the office, so I went home and tried to get some sleep. It wasn’t easy; something about that Qualu and his knowing squint kept me awake most of the night.

  But the real pay-off comes the next morning.

  Being a bachelor, I’m waiting for Tastimeal Service to deliver breakfast and watching the video news, when—bang!

  The big story is how the commissioner is pulling a shake-up in the department. Just like that, overnight! Naturally, I listen for my own name; you never can tell! But they say Inspector Keeler is keeping his post.

  Yeah, I’m okay, it seems; but there’s one very queer angle. I hear a lot of names I know, poker friends and guys I’ve worked with for years. Like Reilly, for instance. This one’s retired, that one’s transferred, another one is back on a beat in the jungle. I think it smells funny that it should be only guys I know so well. And most of them are honest cops, as far as I know.

  I don’t think it’s so funny by the time I get down to the office. There’s a new fellow in the outer office. He’s got one of those stone faces, and I don’t like the set of his eyes. Personally, I wouldn’t even put him on traffic at a school crossing. He asks me what I want.