through time. That meant that he would have to think twice about ever journeying into history. When the technology of the machine did not exist, then ⦠He frowned. That was a problem for another day. He grinned ruefully. What the devil. This trip was over. He had arrived safely. And what would a test flight be without technical problems?
He unbuckled the harness and got out of the chair. He immediately felt dizzy and had to sit down again. He took several deep breaths and, when he felt stronger, slowly stood. He leaned against the side of the cabin and peered out one of the windows for his first look at the future. The glass was opaque and cracked. He couldnât see a damn thing.
Muttering, he turned and unlocked the door with the special key that overrode the RRL. He certainly did not want the machine to automatically return to 1893 and leave him stranded. Then he noticed with surprise that the door handle had been recently cleaned and oiled. And when he pushed the door open the hinges did not groan and creak as he would have suspected. They, too, had been freshly lubricated. Had someone else been caring for his machine?
He stepped out into 1979.
He inspected the outside of the time machine. All had held up well except for the brass name plate above the door. The letters spelling THE UTOPIA had eroded into a crusted green patina. He
certainly hoped that that wasnât indicative of the particular time plane heâd stepped into.
He slowly turned and found himself standing on a dais spotlighted from directly overhead. The platform was in the center of a huge circular room with high ceilings and an ornate, arched entrance way. What had become of his laboratory? Theoretically, his time machine should not have moved except along the fourth dimension. What had happened? Something had gone wrong!
In front of him in three large, glassed-in cases were a host of leather-bound original editions and framed diagrams. The only set he recognized were the ones he had drawn for the time machine. He looked to his right. In the far corner of the room in another display case he saw the familiar covers of the Pall Mall Gazette, now yellowed with age. He stepped off the dais and moved in that direction, a man in desperate search of the old and the familiar. He ran into a purple-velvet rope barrier that bordered the entire area. He turned again and beheld the scene.
A sign on the wall read, âH. G. WELLSâA MAN BEFORE HIS TIME.â
Oh my God, he thought, have I done all this? Has my laboratory become a bloody museum? Have I joined the relics of science past? Have my triumphs and defeats become antiques to be fingered by tours of schoolchildren?
He moved closer to the center of the room to get a better view of the exhibit. He was awed and bent. The wonder of it all, the sudden realization that he had become a famous man was almost too much for him. What was left for him if he had seen all the fruits of his lifeâs work at age twenty-seven? Why hadnât he thought of that before so blithely hopping into the time machine? And worse, almost all the books and inventions were ahead of him in time! Would he now know everything before he did it? Maybe. Maybe not. He didnât have to investigate all these things. Suddenly he burst out with a victorious
chuckle. Maybe if he hadnât time-traveled, then he wouldnât have gone back home and eventually done all this writing and inventing. And it was comforting to know that he had made it back to 1893 London. If there ever was a case of optimism maintaining sanity, this was it.
Curious, he began to examine his lifeâs work more closely, despite his earlier reticence. He felt better and had somewhat regained his usual scientific detachment.
Until he saw an old photograph.
His eyes widened. He shrank back, and wanted to look away but was compelled to stare.
There was a man in the picture. A rather stout and portly man with receding hair, heavy jowls and a
He unbuckled the harness and got out of the chair. He immediately felt dizzy and had to sit down again. He took several deep breaths and, when he felt stronger, slowly stood. He leaned against the side of the cabin and peered out one of the windows for his first look at the future. The glass was opaque and cracked. He couldnât see a damn thing.
Muttering, he turned and unlocked the door with the special key that overrode the RRL. He certainly did not want the machine to automatically return to 1893 and leave him stranded. Then he noticed with surprise that the door handle had been recently cleaned and oiled. And when he pushed the door open the hinges did not groan and creak as he would have suspected. They, too, had been freshly lubricated. Had someone else been caring for his machine?
He stepped out into 1979.
He inspected the outside of the time machine. All had held up well except for the brass name plate above the door. The letters spelling THE UTOPIA had eroded into a crusted green patina. He
certainly hoped that that wasnât indicative of the particular time plane heâd stepped into.
He slowly turned and found himself standing on a dais spotlighted from directly overhead. The platform was in the center of a huge circular room with high ceilings and an ornate, arched entrance way. What had become of his laboratory? Theoretically, his time machine should not have moved except along the fourth dimension. What had happened? Something had gone wrong!
In front of him in three large, glassed-in cases were a host of leather-bound original editions and framed diagrams. The only set he recognized were the ones he had drawn for the time machine. He looked to his right. In the far corner of the room in another display case he saw the familiar covers of the Pall Mall Gazette, now yellowed with age. He stepped off the dais and moved in that direction, a man in desperate search of the old and the familiar. He ran into a purple-velvet rope barrier that bordered the entire area. He turned again and beheld the scene.
A sign on the wall read, âH. G. WELLSâA MAN BEFORE HIS TIME.â
Oh my God, he thought, have I done all this? Has my laboratory become a bloody museum? Have I joined the relics of science past? Have my triumphs and defeats become antiques to be fingered by tours of schoolchildren?
He moved closer to the center of the room to get a better view of the exhibit. He was awed and bent. The wonder of it all, the sudden realization that he had become a famous man was almost too much for him. What was left for him if he had seen all the fruits of his lifeâs work at age twenty-seven? Why hadnât he thought of that before so blithely hopping into the time machine? And worse, almost all the books and inventions were ahead of him in time! Would he now know everything before he did it? Maybe. Maybe not. He didnât have to investigate all these things. Suddenly he burst out with a victorious
chuckle. Maybe if he hadnât time-traveled, then he wouldnât have gone back home and eventually done all this writing and inventing. And it was comforting to know that he had made it back to 1893 London. If there ever was a case of optimism maintaining sanity, this was it.
Curious, he began to examine his lifeâs work more closely, despite his earlier reticence. He felt better and had somewhat regained his usual scientific detachment.
Until he saw an old photograph.
His eyes widened. He shrank back, and wanted to look away but was compelled to stare.
There was a man in the picture. A rather stout and portly man with receding hair, heavy jowls and a
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