clock showed ten forty-five.
Bingo. My God, I did it.
His father had invented a time machine.
Shel walked through the downstairs, wanting to scream it to the heavens, tell the world, We can travel in time. He knew that physicists had been saying for years there was no known reason it couldn’t be done. But Shel had never believed it possible.
How long ago had it happened? When had his father developed the first working model? Had he possessed this thing for years? Or was it connected with the government project?
No. He knew the answer. The letter had gone to the lawyer a few months ago.
Why had he told no one? More to the point, why did he want the devices destroyed?
HE turned out the lights. He wasn’t sure why. If David’s car actually showed up, carrying both Dave and himself, he’d open the front door and charge out onto the pavement and shake his own hand. Explain to himself what was going on.
In credible.
But wait. That wasn’t the way it had happened.
As much as he liked the idea of meeting himself, he decided caution would be a better policy. He couldn’t have said why. Maybe he was driven by his father’s secrecy. Hammer them flat. Throw them into a fire. Then weigh them down and drop what’s left into the ocean.
The Shel coming back from western Pennsylvania, though, had no keys. He unlocked the front door. Save them from having to break a window. Then he picked up a spare key from the wicker bowl and put it in his pocket.
Minutes later, a car pulled up outside.
Shel was so excited he could hardly breathe. He went over to one of the dining-room windows and peered out through the curtain. Headlights swept across the driveway, and Dave’s white Regal eased in off the street. It was dark, but he could just make out the passenger. A chill slithered up his spine.
The engine died. They got out of the car, and Shel—the one outside—stood looking around, wondering, of course, how he was going to get into a locked house. Shel watched, unable to believe what he was seeing, and, somehow, mildly disappointed in his appearance. He didn’t look as good as he’d expected.
Abruptly the man outside turned Shel’s way. Shel ducked back into the dark. The outside Shel stood staring for a minute. Then he shook his head, and said something to David. He remembered: “Somebody’s in there.”
Shel retreated from the dining room into the kitchen and stood near the side door.
They’d be coming in the front. When he heard them on the porch, he eased the side door open and slipped out into the driveway.
He went for a walk. Gave it an hour just to be safe. When he returned, the lights were out, and the Shel who had arrived with Dave had by then consented to the time machine’s query: RETURN? It had put him back in the town house early Wednesday morning.
HE sat cradling the Q-pod in his hands. His father must have had a big time with this. The guy who’d lived to visit Urquhart Castle and the Palmengarten and the Hanging Gardens had extended his reach dramatically.
He wondered how far back he’d been able to go. A few days? Years? Was the Mesozoic within range? Had he been able to travel in the other direction? Into the future?
And that explained his disappearance. He’d gone somewhere, and, obviously, something had gone wrong. Maybe he’d landed in the middle of the Little Bighorn. If Shel could figure it out, he could follow him and, he hoped, do a rescue. If he was in time.
Wait a minute.
Shel had a time machine. If you have a time machine, there’s never any question about the cavalry arriving on cue. If he was too late with the first attempt, he could just reset the clock and go back another hour. Or whatever it took. All he needed to do was figure out where his father had gone.
He visualized him on Lincoln’s train to Gettysburg, or watching Washington cross the Delaware. Maybe he’d decided to tour the Renaissance. Hell, that would explain the robes! He had been going back
Bingo. My God, I did it.
His father had invented a time machine.
Shel walked through the downstairs, wanting to scream it to the heavens, tell the world, We can travel in time. He knew that physicists had been saying for years there was no known reason it couldn’t be done. But Shel had never believed it possible.
How long ago had it happened? When had his father developed the first working model? Had he possessed this thing for years? Or was it connected with the government project?
No. He knew the answer. The letter had gone to the lawyer a few months ago.
Why had he told no one? More to the point, why did he want the devices destroyed?
HE turned out the lights. He wasn’t sure why. If David’s car actually showed up, carrying both Dave and himself, he’d open the front door and charge out onto the pavement and shake his own hand. Explain to himself what was going on.
In credible.
But wait. That wasn’t the way it had happened.
As much as he liked the idea of meeting himself, he decided caution would be a better policy. He couldn’t have said why. Maybe he was driven by his father’s secrecy. Hammer them flat. Throw them into a fire. Then weigh them down and drop what’s left into the ocean.
The Shel coming back from western Pennsylvania, though, had no keys. He unlocked the front door. Save them from having to break a window. Then he picked up a spare key from the wicker bowl and put it in his pocket.
Minutes later, a car pulled up outside.
Shel was so excited he could hardly breathe. He went over to one of the dining-room windows and peered out through the curtain. Headlights swept across the driveway, and Dave’s white Regal eased in off the street. It was dark, but he could just make out the passenger. A chill slithered up his spine.
The engine died. They got out of the car, and Shel—the one outside—stood looking around, wondering, of course, how he was going to get into a locked house. Shel watched, unable to believe what he was seeing, and, somehow, mildly disappointed in his appearance. He didn’t look as good as he’d expected.
Abruptly the man outside turned Shel’s way. Shel ducked back into the dark. The outside Shel stood staring for a minute. Then he shook his head, and said something to David. He remembered: “Somebody’s in there.”
Shel retreated from the dining room into the kitchen and stood near the side door.
They’d be coming in the front. When he heard them on the porch, he eased the side door open and slipped out into the driveway.
He went for a walk. Gave it an hour just to be safe. When he returned, the lights were out, and the Shel who had arrived with Dave had by then consented to the time machine’s query: RETURN? It had put him back in the town house early Wednesday morning.
HE sat cradling the Q-pod in his hands. His father must have had a big time with this. The guy who’d lived to visit Urquhart Castle and the Palmengarten and the Hanging Gardens had extended his reach dramatically.
He wondered how far back he’d been able to go. A few days? Years? Was the Mesozoic within range? Had he been able to travel in the other direction? Into the future?
And that explained his disappearance. He’d gone somewhere, and, obviously, something had gone wrong. Maybe he’d landed in the middle of the Little Bighorn. If Shel could figure it out, he could follow him and, he hoped, do a rescue. If he was in time.
Wait a minute.
Shel had a time machine. If you have a time machine, there’s never any question about the cavalry arriving on cue. If he was too late with the first attempt, he could just reset the clock and go back another hour. Or whatever it took. All he needed to do was figure out where his father had gone.
He visualized him on Lincoln’s train to Gettysburg, or watching Washington cross the Delaware. Maybe he’d decided to tour the Renaissance. Hell, that would explain the robes! He had been going back
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