Fugitive of Time. John Russell Fearn

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СКАЧАТЬ black prints. Try—try something else.”

      “I could try tomorrow,” Royd said, hesitating.

      “Okay. If that’s a blank as well, it must mean I’m going to commit suicide—or else the thing only works on your brain and not mine.”

      “That is what I must find out. All right, here we go.”

      The process was so familiar to Gordon by now that he did not even blink—but he did when he saw the photograph that was handed to him. It depicted him in a white smock busy at a bench in the very laboratory where he now sat.

      “Yes, it’s me!” He gave a whistle of amazement. “This is uncanny! Anyway, what would I be doing here tomorrow? I’ll be back in London.”

      Royd shook his head. “You’ll be here if this says so. You cannot change the law of constant-Time.”

      “I—I see. I suppose you can’t, really.”

      “Young man, would you allow me to probe further? I wish to be sure where your continuity ends. In other words, I would like to know when you are going to die. If you do not wish to know the date or time, I will withhold them from you. The picture will not tell you that. But for my own satisfaction, I wish to be sure that those earlier photographs were the outcome of genuine obliteration and not due to a technical fault.”

      “All right, Doc, it’s your money. And don’t give me the answer.”

      Royd switched on, this time using a different type of lens in the apparatus, presumably to find the exact ‘end of continuity’ he wanted without a lot of probing. At the end of five minutes, he switched off again and stood waiting for the print to be ejected. When it came he studied it and frowned.

      Gordon got slowly out of the chair and came over to see the photograph for himself. He started when he did so. It showed the interior of a railway compartment, apparently first class, with two windows visible and flaring light outside. On one window in reverse was a label saying YBGUR, which Gordon quickly turned around in his mind to read RUGBY.

      He himself—for he recognized his own features, even though they were plumper and very prosperous-looking—was half slumped from the seat of the compartment, his left arm dangling. On the wrist was a curiously fashioned gleaming watch pointing to 11:03. He was attired in a check overcoat, which had fallen away to reveal a dress suit and bow tie beneath.

      “I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed blankly. “That my death scene?”

      “Yes,” Royd agreed quietly.

      “So I’ll pass out on a train going to Rugby, shall I?”

      “At eleven-three, according to that watch. Post meridian, to judge from the darkness outside the window. From the bright light from the carriage, I’d say it might be a train smash with flames lighting the carriage.”

      Gordon gave a little shiver. “At least I seem to have passed out before getting burned up or anything. One must be thankful for small mercies, I suppose.”

      “I suppose so, yes.”

      Long silence. Royd brooded over the print. Then Gordon said slowly:

      “Doc, I’m only a human being. I just can’t see a thing like this and not ask when it is going to happen. I’ve got to know, otherwise I’m liable to shun trains for the rest of my life! Plainly, I’m a good deal older than I am now, so—when will it happen?”

      The scientist gave him a direct look. “You realize what you are asking, young man?”

      “Fully! I’ve got to know!”

      “Very well. The date when this happens will be October the nineteenth, 2019.”

      Gordon thought for a moment then started. “But that’s only thirteen years hence! I’ll only be thirty-eight!”

      “Yes, I’m sorry you asked me. There it is and you cannot alter it.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong, Doc!” Gordon’s face was grim. “I deliberately asked you the date so that I can sidestep it. On that date I’ll lock myself in prison, go down a mine, fly to the arctic, or something. That will not come true! Not one bit of it!”

      “You cannot alter time, my boy.”

      “I believe I can. The only reason people walk blindly into death is because they don’t know when it’s coming. If they did, they’d take steps to avoid it. If you knew a certain bus was going to run you down, you’d go up another street, wouldn’t you?”

      “I wouldn’t be able. Time is written and no human power can change it. On October nineteenth, 2019, at eleven-three, you will be in that train—dead!”

      Gordon was silent for a moment. “You have your views on that, sir. I have mine.”

      Royd put the photographs in a new manilla folder, then placed it in the cabinet. He turned thoughtfully.

      “Thank you, young man, for your co-operation. Would you care to see any intermediate scenes from your future life? Prior to the fatal date, that is.”

      “After what I’ve seen, Doc, I’d prefer to leave the whole thing severely alone—at least for the moment. You have enough proof now for any Scientific Association, surely? You can satisfy the scientists now that the ‘mind reading’ act isn’t confined to you alone.”

      “You have done science an immense service. Now you will depart with your ten thousand and the inerasable memory of a certain day in 2019. I still wish you hadn’t asked me to give you that date.”

      Gordon set his jaw. “I’m glad you did, and I’ve told you why. Now I’d better be going.”

      Nevertheless Gordon hesitated and he was not sure why. He decided that it was possibly because he had happened on to something utterly extraordinary and for that reason was loath to turn his back on it. Besides, he had somehow developed quite a regard for this pottering old genius with his Time-Camera, Scanner, or whatever he called it. That photograph of October 19, 2019, needed seeing far more than once. It needed profound study. He had to find a way to circumvent its implications.

      “You hesitate, Mr. Fryer,” Royd remarked. “Worried over your check? I can assure you it’s quite genuine.”

      “I’ve not a second’s doubt on that, sir. I’m just sort of weighing things up. Ten thousand pounds sets me on my feet nicely, of course, and I suppose I can afford to wait for a while until something comes my way. I—I don’t quite know what it is, but there is something about this place and particularly this invention of yours, which gets me. Since I’m an engineer I can appreciate your genius.”

      “I’m no genius, my boy: just a research scientist.” Royd peered over his glasses. “You know, you’ve restored a lost pleasure for me and I’m very grateful. I’ve been stewing so long over scientific problems I had about forgotten what companionship could be like, especially the companionship of a young man who has a scientific flair as well.”

      Gordon began to wander, inspecting the instruments.

      “I’ve always had the idea, Doc, that I might make something of an inventor, СКАЧАТЬ