“I was not—” I began, but Attalos kept on:
“What race would you say he belonged to?”
“I know not. The Indians I have seen were much darker, but there might be light-skinned Indians for aught I know.”
“If you will listen, General, I will explain,” I said. “For most of the journey I was not even in the Persian Empire. I crossed through Bactria and went around the north of the Caspian and Euxine seas.”
“Oh, so now you tell another story?” said Attalos. “Any educated man knows the Caspian is but a deep bay opening into the Ocean River to the north. Therefore you could not go around it. So, in trying to escape, you do but mire yourself deeper in your own lies.”
“Look here,” said Aristotle. “You have proved nothing of the sort, O Attalos. Ever thince Herodotos there have been those who think the Caspian a closed thea—”
“Hold your tongue, Professor,” said Attalos. “This is a matter of national security. There is something queer about this alleged Indian, and I mean to find out what it is.”
“It is not queer that one who comes from unknown distant lands should tell a singular tale of his journey.”
“No, there is more to it than that. I have learned that he first appeared in a treetop on the farm of the freeholder Diktys Pisandrou. Diktys remembers looking up into the tree for crows before he cast himself down under it to rest. If the Zandras had been in the tree, Diktys would have seen him, as it was not yet fully in leaf. The next instant there was the crash of a body falling into the branches, and Zandras’ staff smote Diktys on the head. Normal mortal men fall not out of the sky into trees.”
“Perhaps he flew from India. They have marvelous mechanisms there, he tells me,” said Aristotle.
“If he survives our interrogation in Pella, perhaps he can make me a pair of wings,” said Attalos. “Or better yet, a pair for my horse, so he shall emulate Pegasos. Meanwhile, seize and bind him, men!”
The soldiers moved. I did not dare submit for fear they would take my gun and leave me defenceless. I snatched up the hem of my tunic to get at my pistol. It took precious seconds to unsnap the safety strap, but I got the gun out before anybody laid a hand on me.
“Stand back or I will blast you with lightning!” I shouted, raising the gun.
Men of my own world, knowing how deadly such a weapon can be, would have given ground at the sight of it. But the Macedonians, never having seen one, merely stared at the device and came on. Attalos was one of the nearest.
I fired at him, then whirled and shot another soldier who was reaching out to seize me. The discharge of the gun produces a lightning-like flash and a sharp sound like a close clap of thunder. The Macedonians cried out, and Attalos fell with a wound in his thigh.
I turned again, looking for a way out of the circle of soldiers, while confused thoughts of taking one of their horses flashed through my head. A heavy blow in the flank staggered me. One of the soldiers had jabbed me with his spear, but my belt kept the weapon from piercing me. I shot at the man but missed him in my haste.
“Do not kill him!” screamed Aristotle.
Some of the soldiers backed up as if to flee; others poised their spears. They hesitated for the wink of an eye, either for fear of me or because Aristotle’s command confused them. Ordinarily they would have ignored the philosopher and listened for their general’s orders, but Attalos was down on the grass and looking in amazement at the hole in his leg.
As one soldier dropped his spear and started to run, a blow on the head sent a flash of light through my skull and hurled me to the ground, nearly unconscious. A man behind me had swung his spear like a club and struck me on the pate with the shaft.
Before I could recover, they were all over me, raining kicks and blows. One wrenched the gun from my hand. I must have lost consciousness, for the next thing I remember is lying in the dirt while the soldiers tore off my tunic. Attalos stood over me with a bloody bandage around his leg, leaning on a soldier. He looked pale and frightened but resolute. The second man I had shot lay still.
“So that is where he keeps his infernal devices!” said Attalos, indicating my belt. “Take it off, men.”
The soldiers struggled with the clasp of the belt until one impatiently sawed through the straps with his dagger. The gold in my money pouch brought cries of delight.
I struggled to get up, but a pair of soldiers knelt on my arms to keep me down. There was a continuous mumble of talk. Attalos, looking over the belt, said:
“He is too dangerous to live. Even stripped as he is, who knows but what he will soar into the air and escape by magic?”
“Do not kill him!” said Aristotle. “He has much valuable knowledge to impart.”
“No knowledge is worth the safety of the kingdom.”
“But the kingdom can benefit from his knowledge. Do you not agree?” Aristotle asked the Persian.
“Drag me not into this, pray,” said Artavazda. “It is no concern of mine.”
“If he is a danger to Makedonia, he should be destroyed at once,” said Attalos.
“There is but little chance of his doing harm now,” said Aristotle, “and an excellent chance of his doing us good.”
“Any chance of his doing harm is too much,” said Attalos. “You philosophers can afford to be tolerant of interesting strangers. But, if they carry disaster in their baggage, it is on us poor soldiers that the brunt will fall. Is it not so, Artabazos?”
“I have done what you asked and will say no more,” said Artavazda. “I am but a simple-minded Persian nobleman who does not undertand your Greek subtleties.”
“I can increase the might of your armies, General!” I cried to Attalos.
“No doubt, and no doubt you can also turn men to stone with an incantation, as the Gorgons did with their glance.” He drew his sword and felt the edge with his thumb.
“You will slay him for mere thuperstition!” wailed Aristotle, wringing his hands. “At least, let the king judge the matter.”
“Not superstition,” said Attalos, “murder.” He pointed to the dead soldier.
“I come from another world! Another age!” I yelled, but Attalos was not to be diverted.
“Let us get this over with,” he said. “Set him on his knees, men. Take my sword, Glaukos; I am too unsteady to wield it. Now bow your head, my dear barbarian, and—”
In the middle of Attalos’ sentence, he and the others and all my surroundings vanished. Again there came that sharp pain and sense of being jerked by a monstrous catapult…
I found myself lying in leaf mold with the pearl-gray trunks of poplars all around me. A brisk breeze was making the poplar leaves flutter and show their silvery bottoms. It was too cool for a man who was naked save for sandals and socks.
I had snapped back to the year 1981 of the calendar of my world, which I had set out from. But where was I? I should be near the site of the Brookhaven National Laboratories in a vastly improved super-scientific world. There was, however, no sign of super-science here; nothing but poplar trees.
I got up, groaning, and looked around. I was covered with bruises and bleeding from nose and mouth.
The only way I had of orienting myself was the boom of a distant surf. Shivering, I hobbled towards the sound. After a few hundred paces, I came out of the forest on a beach. This beach could be the shore of Sewanhaki, or Long Island as we called it, but there was no good way of telling. There was no sign of human life; just the beach curving into the distance and disappearing around headlands, with the poplar forest on one side and the ocean on the other.
What, I wondered, had happened? Had science advanced so fast as a result of my intervention that man had already exterminated himself by scientific warfare? Thinkers of my world had concerned themselves with this possibility, but I had never taken it seriously.