«He was some kind of student. Seems from what he said that almost everybody in his time was a student. They’d solved all the problems of production and distribution, nobody had to worry about security; in fact, they didn’t seem to worry about any of the things we do now.» There was a trace of wistfulness in Lou Allenby’s voice. He took a deep breath and went on. «He’d come back to do research in our time. They didn’t know much about it, it seems. Something had happened in between—there was a bad period of several hundred years—and most books and records had been lost. They had a few, but not many. So they didn’t know much about us and they wanted to fill in what they didn’t know.»
«You believed all that, boy? Did he have any proof?»
It was the dangerous point; this was where the prime risk lay. They had had, for all practical purposes, no knowledge of the exact contours of the land, forty centuries back, nor knowledge of the presence of trees or buildings. If he appeared at the wrong spot, it might well mean instant death.
Jan Obreen was fortunate, he didn’t hit anything. It was, in fact, the other way around. He came out ten feet in the air over a plowed field. The fall was nasty enough, but the soft earth protected him; one ankle seemed sprained, but not too badly. He came painfully to his feet and looked around.
The presence of the field alone was sufficient to tell him that the Matthe process was at least partially successful. He was far before his own age. Agriculture was still a necessary component of human economy, definitely indicating an earlier civilization than his own.
Approximately half a mile away was a densely wooded area; not a park, nor even a planned forest to house the controlled wild life of his time. A haphazardly growing wooded area—almost unbelievable. But, then, he must grow used to the unbelievable; of all the historic periods, this was the least known. Much would be strange.
To his right, a few hundred yards away, was a wooden building. It was, undoubtedly, a human dwelling despite its primitive appearance. There was no use putting it off; contact with his fellow man would have to be made. He limped awkwardly toward his meeting with the twentieth century.
The girl had evidently not observed his precipitate arrival, but by the time he arrived in the yard of the farm house, she had come to the door to greet him.
Her dress was of another age, for in his era the clothing of the feminine portion of the race was not designed to lure the male. Hers, however, was bright and tasteful with color, and it emphasized the youthful contours of her body. Nor was it her dress alone that startled him. There was a touch of color on her lips that he suddenly realized couldn’t have been achieved by nature. He had read that primitive women used colors, paints and pigments of various sorts, upon their faces—somehow or other, now that he witnessed it, he was not repelled.
She smiled, the red of her mouth stressing the even whiteness of her teeth. She said, «It would’ve been easier to come down the road ’stead of across the field.» Her eyes took him in, and, had he been more experienced, he could have read interested approval in them.
He said, studiedly, «I am afraid that I am not familiar with your agricultural methods. I trust I have not irrevocably damaged the products of your horticultural efforts.»
Susan Allenby blinked at him. «My,» she said softly, a distant hint of laughter in her voice, «somebody sounds like maybe they swallowed a dictionary.» Her eyes widened suddenly, as she noticed him favoring his left foot. «Why, you’ve hurt yourself. Now you come right on into the house and let me see if I can’t do something abut that. Why—»
He followed her quietly, only half-hearing her words. Something—something phenomenal—was growing within Jan Obreen, affecting oddly and yet pleasantly his metabolism.
He knew now what Matthe and the Presidor meant by paradox.
The sheriff said, «Well, you were away when he got to your place—however he got there?»
Lou Allenby nodded. «Yes, that was ten days ago. I was in Miami taking a couple of weeks’ vacation. Sis and I each get away for a week or two every year, but we go at different times, partly because we figure it’s a good idea to get away from each other once in a while anyway.»
«Sure, good idea, boy. But your Sis, she believed this story of where he came from?»
«Yes. And, Sheriff, she had proof. I wish I’d seen it too. The field he landed in was fresh plowed. After she’d fixed his ankle she was curious enough, after what he’d told her, to follow his footsteps through the dirt back to where they’d started. And they ended, or, rather, started, right smack in the middle of a field, with a deep mark like he’d fallen there.»
«Maybe he came from an airplane, in a parachute, boy. Did you think of that?»
«I thought of that, and so did Sis. She says that if he did he must’ve swallowed the parachute. She could follow his steps every bit of the way—it was only a few hundred yards—and there wasn’t any place he could’ve hidden or buried a parachute.»
The sheriff said, «They got married right away, you say?»
«Two days later. I had the car with me, so Sis hitched the team and drove them into town—he didn’t know how to drive horses—and they got married.»
«See the license, boy? You sure they was really—»
Lou Allenby looked at him, his lips beginning to go white, and the sheriff said hastily, «All right, boy, I didn’t mean it that way. Take it easy, boy.»
Susan had sent her brother a telegram telling him all about it, but he’d changed hotels and somehow the telegram hadn’t been forwarded. The first he knew of the marriage was when he drove up to the farm almost a week later.
He was surprised, naturally, but John O’Brien—Susan had altered the name somewhat—seemed likable enough. Handsome, too, if a bit strange, and he and Susan seemed head over heels in love.
Of course, he didn’t have any money, they didn’t use it in his day, he had told them, but he was a good worker, not at all soft. There was no reason to suppose that he wouldn’t make out all right.
The three of them planned, tentatively, for Susan and John to stay at the farm until John had learned the ropes somewhat. Then he expected to be able to find some manner in which to make money—he was quite optimistic about his ability in that line—and spending his time traveling, taking Susan with him. Obviously, he’d be able to learn about the present that way.
The important thing, the all-embracing thing, was to plan some message to get to Doctr Matthe and the Presidor. If this type of research was to continue, all depended upon him.
He explained to Susan and Lou that it was a one-way trip. That the equipment worked only in one direction, that there was travel to the past, but not to the future. He was a voluntary exile, fated to spend the rest of his life in this era. The idea was that when he’d been in this century long enough to describe it well, he’d write up his report and put it in a box he’d have especially made to last forty centuries and bury it where it could be dug up—in a spot that had been determined in the future. He had the exact place geographically.
He was quite excited when they told him about the time capsules that had been buried elsewhere. He knew that they had never been dug up and planned to make it part of his report so the men of the future could find them.
They spent their evenings in long conversations, Jan telling of his age and what he knew of all the long centuries in between. Of the long fight upward and man’s conquests in the fields of science, medicine, and in human relations. And they telling him of theirs, describing the institutions, the ways of life which he found so unique.
Lou hadn’t been particularly happy about the precipitate marriage at first, but he found himself warming to Jan. Until…