“The trouble with women” I began.
“Yes, yes,” said Doug hastily. “But this theory of yours are you serious?”
“Of course. What else can it possibly be? I reckon that this section with us in it has somehow been shifted may.. be to several thousand years in the future. It must be the future because it can never have looked like this hereabouts in the past.”
“Hard to swallow,” said Doug. “I mean it is a bit like one of those magazines Sylvia was talking about, isn’t it?”
“It may be,” I said irritably. “The thing is that some say, somewhere, someone is inevitably going to try to raise a bit of the past. I take it that one of the tryers has succeeded and we happened to be just in the time and “place he hit on.”
He muttered again about difficulty in swallowing, then be added: “Supposing you are right. What happens next?”
“I imagine someone comes to see how the experiment went off. Quite likely we’ll not be able to learn much they’ll be much more advanced. They’ll want to know all about us and our times, of course, but that may not be easy. I expect the language will have changed a lot.”
“We’ll have to draw diagrams of the solar system, and all that?”
“Why?” I said, in some surprise.
“Well, because, oh no, of course, that’s when you get to other planets, isn’t it?”
In a short time Sylvia and Rose returned, bearing coffee. The warmth and flavour increased amiability all round. Doug sipping his, said: “George thinks we’re likely to have visitors.”
“Where from?” asked Rose, interestedly.
That girl does have the damndest gift for fool questions.
“How?” I began. Then I stopped. I happened to be sitting facing the window, and I caught sight of a movement way down in the shallow valley. I could not distinguish the cause, but it was clear that something was raising a moving cloud of dust.
“It could be they’re on their way here now,” I said.
We all crowded to the window to look. The thing, whatever it was, showed no great speed, but it was headed our way.
“In George’s books they always have huge beads and no hair,” said Sylvia, reflectively.
“How perfectly horrid,” Rose exclaimed, and I thought Doug looked a trifle hurt.
“What sort of things will they want to know, I wonder?” he said. “It’ll be a bit like an exam we’ve not prepared for.”
“I’d better go and put on something more suitable,” Sylvia said.
“My goodness, so must I,” agreed Rose. “And Doug, you must brush your hair, and you’ve not shaved yet.”
“You’ve not shaved, either, George,” Sylvia told me pointedly.
“Look here,” I said. “Here we are on the brink of one of the most amazing encounters in the whole of history, and what do you think of Oh, all right then….”
The moving object was still several miles away when I had finished in the bathroom. But I could see it a lot more clearly now, a long, boxlike contraption with a transparent cover over all catching the light from time to time. It was not moving much above twenty miles an hour, I judged, but it travelled very smoothly over the rough ground. There was too much dust round the lower part for me to see how it was supported.
I joined Sylvia. She had changed into a blue dress of soft wool which became her well. Her expression of satisfaction over that was modified, however, at the sight of me.
“Well, really, George! You can’t go around like that.”
“What the hell do you use that blade in your razor for, anyway?” I asked.
“You used my?”
“What else? No power. So cold water, ordinary soap. Your idea, anyway.”
Sylvia drew breath, but at that moment Doug’s voice floated up from outside: “Hey! They’re just about here, George.”
I went down and joined him. We walked the length of what remained of my garden, with Sylvia and Rose following us. Where it ended we stood close against the invisible wall, watching the vehicle approach. It seemed to be travelling on some kind of millipede arrangement which compensated automatically for inequalities in the ground. It came to a stop about fifteen yards short of us. The whole side opened towards us on hinges at the base and came down to form a sort of ramp. Four men inside got up from their seats, walked down the ramp, and stood looking at us. I was aware of indrawn breaths beside me.
“Gosh! What d’you know!” murmured Sylvia’s voice.
“Oohooh!” said Rose, as if someone had given her a very large box of candy.
For myself, I didn’t seewell, let’s be fair. The four men were magnificent physically, I’ll grant that. Tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, narrow-hipped, and all that, but then, so was Tarzan, and some others. There are other things required of a man beyond a handsome appearance. In fact, some of the best-looking men I have known. Anyway, I didn’t much care for the way they were dressed, either.
They wore deep yellow tunics, patterned around the edges in brown, belted, and coming down just to knee-length. Their legs were in narrow trousers or gaiters of a brown material, and their thong-fastened shoes were yellow. They wore no hats, and their fair hair had a slightly bleached effect seen above their sunburned faces. Each stood something over six foot four. The whole effect struck me as slightly stagy.
It was at once clear from the way they looked at us that they were puzzled. They conferred, and then regarded us again. There was some laughter, which I considered ill-mannered in the circumstances. With the wall between us, we could not hear the slightest sound of their voices. Once more they debated. Then they came to some agreement. One went back into the vehicle and emerged with an instrument which looked something like a theodolite. He set it up on a tripod, sighted it, and then pressed a switch on it. Immediately the air around us began to stir as if the wind were blowing through a gap in the wall. Then, leaving the instrument where it was, all four began to walk toward us.
I held up my open hand to show that we had peaceful intentions. They looked puzzled. One said to another: “Funny thing, that. I thought Hitler died in 1945?”
I lowered my hand.
“Oh! You speak English!” I said.
“Of course,” said the nearest man. “Why not?”
“Well... er... I thought” I began, and then gave it up. “My name is George Possing,” I told him, introducing myself.
He frowned slightly. “It ought to be Julian Speckleton,” he said.
I looked at him. “Really!” I said coldly. “Well, it’s not it’s George Possing.”
“I don’t understand this,” he murmured, reflectively.
“It’s quite easy. I’m Possing—and I’ve never even heard of anyone called Speckleton,” I told him.
“And you’re not on the subatomic drive?”
I suppose I looked blank.
“The subatomic drive that Solarian Rockets are developing,” he said, with a touch of impatience.
“Never heard of it or them,” I told him.
“H’m,” he remarked “Something has gone wrong. Paladanov’s going to be wild about this.”
It occurred to me that I ought to introduce the others. But when I looked, I found it was unnecessary. They were all talking together already. The man with me asked who Doug was. I told him. He asked: “What’s the date here?”
When he heard, he whistled.
“Thirty-five years out of register. Somebody’s going to get a smack for this. Hey, fellers!”
They didn’t notice him. One had taken Doug to the gap in the invisible wall, and was showing him something there. The other two were chatting with Sylvia and Rose. Very animatedly, too. Sylvia’s eyes were shining brightly. They kept on flicking about the face of the man who was talking to her, not missing a movement of it. And she was blushing a little. I’d never seen her blush like that before or look quite that way. I didn’t care for it a lot.