That was one of the reasons he’d come down to the enclosure tonight. He’d begun thinking about the time trip again, and feeling a little blue. He knew he’d find Rusty here, with his disheveled uniform and his highly polished rifle. Neil could never figure out why the same man would keep his clothes so dirty and his rifle so clean. But each was an integral part of Rusty’s makeup, and Neil had come to like the soldier a lot. In a way, he almost wished that Rusty were going on the trip tomorrow.
Tomorrow!
Again, the same half-thrilling, half-frightening tingle shot up Neil’s spine. He, Neil Falsen, was leaving in the time machine tomorrow; leaving for Yucatan and the land of the ancient Maya, in search of a god.
“May I go inside and look at her?” he asked Rusty.
“Sure, kid,” Rusty said. “But you’re gonna wear the old lady out with your staring.”
He chuckled again and unlocked the gate leading to the inside of the enclosure. He wheeled the gate back and, when Neil stepped through, he closed it again, leaving the padlock hanging open.
The time machine rested on a platform high above the ground. It looked clean, and shining, and unused. The moon perched above it, a thin crescent in an ebony-black sky.
The machine was at least twenty-five feet high, a beautifully tooled work of aluminum and plastic. The control room was in the exact center of the ship, an aluminum band that seemed to squeeze the plastic bubbles above and below into a constricting wasp waist. Exactly like an hourglass, the bubbles above and below arced away from the tight band of aluminum. The lower compartment contained the fuel tanks, aluminum containers set against the circular, plastic walls of the machine. A hatchway stood in the center of the lower bubble and, to the right of this and on the inside, was a thin aluminum ladder leading to the control room.
Above the control room, and housed in the upper plastic bubble, was a shaft that led to the twin rotors at the top of the machine. The rotors were exactly like those on a helicopter, and Neil knew they would handle the space-travel angle of the machine’s operation.
The time-travel angle, and here Neil’s own heart skipped a beat at the thought, had its heart in the control room, in the temporium crystal that lay covered by sheets of aluminum in the control panel.
It was funny the way things happened suddenly. Everything would be going along just as it always had, with the University quiet and complacent on the desert sands, and the sun shining brightly, and the birds singing, and everything normal, everything just the way it always was, day after day. And then, bango! and the whole world could go topsy-turvy, just like that, just like snapping your fingers and pulling a rabbit out of a silk hat.
Only, this was more than topsy-turvy. This was unimaginable, absurd, fantastic.
Neil tried to remember the events that had led up to this very moment.
Yesterday had started out to be another normal day, yes. He had eaten his breakfast, and was heading over to the ball lot to see if any of the guys were around.
That’s when it had happened. Or at least, that’s when it had started. His mother had caught him just as he was leaving the house.
“Neil,” she said, “Dad wants to see you a minute.”
Neil’s face had expressed reluctance. “I’m pitching, Mom,” he said. “Does Dad know that?”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Mrs. Falsen assured him.
“Oh-h-h, all right,” Neil grunted.
He took the steps up to his father’s room two at a time, the ball glove still on his left hand. He knocked on the door softly, and his father’s voice answered.
“Come in, Neil.”
Neil opened the door and stepped into the room. Doctor Falsen lay propped against the soft, white pillows on his bed. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he saw Neil, and he moved his head off the pillows and leaned forward slightly. He shook his head sadly, the black locks of his hair jumping with the movement. Doctor Peter Falsen had a long, angular face, with Neil’s fine nose and deep blue eyes. His chin was covered with an immaculate black beard that covered the jut of his jaw and no more.
His leg stood out at an acute angle from his body. It was in a heavy plaster cast, and it hung suspended from the ceiling by a network of complicated strings and pulleys.
“This darned leg,” Doctor Falsen said, his head still wagging. “You know, Neil, it’s beginning to itch.
Neil grinned at his father and came straight to the point.
“I hope this isn’t important, Dad. I’m pitching and I-”
“Well, I don’t know if you’d call it important,” Doctor Falsen said.
“Good,” Neil replied, socking his right hand into the glove. “What’s on your mind, Dad?”
“Well, nothing much really. I just wanted you to go along on the time trip. In my place.”