_The method by which one man might be pinpointed in the vastness of all Eternity was the problem tackled by the versatile Frank Belknap Long in this story. And as all minds of great perceptiveness know, it would be a simple, human quality he'd find most effective even in solving Time-Space. _ the man from time _by . .. Frank Belknap Long_ Deep in the Future he found the answer to Man's age-old problem. Daring Moonson, he was called. It was a proud name, a brave name. Butwhat good was a name that rang out like a summons to battle if the manwho bore it could not repeat it aloud without fear? Moonson had tried telling himself that a man could conquer fear if hecould but once summon the courage to laugh at all the sins that everwere, and do as he damned well pleased. An ancient phrase that--damnedwell. It went clear back to the Elizabethan Age, and Moonson had triedpicturing himself as an Elizabethan man with a ruffle at his throat anda rapier in his clasp, brawling lustily in a tavern. In the Elizabethan Age men had thrown caution to the winds and livedwith their whole bodies, not just with their minds alone. Perhaps thatwas why, even in the year 3689, defiant names still cropped up. Nameslike Independence Forest and Man, Live Forever! It was not easy for a man to live up to a name like Man, Live Forever!But Moonson was ready to believe that it could be done. There wassomething in human nature which made a man abandon caution and try tolive up to the claims made for him by his parents at birth. It must be bad, Moonson thought. It must be bad if I can't control thetrembling of my hands, the pounding of the blood at my temples. I amlike a child shut up alone in the dark, hearing rats scurrying in acloset thick with cobwebs and the tapping of a blind man's cane on adeserted street at midnight. _Tap, tap, tap_--nearer and nearer through the darkness. How soon wouldthe rats be swarming out, blood-fanged and wholly vicious? How soonwould the cane strike? He looked up quickly, his eyes searching the shadows. For almost a monthnow the gleaming intricacies of the machine had given him a completesense of security. As a scholar traveling in Time he had been acceptedby his fellow travelers as a man of great courage and firmdetermination. For twenty-seven days a smooth surface of shining metal had walled himin, enabling him to grapple with reality on a completely adult level. For twenty-seven days he had gone pridefully back through Time, takingcreative delight in watching the heritage of the human race unrollbefore him like a cineramoscope under glass. Watching a green land in the dying golden sunlight of an age lost tohuman memory could restore a man's strength of purpose by its serenityalone. But even an age of war and pestilence could be observed withouttorment from behind the protective shields of the Time Machine. Danger, accidents, catastrophe could not touch him personally. To watch death and destruction as a spectator in a traveling TimeObservatory was like watching a cobra poised to strike from behind apane of crystal-bright glass in a zoological garden. You got a tremendous thrill in just thinking: How dreadful if the glassshould not be there! How lucky I am to be alive, with a thing so deadlyand monstrous within striking distance of me! For twenty-seven days now he had traveled without fear. Sometimes theTime Observatory would pinpoint an age and hover over it while hiscompanions took painstaking historical notes. Sometimes it would retraceits course and circle back. A new age would come under scrutiny and morenotes would be taken. But a horrible thing that had happened to him, had awakened in him alonely nightmare of restlessness. Childhood fears he had thought buriedforever had returned to plague him and he had developed a sudden, terrible dread of the fogginess outside the moving viewpane, the way themachine itself wheeled and dipped when an ancient ruin came sweepingtoward him. He had developed a fear of Time. There was no escape from that Time Fear. The instant it came upon him helost all interest in historical research. 1069, 732, 2407, 1928--everydate terrified him. The Black Plague in London, the Great Fire, theSpanish Armada in flames off the coast of a bleak little island thatwould soon mold the destiny of half the world--how meaningless it allseemed in the shadow of his fear! Had the human race really advanced so much? Time had been conquered butno man was yet wise enough to heal himself if a stark, unreasoning feartook possession of his mind and heart, giving him no peace. Moonson lowered his eyes, saw that Rutella was watching him in themanner of a shy woman not wishing to break in too abruptly on thethoughts of a stranger. Deep within him he knew that he had become a stranger to his own wifeand the realization sharply increased his torment. He stared down at herhead against his knee, at her beautiful back and sleek, dark hair. Violet eyes she had, not black as they seemed at first glance but adeep, lustrous violet. He remembered suddenly that he was still a young man, with a young man'sardor surging strong in him. He bent swiftly, kissed her lips and eyes. As he did so her arms tightened about him until he found himselfwondering what he could have done to deserve such a woman. She had never seemed more precious to him and for an instant he couldfeel his fear lessening a little. But it came back and was worse thanbefore. It was like an old pain returning at an unexpected moment tochill a man with the sickening reminder that all joy must end. His decision to act was made quickly. The first step was the most difficult but with a deliberate effort ofwill he accomplished it to his satisfaction. His secret thoughts heburied beneath a continuous mental preoccupation with the vain and thetrivial. It was important to the success of his plan that his companionsshould suspect nothing. The second step was less difficult. The mental block remained firm andhe succeeded in carrying on actual preparations for his departure incomplete secrecy. The third step was the final one and it took him from a largecompartment to a small one, from a high-arching surface of metal to amaze of intricate control mechanisms in a space so narrow that he had tocrouch to work with accuracy. Swiftly and competently his fingers moved over instruments of sciencewhich only a completely sane man would have known how to manipulate. Itwas an acid test of his sanity and he knew as he worked that hisreasoning faculties at least had suffered no impairment. Beneath his hands the Time Observatory's controls were solid shafts ofmetal. But suddenly as he worked he found himself thinking of them asfluid abstractions, each a milestone in man's long progress from thejungle to the stars. Time and space--mass and velocity. How incredible that it had taken centuries of patient technologicalresearch to master in a practical way the tremendous implications ofEinstein's original postulate. Warp space with a rapidly moving object, move away from the observer with the speed of light--and the whole ofhuman history assumed the firm contours of a landscape in space. Timeand space merged and became one. And a man in an intricately-equippedTime Observatory could revisit the past as easily as he could travelacross the great curve of the universe to the farthest planet of thefarthest star. The controls were suddenly firm in his hands. He knew precisely whatadjustments to make. The iris of the human eye dilates and contractswith every shift of illumination, and the Time Observatory had an iristoo. That iris could be opened without endangering his companions in theleast--if he took care to widen it just enough to accommodate only onesturdily built man of medium height. Sweat came out in great beads on his forehead as he worked. The lightthat came through the machine's iris was faint at first, the barestglimmer of white in deep darkness. But as he adjusted controls the lightgrew brighter and brighter, beating in upon him until he was kneeling ina circle of radiance that dazzled his eyes and set his heart topounding. I've lived too long with fear, he thought. I've lived like a manimprisoned, shut away from the sunlight. Now, when freedom beckons, Imust act quickly or I shall be powerless to act at all. He stood erect, took a slow step forward, his eyes squeezed shut. Another step, another--and suddenly he knew he was at the gateway toTime's sure knowledge, in actual contact with the past for his ears werenow assailed by the high confusion of ancient sounds and voices! He left the Time machine in a flying leap, one arm held before his face. He tried to keep his eyes covered as the ground seemed to rise to meethim. But he lurched in an agony of unbalance and opened his eyes--to seethe green surface beneath him flashing like a suddenly uncovered jewel. He remained on his feet just long enough to see his Time Observatory dimand vanish. Then his knees gave way and he collapsed with a despairingcry as the fear enveloped him . .. * * * * * There were daisies in the field where he lay, his shoulders and nakedchest pressed to the earth. A gentle wind stirred the grass, and theflute-like warble of a song bird was repeated close to his ear, over andover with a tireless persistence. Abruptly he sat up and stared about him. Running parallel to the fieldwas a winding country road and down it came a yellow and silver vehicleon wheels, its entire upper section encased in glass which mirrored theautumnal landscape with a startling clearness. The vehicle halted directly in front of him and a man with ruddy cheeksand snow-white hair leaned out to wave at him. "Good morning, mister!" the man shouted. "Can I give you a lift intotown?" Moonson rose unsteadily, alarm and suspicion in his stare. Verycautiously he lowered the mental barrier and the man's thoughts impingedon his mind in bewildering confusion. _He's not a farmer, that's sure . .. Must have been swimming in thecreek, but those bathing trunks he's wearing are out of this world!_ _Huh! I wouldn't have the nerve to parade around in trunks like thateven on a public beach. Probably an exhibitionist . .. But why should hewear 'em out here in the woods? No blonds or redheads to knock silly outhere!_ _Huh! He might have the courtesy to answer me . .. Well, if he doesn'twant a lift into town it's no concern of mine!_ Moonson stood watching the vehicle sweep away out of sight. Obviously hehad angered the man by his silence, but he could answer only by shakinghis head. He began to walk, pausing an instant in the middle of the bridge tostare down at a stream of water that rippled in the sunlight overmoss-covered rocks. Tiny silver fish darted to and fro beneath atumbling waterfall and he felt calmed and reassured by the sight. Shoulders erect now, he walked on . .. It was high noon when he reached the tavern. He went inside, saw men andwomen dancing in a dim light, and there was a huge, rainbow-coloredmusical instrument by the door which startled him by its resonance. Themusic was wild, weird, a little terrifying. He sat down at a table near the door and searched the minds of thedancers for a clue to the meaning of what he saw. The thoughts which came to him were startlingly primitive, direct andsometimes meaningless to him. _Go easy, baby! Swing it! Sure, we're in the groove now, but you nevercan tell! I'll buy you an orchid, honey! Not roses, just oneorchid--black like your hair! Ever see a black orchid, hon? They're rareand they're expensive!_ _Oh, darl, darl, hold me closer! The music goes round and round! It willalways be like that with us, honey! Don't ever be a square! That's all Iask! Don't ever be a square! Cuddle up to me, let yourself go! Whenyou're dancing with one girl you should never look at another! Don't youknow that, Johnny!_ _Sure I know it, Doll! But did I ever claim I wasn't human?_ _Darl, doll, doll baby! Look all you want to! But if you ever dare--_ Moonson found himself relaxing a little. Dancing in all ages was closelyallied to love-making, but it was pursued here with a careless rapturewhich he found creatively stimulating. People came here not only todance but to eat, and the thoughts of the dancers implied that there wasnothing stylized about a tavern. The ritual was a completely naturalone. In Egyptian bas-reliefs you saw the opposite in dancing. Every movementrigidly prescribed, arms held rigid and sharply bent at the elbows. Slowmovements rather than lively ones, a bowing and a scraping with bowls offruit extended in gift offerings at every turn. There was obviously no enthroned authority here, no bejeweled king topacify when emotions ran wild, but complete freedom to embrace joy withcorybantic abandonment. A tall man in ill-fitting black clothes approached Moonson's table, interrupting his reflections with thoughts that seemed designed todisturb and distract him out of sheer perversity. So even here therewere flies in every ointment, and no dream of perfection could remainunchallenged. He sat unmoving, absorbing the man's thoughts. _What does he think this is, a bath house? Mike says it's okay to servethem if they come in from the beach just as they are. But just one quickbeer, no more. This late in the season you'd think they'd have thedecency to get dressed!_ The sepulchrally-dressed man gave the table a brush with a cloth hecarried, then thrust his head forward like an ill-tempered scavengerbird. "Can't serve you anything but beer. Boss's orders. Okay?" Moonson nodded and the man went away. Then he turned to watching the girl. She was frightened. She sat allalone, plucking nervously at the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. Shesat with her back to the light, bunching the cloth up into little folds, then smoothing it out again. She'd ground out lipstick-smudged cigarettes until the ash tray wasspilling over. Moonson began to watch the fear in her mind . .. Her fear grew when she thought that Mike wasn't gone for good. The phonecall wouldn't take long and he'd be coming back any minute now. And Mikewouldn't be satisfied until she was broken into little bits. Yes, Mikewanted to see her on her knees, begging him to kill her! _Kill me, but don't hurt Joe! It wasn't his fault! He's just a kid--he'snot twenty yet, Mike!_ That would be a lie but Mike had no way of knowing that Joe would betwenty-two on his next birthday, although he looked eighteen at most. There was no pity in Mike but would his pride let him hot-rod aneighteen-year-old? _Mike won't care! Mike will kill him anyway! Joe couldn't help fallingin love with me, but Mike won't care what Joe could help! Mike was neveryoung himself, never a sweet kid like Joe!_ _Mike killed a man when he was fourteen years old! He spent seven yearsin a reformatory and the kids there were never young. Joe will be justone of those kids to Mike . .. _ Her fear kept growing. You couldn't fight men like Mike. Mike was strong in too many differentways. When you ran a tavern with an upstairs room for special customersyou had to be tough, strong. You sat in an office and when people cameto you begging for favors you just laughed. Ten grand isn't hay, buddy!My wheels aren't rigged. If you think they are get out. It's yourfuneral. It's your funeral, Mike would say, laughing until tears came into hiseyes. You couldn't fight that kind of strength. Mike could push his knuckleshard into the faces of people who owed him money, and he'd never even bearrested. Mike could take money crisp and new out of his wallet, spread it outlike a fan, say to any girl crazy enough to give him a second glance:"I'm interested in you, honey! Get rid of him and come over to mytable!" He could say worse things to girls too decent and self-respecting tolook at him at all. You could be so cold and hard nothing could ever hurt you. You could beMike Galante . .. How could she have loved such a man? And dragged Joe into it, a good kidwho had made only one really bad mistake in his life--the mistake ofasking her to marry him. She shivered with a chill of self-loathing and turned her eyeshesitantly toward the big man in bathing trunks who sat alone by thedoor. For a moment she met the big man's eyes and her fears seemed to fadeaway! She stared at him . .. Sunburned almost black. Muscles like alifeguard. All alone and not on the make. When he returned her stare hiseyes sparkled with friendly interest, but no suggestive, flirtatiousintent. He was too rugged to be really handsome, she thought, but he wouldn'thave to start digging in his wallet to get a girl to change tables, either. Guiltily she remembered Joe, now it could only be Joe. Then she saw Joe enter the room. He was deathly pale and he was comingstraight toward her between the tables. Without pausing to weigh hischances of staying alive he passed a man and a woman who relished Mike'scompany enough to make them eager to act ugly for a daily handout. Theydid not look up at Joe as he passed but the man's lips curled in a sneerand the woman whispered something that appeared to fan the flames of hercompanion's malice. Mike had friends--friends who would never rat on him while their policerecords remained in Mike's safe and they could count on him forprotection. She started to rise, to go to Joe and warn him that Mike would be comingback. But despair flooded her and the impulse died. The way Joe feltabout her was a thing too big to stop . .. Joe saw her slim against the light, and his thoughts were like the seasurge, wild, unruly. _Maybe Mike will get me. Maybe I'll be dead by this time tomorrow. MaybeI'm crazy to love her the way I do . .. _ Her hair against the light, a tumbled mass of spun gold. _Always a woman bothering me for as long as I can remember. Molly, Anne, Janice . .. Some were good for me and some were bad. _ _You see a woman on the street walking ahead of you, hips swaying, andyou think: I don't even know her name but I'd like to crush her in myarms!_ _I guess every guy feels like that about every pretty woman he sees. Even about some that aren't so pretty. But then you get to know and likea woman, and you don't feel that way so much. You respect her and youdon't let yourself feel that way. _ _Then something happens. You love her so much it's like the first timeagain but with a whole lot added. You love her so much you'd die to makeher happy. _ * * * * * Joe was shaking when he slipped into the chair left vacant by Mike andreached out for both her hands. "I'm taking you away tonight, " he said. "You're coming with me. " Joe was scared, she knew. But he didn't want her to know. His hands werelike ice and his fear blended with her own fear as their hands met. "He'll kill you, Joe! You've got to forget me!" she sobbed. "I'm not afraid of him. I'm stronger than you think. He won't dare comeat me with a gun, not here before all these people. If he comes at mewith his fists I'll hook a solid left to his jaw that will stretch himout cold!" She knew he wasn't deceiving himself. Joe didn't want to die any morethan she did. The Man from Time had an impulse to get up, walk over to the twofrightened children and comfort them with a reassuring smile. He satwatching, feeling their fear beating in tumultuous waves into his brain. Fear in the minds of a boy and a girl because they desperately wantedone another! He looked steadily at them and his eyes spoke to them . .. _Life is greater than you know. If you could travel in Time, and see howgreat is man's courage--if you could see all of his triumphs overdespair and grief and pain--you would know that there is nothing tofear! Nothing at all!_ Joe rose from the table, suddenly calm, quiet. "Come on, " he said quietly. "We're getting out of here right now. Mycar's outside and if Mike tries to stop us I'll fix him!" The boy and the girl walked toward the door together, a young andextremely pretty girl and a boy grown suddenly to the full stature of aman. Rather regretfully Moonson watched them go. As they reached the door thegirl turned and smiled and the boy paused too--and they both smiledsuddenly at the man in the bathing trunks. Then they were gone. Moonson got up as they disappeared, left the tavern. It was dark when he reached the cabin. He was dog-tired, and when he sawthe seated man through the lighted window a great longing forcompanionship came upon him. He forgot that he couldn't talk to the man, forgot the languagedifficulty completely. But before this insurmountable element occurredto him he was inside the cabin. Once there he saw that the problem solved itself--the man was a writerand he had been drinking steadily for hours. So the man did all of thetalking, not wanting or waiting for an answer. A youngish, handsome man he was, with graying temples and keenlyobservant eyes. The instant he saw Moonson he started to talk. "Welcome, stranger, " he said. "Been taking a dip in the ocean, eh? Can'tsay I'd enjoy it, this late in the season!" Moonson was afraid at first that his silence might discourage thewriter, but he did not know writers . .. "It's good to have someone to talk to, " the writer went on. "I've beensitting here all day trying to write. I'll tell you something you maynot know--you can go to the finest hotels, and you can open case aftercase of the finest wine, and you still can't get started sometimes. " The writer's face seemed suddenly to age. Fear came into his eyes and heraised the bottle to his lips, faced away from his guest as he drank asif ashamed of what he must do to escape despair every time he faced hisfear. He was trying to write himself back into fame. His greatest moment hadcome years before when his golden pen had glorified a generation ofmadcaps. For one deathless moment his genius had carried him to the heights, anda white blaze of publicity had given him a halo of glory. Later had comelean and bitter years until finally his reputation dwindled like agutted candle in a wintry room at midnight. He could still write but now fear and remorse walked with him and wouldgive him no peace. He was cruelly afraid most of the time. Moonson listened to the writer's thoughts in heart-strickensilence--thoughts so tragic they seemed out of keeping with the naturaland beautiful rhythms of his speech. He had never imagined that asensitive and imaginative man--an artist--could be so completelyabandoned by the society his genius had helped to enrich. Back and forth the writer paced, baring his inmost thoughts . .. His wifewas desperately ill and the future looked completely black. How could hesummon the strength of will to go on, let alone to write? He said fiercely, "It's all right for you to talk--" He stopped, seeming to realize for the first time that the big mansitting in an easy chair by the window had made no attempt to speak. It seemed incredible, but the big man had listened in complete silence, and with such quiet assurance that his silence had taken on an eloquencethat inspired absolute trust. He had always known there were a few people like that in the world, people whose sympathy and understanding you could take for granted. There was a fearlessness in such people which made them stand out fromthe crowd, stone-markers in a desert waste to lend assurance to a tiredwayfarer by its sturdy permanence, its sun-mirroring strength. There were a few people like that in the world but you sometimes went alifetime without meeting one. The big man sat there smiling at him, calmly exuding the serenity of one who has seen life from its tangled, inaccessible roots outward and testifies from experience that theentire growth is sound. The writer stopped pacing suddenly and drew himself erect. As he staredinto the big man's eyes his fears seemed to fade away. Confidencereturned to him like the surge of the sea in great shining waves ofcreativeness. * * * * * He knew suddenly that he could lose himself in his work again, could tapthe bright resonant bell of his genius until its golden voice rang outthrough eternity. He had another great book in him and it would getwritten now. It would get written . .. "You've helped me!" he almost shouted. "You've helped me more than youknow. I can't tell you how grateful I am to you. You don't know what itmeans to be so paralyzed with fright that you can't write at all!" The Man from Time was silent but his eyes shone curiously. The writer turned to a bookcase and removed a volume in a faded coverthat had once been bright with rainbow colors. He sat down and wrote aninscription on the flyleaf. Then he rose and handed the book to his visitor with a slight bow. Hewas smiling now. "This was my first-born!" he said. The Man from Time looked at the title first . .. THIS SIDE OF PARADISE. Then he opened the book and read what the author had written on theflyleaf: _With warm gratefulness for a courage which brought back the sun. _ _F. Scott Fitzgerald. _ Moonson bowed his thanks, turned and left the cabin. Morning found him walking across fresh meadowlands with the dewglistening on his bare head and broad, straight shoulders. They'd never find him, he told himself hopelessly. They'd never find himbecause Time was too vast to pinpoint one man in such a vast waste ofyears. The towering crests of each age might be visible but there couldbe no returning to one tiny insignificant spot in the mighty ocean ofTime. As he walked his eyes searched for the field and the winding road he'dfollowed into town. Only yesterday this road had seemed to beckon and hehad followed, eager to explore an age so primitive that mentalcommunication from mind to mind had not yet replaced human speech. Now he knew that the speech faculty which mankind had long outgrownwould never cease to act as a barrier between himself and the men andwomen of this era of the past. Without it he could not hope to findcomplete understanding and sympathy here. He was still alone and soon winter would come and the sky grow cold andempty . .. The Time machine materialized so suddenly before him that for an instanthis mind refused to accept it as more than a torturing illusion conjuredup by the turbulence of his thoughts. All at once it towered in hispath, bright and shining, and he moved forward over the dew-drenchedgrass until he was brought up short by a joy so overwhelming that itseemed to him that his heart must burst. * * * * * Rutella emerged from the machine with a gay little laugh, as if hisstunned expression was the most amusing in the world. "Hold still and let me kiss you, darling, " her mind said to his. She stood in the dew-bright grass on tiptoe, her sleek dark hair fallingto her shoulders, an extraordinarily pretty girl to be the wife of a manso tormented. "You found me!" his thoughts exulted. "You came back alone and searcheduntil you found me!" She nodded, her eyes shining. So Time wasn't too vast to pinpoint afterall, not when two people were so securely wedded in mind and heart thattheir thoughts could build a bridge across Time. "The Bureau of Emotional Adjustment analyzed everything I told them. Your psycho-graph ran to fifty-seven pages, but it was your desperateloneliness which guided me to you. " She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. "You see, darling, a compulsive fear isn't easy to conquer. No man orwoman can conquer it alone. Historians tell us that when the firstpassenger rocket started out for Mars, Space Fear took men by surprisein the same way your fear gripped you. The loneliness, the utterdesolation of space, was too much for a human mind to endure. " She smiled her love. "We're going back. We'll face it together and we'llconquer it together. You won't be alone now. Darling, don't yousee--it's because you aren't a clod, because you're sensitive andimaginative that you experience fear. It's not anything to be ashamedof. You were simply the first man on Earth to develop a new andcompletely different kind of fear--Time Fear. " Moonson put out his hand and gently touched his wife's hair. Ascending into the Time Observatory a thought came unbidden into hismind: _Others he saved, himself he could not save. _ But that wasn't true at all now. He _could_ help himself now. He would never be alone again! When guidedby the sure hand of love and complete trust, self-knowledge could be ashining weapon. The trip back might be difficult, but holding tight tohis wife's hand he felt no misgivings, no fear. Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ March 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.