Authentic Science Fiction, No. 23 — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

106 THE SINGING SPHERES “It seems ridiculous now—it wasn’t at the time.” “But,” I said, “what’s the explanation of the pictures that actually did come true?” I pondered further upon a theory of time we’d previously discussed. Suppose the future reached us in a constant stream of episodes, like representations in a moving-picture projector. Light travelling from distant stars often took many thousands or millons of years to reach us. Sometimes the star itself which we saw in the night sky had long since ceased to exist—yet it was still linked to us by that band of light extending across untold voids. Suppose, again, there was a similar “band of light” reaching towards us from the future, bearing within itself “moving pictures” of events yet to occur. Stationary upon our own vantage point, and _allowing time to roll past at its normal velocity, we saw these events gradually unfolding themselves. Yet was it entirely impossible not to wait until the future’s “light” reached us, but to construct a machine which captured and reflected the “light” a little way ahead? In that case we might certainly view the same events twice—once upon the machine’s screen, again in actuality. | | But in what way could the Machine of Revelation have slipped? Was it, perhaps, subject to hallucinations? I mentioned these speculations to Hartnell, but he only laughed. “Don’t you believe the Machine at all, then?” } asked, rather hurt. He grew solemn again. “Oh, yes, Pop. I believe it shows the future—a bit flickery and uncertain, perhaps—but it works.” I spread my hands helplessly. “Well, then—” Tubby, slightly less bewildered and baffled than myself, first caught the glint in Hartnell’s eye. “‘You’ve got some- thing up your sleeve!” he said, accusingly. “Something you haven’t told us!” | “Who? Me?” He must have known he couldn’t bluff it out any longer. THE SINGING SPHERES 107 “That gravity-reactor!” I said, in sudden inspiration. “You took it to pieces! Why?” His white-toothed grin was sheer, infuriating mockery. “You ought to know! Both of you saw it!” “Saw it? When?” I felt the hair prickling in the nape of my neck. “We're still here, aren’t we?” demanded Tubby. “How can we be in those graves and in this ship at the same time?” “Who said we were supposed to be in the graves?” asked Hartnell, softly. “Who? Why—why—if we weren’t—well, what’s the idea of the graves, anyway?” Tubby became flabbergasted into incoherency. I kept my mouth shut, but I felt the same way. Hartnell said we’d have to believe the theory that no one could escape the future. On that supposition, all events were predetermined, but didn’t necessarily work out at face values. “Face values,” he said. “That’s the crux. Like all other machines, the Wise Ones’ gadget can’t think—it merely records what it sees. It certainly saw those graves. Now I won't pretend to explain what happened—all I know is that I got an idea when the guards were after us—you remember, I left you among the rocks?” | “Yes,” I said, “and nearly gave us several assorted heart attacks.” “Well, the guards knew what Earthmen’s graves looked like, and they knew we didn’t occupy ’em till we were dead. So while it was quiet I took a few armfuls of boulders and scree from the cliff-face and made those mounds. Just for a realis- tic touch I broke up the gravity-reactor casing—I’d got noth- ing else—and made markers with our names and numbers. You saw what happened afterwards. When the guards Spotted those graves they fully believed us to be dead and went back to their hidey-hole.” I sat down quickly, dizzy with confusion. “But the Pace HON did the Machine know you intended doing that?” : GEomichooks. Go