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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
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-The Project Gutenberg eBook of Flight From Time, by Alfred Coppel
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: Flight From Time
-
-Author: Alfred Coppel
-
-Release Date: February 27, 2021 [eBook #64647]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed
- Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLIGHT FROM TIME ***
-
-
-
-
- FLIGHT FROM TIME
-
- By ALFRED COPPEL
-
- The meteor-smashed clock at first meant nothing.
- Malenson had all the time in the cosmos. Too late, he
- discovered there can be such a thing as too much time.
-
- [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
- Planet Stories Winter 1949.
- Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
- the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
-
-
-A long career of cutting corners had taught Malenson the importance of
-timing. Time, he had long ago concluded, was the fabric from which were
-cut the garments of poverty or greatness. And since Malenson had no
-love for the simple life, it naturally followed that he should turn his
-talents toward the amassing of wealth with the least possible waste of
-the precious commodity ... time.
-
-He didn't bother to conceal his crime. He only timed it well. And
-following his carefully thought out plans further, he boarded his ship
-at the proper instant and vanished into the interstellar fastnesses
-with five million irridium dollars in coin and government certificates.
-
-A galaxy, he reflected, would make a perfect hiding place. One would
-have only to look at the girdle of the Milky Way on a clear night to
-see the logic of his choice. Among a billion billion stars separated
-by light years of brooding emptiness, one man in a small ship would
-be a fantastically difficult thing to find. Easier by far it would be
-to find one particular grain of sand on the seashore, than to locate
-Malenson within the vast limbo of the galaxy.
-
-Only if he made a planetfall on one of the colonized worlds could he be
-found, and Malenson was no fool. His ship was fueled and provisioned
-for twelve years in space. With care and a strict system of rationing,
-he could stretch it out to fifteen years. And at the end of that time
-he could return safely with his millions, for an enlightened penal
-system had long ago assigned statutes of limitation to all felonies.
-
-Nor would exile be an unbearable thing. The three hundred foot ship was
-packed with reading tapes, classical and popular recordings, all manner
-of occupational therapy devices, and old fashioned books.
-
-Only human companionship was missing, and to Malenson that meant
-nothing. He had lived a lonely life, isolated from his fellows by a
-profound sense of his own superiority. He had no love for humanity.
-
-So Malenson and his treasure ship fled from the world of men. Up from
-the spaceport and into the void he went. As soon as he had cleared the
-atmosphere, he cut in the second order drive and lifted clear of the
-ecliptic plane at better than light speed.
-
-Malenson was no navigator, but his spacecraft was fool-proof, and
-relying on that fact he drove upward and outward from Earth toward the
-celestial pole. Leisurely, he settled himself for the first short leg
-of his long voyage. He was completely at ease, for pursuit in second
-order flight was impossible.
-
-Exactly seventy hours elapsed before he cut the drive for a look around
-him. The ship was in a moderately starred region of the galaxy. He
-could still make out most of the familiar constellations. Ursa Major
-lay ahead and to the right; Cygnus, a trifle distorted lay overhead.
-And the beacon stars Rigel, Altair and Sirius were easily recognizable.
-Sol had dwindled to a yellow star of the third magnitude.
-
-Malenson smiled with satisfaction and pointed the ship's nose at the
-bright vee of Taurus. The red eye of Aldebaran would make an excellent
-check point, and his trajectory would be well above Sol and the regular
-shipping lanes. Then he cut in the drive again and went to bed.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Six hours later he awoke. Food, automatically prepared in the galley
-awaited him. He ate and made his way to the control room. He checked
-the operation of the automatic controls and settled down before the
-forward ports to watch the sky. Travelling above light speed played
-strange tricks on his vision. Looking out into the galactic night, it
-seemed that all the stars were grouped in a distorted mass directly
-in front of the plunging ship. It was illusion, Malenson knew, but
-the weird spectacle vaguely disturbed him. He quite illogically felt
-constrained to cut the drive and check his position. He knew, of course
-that he was nowhere near Aldebaran yet, but he could not control the
-sudden urge to see the stars in their proper places.
-
-He cut the drive.
-
-Malenson realized his mistake immediately, for the ship was in
-the middle of a small meteor swarm. In second order flight it was
-inviolate, but primary flight slowed it to a point where meteor danger
-was a real consideration.
-
-Alarm bells jangled and the screen went to work. The bells would have
-meant an immediate shift back into second order flight to any really
-experienced spaceman, but Malenson was new to interstellar navigating.
-He sat and stared stupidly at the danger signals on the panel.
-
-Still, the ship was an almost perfect machine. Certainly it saved
-Malenson's life. Only one small meteor penetrated the deflectors
-and crashed through the hull. Malenson flung himself to the deck
-instinctively as the tiny missile streaked hotly through the oxygen
-rich air of the control room. Immediately the self sealing insulation
-stopped all loss of pressure in the ship, and a repair unit set to work
-mending the break in the hull plates. But the meteor itself careened
-through the control room and ripped into the center panel with a
-smashing of glass and tearing of metal.
-
-Malenson picked himself up and ran to the panel, panic-stricken. He
-inspected the damage carefully and heaved a sigh of relief. Nothing
-vital was destroyed. Only the master-chronometer and some lesser
-indicators were hit.
-
-Then Malenson frowned. Without the master timepiece no clock on board
-would run, since they were all only terminals of the master system.
-He hurried to his stateroom and checked the wall clock. It smelled of
-burnt insulation. He pried the face loose and peered at its vitals.
-They were a mess of fused cogs and wires. A quick check throughout the
-ship showed that every clock was in the same useless condition. Even
-if he had been mechanic enough to repair them ... which he was not ...
-they were each and every one a hopeless tangle of burnt out innards.
-The meteor had short circuited the entire timekeeping system of the
-ship.
-
-[Illustration: _The master-chronometer was a mess of fused cogs and
-wires._]
-
-He returned to the control room with some misgivings. The loss of the
-clocks was no death blow to his kind of trial and error navigation. But
-it did promise to be a serious inconvenience in the regulation of his
-life in the timelessness of deep space. He still had his wristwatch,
-of course, but it was a very delicate ornamental sort of thing, not
-intended for hard usage.
-
-Still, he reflected brightening somewhat, since his exile was to be
-measured in years and not minutes and hours, the wristwatch would
-serve. The star-charts and stellar analyzers that could identify any
-star would do for navigation. He might become misplaced, but to lose
-himself completely was impossible. He relied mightily on the fact that
-his ship was, in fact, fool-proof.
-
-He kept the nose pointed at Taurus and cut in the second order drive
-again. The rest of the day, he spent in the library, laying out the
-reading he planned to do for the next few months.
-
- * * * * *
-
-A week later, the ship had passed through Taurus, skirted the Hyades,
-and was heading outward toward the galactic periphery. It was there
-that Malenson entertained a slight hope of finding a habitable
-uncolonized world. And there he could wander for years without the
-remotest chance of running into any representatives of the Galactic
-Confederation.
-
-Two weeks later, his wristwatch stopped.
-
-Cursing disgustedly, Malenson shook the recalcitrant bit of jewelry. It
-ticked fitfully once or twice and stopped. He decided that it must be
-in need of cleaning. He realized full well that he was not qualified to
-attempt such a delicate operation, but he also recognized the fact that
-there was little he could do about it. He needed the watch, and clean
-it he must; even though he hadn't the vaguest notion of how the thing
-was done.
-
-Arming himself with alcohol, lens tissue, pliers and a tiny
-screwdriver, he set to work. Soon all the intestines of the tiny
-machine lay on the table before him. With great care he cleaned each
-part and reassembled them. But when he had finished, the watch would
-not run. The close work and the lack of success began to wear on him.
-Malenson did not take kindly to failure. A second time he dismantled
-the watch and a second time assembled it. The watch stubbornly refused
-to tick. With a disgusted curse Malenson repeated the process. Still
-no success. By now his hands were trembling hopelessly, and he knew he
-should let the job go for a few hours before attempting it again. But
-Malenson was a stubborn man. A fourth time the watch was dismembered
-and reassembled. And a fifth time. By now he could not hold the tiny
-wheels steady enough to mount them on the almost microscopic shafts.
-His fingers felt like thumbs. When finally the watch was closed up for
-the sixth time and still would not run, a sudden surge of illogical
-rage shook him and he slammed the watch furiously against the wall. It
-dissolved into a miniature shambles of thread-fine springs and tiny
-wheels. Still raging, he ground the remains to bits under his heel and
-strode angrily into the galley for a long pull at the brandy bottle....
-
-An indeterminate time later, Malenson staggered up the long
-companionway and into his stateroom. Drugged with liquor, he sank down
-on his bunk and dropped into fitful, uneasy, slumber.
-
- * * * * *
-
-There was no way of telling how long he had slept. When he awoke, he
-hurried foggily to the control room and cut the second order drive. The
-configuration of the stars seemed much the same as he had last seen
-it ... how long ago?
-
-Depressed, and somehow still tired, he cut the drive in again and made
-his way to the galley. Hot coffee made him feel better, shaking some of
-the haziness out of his mind.
-
-He strove with care to evaluate his situation. There was nothing to
-worry about, he told himself. The ship was operating perfectly. The
-only thing that was lacking was a way to compute the passage of time.
-He half-smiled at that, thinking of his pride in a "sense" of timing.
-Still, he reflected, perhaps the natural functions of his body would
-serve. He prided himself on being a methodical, systematic man; one of
-regular habits.
-
-A gnawing doubt began to eat at his mind. Was that enough? Perhaps
-it would be wise to construct a timepiece. How? He racked his memory
-trying to recall the various clocks of the ancients. A mechanical clock
-was out of the question. He simply hadn't the skill or the materials
-necessary for its construction. The episode with the watch proved
-that all too well. An hour glass then? A careful search of the ship
-was unrewarding. There was nothing that could be made into an hour
-glass, nor any way to calibrate such a device even if he could make
-one. A water clock, perhaps? The same objections. And his own lack of
-know-how. Malenson was no scientist or hobbyist. He was first and last
-a man of business. Still he did not want to give up easily. A candle
-clock. Immediately he recognized that idea as impractical.
-
-He didn't have the technical understanding of his ship necessary to
-use its speed for the computation of time. In fact the only thing he
-knew about the ship was that it traveled faster than light. How much
-faster, he had never found out. It had been enough for his purposes
-to know that it travelled faster or as fast as any type of vessel in
-the Confederation. And even if he had known how to make the necessary
-calculations, what was needed was something that would divide twelve or
-fifteen years into days, hours, minutes.
-
-Radio reception was out. Each of the colonized worlds had an Earth-type
-atmosphere ... complete with Heavyside Layer. And the radar beams that
-could pierce the layer would be swarming with freighters, liners
-and ... Patrol ships. Malenson was certain that by now every patrolman
-in the known cosmos was alerted for the appearance of a ship of
-Malenson's type. And detention meant an end to a dream of wealth.
-Prison.
-
-What was the answer, then?
-
-The answer was ... _no_ answer.
-
-Malenson, possessed of the finest machine ever devised by the mind of
-man, and the greatest hoard of wealth in recent times ... was reduced
-to keeping track of time by the movements of his digestive tract and a
-series of scratches on the wall of the control room.
-
-At the time he could see the irony of it. He even laughed ... then.
-
-Time dragged on sluggishly. What might have been weeks passed by in
-a seemingly endless cycle of sleeps and meals. Every time he awoke
-Malenson would cut the drive and check his position. And always, the
-bright beacon stars stared back at him, little changed.
-
-Slowly, the line of scratches on the control room wall grew. Malenson
-lived in a timeless limbo amidst the vast, unchanging emptiness of
-the galactic periphery. For weeks and months at a time, he would lose
-himself in the sparsely starred outer marches. Then he would find his
-position again, an agonizingly short distance from the last fix given
-him by star-chart and analyzer. Lethargically, the ship crawled across
-parsecs of space, a hollow shell of life amid the cosmic desolation of
-the great edge.
-
-A year passed. Two. Malenson knew he was safe now. No patrol ship could
-follow his aimless wanderings. But the ten year statute of limitations
-remained uppermost in his mind. He realized that he was assigning an
-arbitrary value to his days and months, thus he decided that he must
-stay in space for the full time allowed by his supplies. He could not
-risk a miscalculation.
-
- * * * * *
-
-The solitude did not affect him. Malenson had no desire for
-companionship. And the library of the ship absorbed much of his time.
-He read great tomes and thin monographs, passionate novels and cold
-texts. And he could _feel_ time slipping by.
-
-At the end of his fourth calculated year, Malenson noticed his
-feverishness. It was a slight thing. He felt perfectly well. But his
-temperature stood at 100.6. His curiosity aroused, he confined himself
-to the ship's infirmary for a month. Except for a periodical trip to
-the control room for a star sight, he remained under the UV lamps.
-He took large doses of streptomycin XXV. But he did not feel in the
-least alarmed when the fever refused to leave him. He merely adapted
-himself....
-
-In his eighth year in space Malenson abandoned any hope of finding a
-habitable planet. He had located five planetary systems among some nine
-hundred stars. But none of the globes were even remotely suitable for
-the support of humanoid life. Mostly they were great gassy worlds of
-frozen methane and ammonia. The few low gravity planets were generally
-so close to their primaries as to be parched wastelands with surface
-temperatures near the melting point of lead.
-
-It was at this point in his odyssey that Malenson's thoughts began to
-drift homeward. Many sleeps were spent in calculations and trial and
-error navigation before the ship's nose was turned inward toward the
-center of the galactic lens. Finally, Malenson was ready to begin the
-long voyage home.
-
-The loneliness had changed him, he knew. Not that he had once missed
-the nearness of mere people. Malenson felt himself above such a need.
-And there was the money in the hold to keep him company. More and more
-of his time was spent down there, fondling his wealth. The feel of the
-coins and the crisp irridium certificates more than made up for the
-solitude. Uncounted hours would slip by while he sat contentedly in
-the midst of his loot ... or was it days? Malenson had stopped trying
-to discover.
-
-The library had lost its appeal for him now. He had finished the
-majority of the books now, and strangely the reading tapes and
-recordings seemed to drag unbearably. It was getting so that he could
-hardly understand the mouthings that emanated from the speakers, and
-the vision screens were turgid masses of dark, muddy colors. Something,
-he decided, had gone wrong with the projection apparatus.
-
-The dawning of his tenth year in limbo was the occasion for a
-celebration. The statute of limitation was explicit in his particular
-form of larceny. It stated that should the case be unprosecuted for ten
-solar years, the crime was stricken from the records and an unequivocal
-pardon granted. Before Malenson's case, the law had never been evoked.
-But now at last the time was up. Malenson was free.
-
-He was only three years from Sol now, according to his estimate. He had
-been careful to allow for the seemingly reduced speed of the ship. But
-he was still unwilling to take any unnecessary chances. He realized
-that he could have made a considerable error in his timing. It was even
-possible, he reflected, that he was as much as a year off. Perhaps
-even two. So Malenson decided that having waited this long, he could
-wait yet a bit longer. He had become quite adapted to his artificial
-environment now, and another two or three years in space would be no
-great hardship. He set his course for the Centaurian System before
-heading for home. This slight detour would bring him into Sol's family
-at just the right time. Fifteen years, he calculated, from the time of
-his departure.
-
-That night ... or what passed for night in the timeless void ...
-Malenson celebrated his freedom.
-
- * * * * *
-
-Time slipped by in an endless, formless night. He began to notice that
-he was aging. The mirror in his stateroom showed lines and wrinkles in
-his face that had not been there when he fled Earth. He had been just
-forty when the flight began. He looked fifty three or four now, at
-least. It confirmed his computations. His timing was still right....
-
-It was a long time later that the Centaurian System slipped astern. He
-was in the infirmary at the time and did not even notice. Long solitude
-had dulled his perceptions. He was totally engrossed in the evidence of
-his thermometer. It registered a body temperature of 117.8. That wasn't
-possible, he knew. A man couldn't stand such a temperature. Yet he was
-perfectly well. The instrument, he decided, was faulty. He had not felt
-feverish since that first time long, long ago. He abandoned the sterile
-whiteness of the infirmary for the hold and the silent companionship of
-his money. He was happy there.
-
-The food was gone now, and though there was plenty of fuel in the
-tanks, the ship was nearing Sol. It had been many, many sleeps since
-Malenson had bothered to cut the drive for a position check. He sat
-contentedly with his money, oblivious to all else.
-
-But his ship was still a perfect machine. It arced down into the
-ecliptic plane, cutting the stellar drive automatically. The ship
-shifted smoothly into primary flight and spiralled in toward Earth.
-It set itself a stable orbit around the home planet and waited, alarm
-bells ringing.
-
-The Earth spread out into a green carpet under the slowly descending
-spaceship. Malenson sat stiffly in the control chair, eyes drinking in
-the forgotten beauty of his home world. The ship sank through a layer
-of fleecy clouds toward the spaceport. Buildings took shape out of the
-formless mass of the ground. Malenson frowned. Things looked just the
-same. One would have thought that changes would take place in fifteen
-years.
-
-He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass of the port. It
-angered him suddenly that the years should have been so sparing with
-Earth and so cruel to him. He had aged more than he thought.... He felt
-very tired....
-
-Very gently, the ship sank to a landing on the busy ramp. The
-generators sighed, and fell silent. Malenson smiled thinly. His timing
-was still good. He locked the hold carefully and made his way to the
-valve. The long unused mechanism worked smoothly and quickly. Malenson
-stepped out....
-
-A circle of resolute patrolmen surrounded him, hands on their weapons.
-He stared at them in stunned disbelief.
-
-A young inspector shouldered his way through the file. He spoke words
-that Malenson heard only dimly through the sudden roaring in his ears.
-
-"You are under arrest, Malenson," the inspector said shortly.
-
- * * * * *
-
-_Subject: Report on Prisoner Malenson, File No. 8,697,032_
-
-_To: Wilton, Chief Penologist, Luna Criminal Detention Center_
-
-_From: Berry, Director North American Geriatrics Institute_
-
-_1. Transfer of subject prisoner to this institution is confirmed._
-
-_2. Cursory examination reveals that the prisoner is a victim of
-acutely accelerated general metabolism._
-
-_3. An interview with the prisoner reveals that he is firmly convinced
-that he recently spent a period of fifteen years in space, whereas port
-records conclusively prove that he was absent from Earth for a period
-of only twenty two months (Ref. N'york Sp. Log 2/890 Pages 867,1098).
-His condition is perfectly suited to the experimental work now being
-conducted here, as I suspected. There is an excellent possibility that
-we may be able to correlate the clinical data of his case with our own
-hypotheses and so ascertain exactly to what extent senility is the
-product of psychological conditioning rather than chronological age as
-heretofore believed._
-
-_4. Prognosis negative. In the case of Prisoner Malenson himself,
-we are unable to prescribe treatment. All efforts to retard his
-fantastically high metabolism rate have failed. His body temperature is
-now normal at 120.6° Fahrenheit, and his pulse steady at 140/minute.
-Definite indications of senescence are appearing. Symptoms of incipient
-ataxic aphasia have been detected._
-
-_5. Death from advanced senility predicted within thirty days._
-
-_Signed: Berry, NAGI Director._
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLIGHT FROM TIME ***
-
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-<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Flight From Time, by Alfred Coppel</div>
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-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
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-country where you are located before using this eBook.
-</div>
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-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Flight From Time</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Alfred Coppel</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 27, 2021 [eBook #64647]</div>
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-
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLIGHT FROM TIME ***</div>
-
-<div class="titlepage">
-
-<h1>FLIGHT FROM TIME</h1>
-
-<h2>By ALFRED COPPEL</h2>
-
-<p>The meteor-smashed clock at first meant nothing.<br />
-Malenson had all the time in the cosmos. Too late, he<br />
-discovered there can be such a thing as too much time.</p>
-
-<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br />
-Planet Stories Winter 1949.<br />
-Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br />
-the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p>A long career of cutting corners had taught Malenson the importance of
-timing. Time, he had long ago concluded, was the fabric from which were
-cut the garments of poverty or greatness. And since Malenson had no
-love for the simple life, it naturally followed that he should turn his
-talents toward the amassing of wealth with the least possible waste of
-the precious commodity ... time.</p>
-
-<p>He didn't bother to conceal his crime. He only timed it well. And
-following his carefully thought out plans further, he boarded his ship
-at the proper instant and vanished into the interstellar fastnesses
-with five million irridium dollars in coin and government certificates.</p>
-
-<p>A galaxy, he reflected, would make a perfect hiding place. One would
-have only to look at the girdle of the Milky Way on a clear night to
-see the logic of his choice. Among a billion billion stars separated
-by light years of brooding emptiness, one man in a small ship would
-be a fantastically difficult thing to find. Easier by far it would be
-to find one particular grain of sand on the seashore, than to locate
-Malenson within the vast limbo of the galaxy.</p>
-
-<p>Only if he made a planetfall on one of the colonized worlds could he be
-found, and Malenson was no fool. His ship was fueled and provisioned
-for twelve years in space. With care and a strict system of rationing,
-he could stretch it out to fifteen years. And at the end of that time
-he could return safely with his millions, for an enlightened penal
-system had long ago assigned statutes of limitation to all felonies.</p>
-
-<p>Nor would exile be an unbearable thing. The three hundred foot ship was
-packed with reading tapes, classical and popular recordings, all manner
-of occupational therapy devices, and old fashioned books.</p>
-
-<p>Only human companionship was missing, and to Malenson that meant
-nothing. He had lived a lonely life, isolated from his fellows by a
-profound sense of his own superiority. He had no love for humanity.</p>
-
-<p>So Malenson and his treasure ship fled from the world of men. Up from
-the spaceport and into the void he went. As soon as he had cleared the
-atmosphere, he cut in the second order drive and lifted clear of the
-ecliptic plane at better than light speed.</p>
-
-<p>Malenson was no navigator, but his spacecraft was fool-proof, and
-relying on that fact he drove upward and outward from Earth toward the
-celestial pole. Leisurely, he settled himself for the first short leg
-of his long voyage. He was completely at ease, for pursuit in second
-order flight was impossible.</p>
-
-<p>Exactly seventy hours elapsed before he cut the drive for a look around
-him. The ship was in a moderately starred region of the galaxy. He
-could still make out most of the familiar constellations. Ursa Major
-lay ahead and to the right; Cygnus, a trifle distorted lay overhead.
-And the beacon stars Rigel, Altair and Sirius were easily recognizable.
-Sol had dwindled to a yellow star of the third magnitude.</p>
-
-<p>Malenson smiled with satisfaction and pointed the ship's nose at the
-bright vee of Taurus. The red eye of Aldebaran would make an excellent
-check point, and his trajectory would be well above Sol and the regular
-shipping lanes. Then he cut in the drive again and went to bed.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Six hours later he awoke. Food, automatically prepared in the galley
-awaited him. He ate and made his way to the control room. He checked
-the operation of the automatic controls and settled down before the
-forward ports to watch the sky. Travelling above light speed played
-strange tricks on his vision. Looking out into the galactic night, it
-seemed that all the stars were grouped in a distorted mass directly
-in front of the plunging ship. It was illusion, Malenson knew, but
-the weird spectacle vaguely disturbed him. He quite illogically felt
-constrained to cut the drive and check his position. He knew, of course
-that he was nowhere near Aldebaran yet, but he could not control the
-sudden urge to see the stars in their proper places.</p>
-
-<p>He cut the drive.</p>
-
-<p>Malenson realized his mistake immediately, for the ship was in
-the middle of a small meteor swarm. In second order flight it was
-inviolate, but primary flight slowed it to a point where meteor danger
-was a real consideration.</p>
-
-<p>Alarm bells jangled and the screen went to work. The bells would have
-meant an immediate shift back into second order flight to any really
-experienced spaceman, but Malenson was new to interstellar navigating.
-He sat and stared stupidly at the danger signals on the panel.</p>
-
-<p>Still, the ship was an almost perfect machine. Certainly it saved
-Malenson's life. Only one small meteor penetrated the deflectors
-and crashed through the hull. Malenson flung himself to the deck
-instinctively as the tiny missile streaked hotly through the oxygen
-rich air of the control room. Immediately the self sealing insulation
-stopped all loss of pressure in the ship, and a repair unit set to work
-mending the break in the hull plates. But the meteor itself careened
-through the control room and ripped into the center panel with a
-smashing of glass and tearing of metal.</p>
-
-<p>Malenson picked himself up and ran to the panel, panic-stricken. He
-inspected the damage carefully and heaved a sigh of relief. Nothing
-vital was destroyed. Only the master-chronometer and some lesser
-indicators were hit.</p>
-
-<p>Then Malenson frowned. Without the master timepiece no clock on board
-would run, since they were all only terminals of the master system.
-He hurried to his stateroom and checked the wall clock. It smelled of
-burnt insulation. He pried the face loose and peered at its vitals.
-They were a mess of fused cogs and wires. A quick check throughout the
-ship showed that every clock was in the same useless condition. Even
-if he had been mechanic enough to repair them ... which he was not ...
-they were each and every one a hopeless tangle of burnt out innards.
-The meteor had short circuited the entire timekeeping system of the
-ship.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<div class="figcenter">
- <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/>
- <div class="caption">
- <p><i>The master-chronometer was a mess of fused cogs and wires.</i></p>
- </div>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p>He returned to the control room with some misgivings. The loss of the
-clocks was no death blow to his kind of trial and error navigation. But
-it did promise to be a serious inconvenience in the regulation of his
-life in the timelessness of deep space. He still had his wristwatch,
-of course, but it was a very delicate ornamental sort of thing, not
-intended for hard usage.</p>
-
-<p>Still, he reflected brightening somewhat, since his exile was to be
-measured in years and not minutes and hours, the wristwatch would
-serve. The star-charts and stellar analyzers that could identify any
-star would do for navigation. He might become misplaced, but to lose
-himself completely was impossible. He relied mightily on the fact that
-his ship was, in fact, fool-proof.</p>
-
-<p>He kept the nose pointed at Taurus and cut in the second order drive
-again. The rest of the day, he spent in the library, laying out the
-reading he planned to do for the next few months.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>A week later, the ship had passed through Taurus, skirted the Hyades,
-and was heading outward toward the galactic periphery. It was there
-that Malenson entertained a slight hope of finding a habitable
-uncolonized world. And there he could wander for years without the
-remotest chance of running into any representatives of the Galactic
-Confederation.</p>
-
-<p>Two weeks later, his wristwatch stopped.</p>
-
-<p>Cursing disgustedly, Malenson shook the recalcitrant bit of jewelry. It
-ticked fitfully once or twice and stopped. He decided that it must be
-in need of cleaning. He realized full well that he was not qualified to
-attempt such a delicate operation, but he also recognized the fact that
-there was little he could do about it. He needed the watch, and clean
-it he must; even though he hadn't the vaguest notion of how the thing
-was done.</p>
-
-<p>Arming himself with alcohol, lens tissue, pliers and a tiny
-screwdriver, he set to work. Soon all the intestines of the tiny
-machine lay on the table before him. With great care he cleaned each
-part and reassembled them. But when he had finished, the watch would
-not run. The close work and the lack of success began to wear on him.
-Malenson did not take kindly to failure. A second time he dismantled
-the watch and a second time assembled it. The watch stubbornly refused
-to tick. With a disgusted curse Malenson repeated the process. Still
-no success. By now his hands were trembling hopelessly, and he knew he
-should let the job go for a few hours before attempting it again. But
-Malenson was a stubborn man. A fourth time the watch was dismembered
-and reassembled. And a fifth time. By now he could not hold the tiny
-wheels steady enough to mount them on the almost microscopic shafts.
-His fingers felt like thumbs. When finally the watch was closed up for
-the sixth time and still would not run, a sudden surge of illogical
-rage shook him and he slammed the watch furiously against the wall. It
-dissolved into a miniature shambles of thread-fine springs and tiny
-wheels. Still raging, he ground the remains to bits under his heel and
-strode angrily into the galley for a long pull at the brandy bottle....</p>
-
-<p>An indeterminate time later, Malenson staggered up the long
-companionway and into his stateroom. Drugged with liquor, he sank down
-on his bunk and dropped into fitful, uneasy, slumber.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>There was no way of telling how long he had slept. When he awoke, he
-hurried foggily to the control room and cut the second order drive. The
-configuration of the stars seemed much the same as he had last seen
-it ... how long ago?</p>
-
-<p>Depressed, and somehow still tired, he cut the drive in again and made
-his way to the galley. Hot coffee made him feel better, shaking some of
-the haziness out of his mind.</p>
-
-<p>He strove with care to evaluate his situation. There was nothing to
-worry about, he told himself. The ship was operating perfectly. The
-only thing that was lacking was a way to compute the passage of time.
-He half-smiled at that, thinking of his pride in a "sense" of timing.
-Still, he reflected, perhaps the natural functions of his body would
-serve. He prided himself on being a methodical, systematic man; one of
-regular habits.</p>
-
-<p>A gnawing doubt began to eat at his mind. Was that enough? Perhaps
-it would be wise to construct a timepiece. How? He racked his memory
-trying to recall the various clocks of the ancients. A mechanical clock
-was out of the question. He simply hadn't the skill or the materials
-necessary for its construction. The episode with the watch proved
-that all too well. An hour glass then? A careful search of the ship
-was unrewarding. There was nothing that could be made into an hour
-glass, nor any way to calibrate such a device even if he could make
-one. A water clock, perhaps? The same objections. And his own lack of
-know-how. Malenson was no scientist or hobbyist. He was first and last
-a man of business. Still he did not want to give up easily. A candle
-clock. Immediately he recognized that idea as impractical.</p>
-
-<p>He didn't have the technical understanding of his ship necessary to
-use its speed for the computation of time. In fact the only thing he
-knew about the ship was that it traveled faster than light. How much
-faster, he had never found out. It had been enough for his purposes
-to know that it travelled faster or as fast as any type of vessel in
-the Confederation. And even if he had known how to make the necessary
-calculations, what was needed was something that would divide twelve or
-fifteen years into days, hours, minutes.</p>
-
-<p>Radio reception was out. Each of the colonized worlds had an Earth-type
-atmosphere ... complete with Heavyside Layer. And the radar beams that
-could pierce the layer would be swarming with freighters, liners
-and ... Patrol ships. Malenson was certain that by now every patrolman
-in the known cosmos was alerted for the appearance of a ship of
-Malenson's type. And detention meant an end to a dream of wealth.
-Prison.</p>
-
-<p>What was the answer, then?</p>
-
-<p>The answer was ... <i>no</i> answer.</p>
-
-<p>Malenson, possessed of the finest machine ever devised by the mind of
-man, and the greatest hoard of wealth in recent times ... was reduced
-to keeping track of time by the movements of his digestive tract and a
-series of scratches on the wall of the control room.</p>
-
-<p>At the time he could see the irony of it. He even laughed ... then.</p>
-
-<p>Time dragged on sluggishly. What might have been weeks passed by in
-a seemingly endless cycle of sleeps and meals. Every time he awoke
-Malenson would cut the drive and check his position. And always, the
-bright beacon stars stared back at him, little changed.</p>
-
-<p>Slowly, the line of scratches on the control room wall grew. Malenson
-lived in a timeless limbo amidst the vast, unchanging emptiness of
-the galactic periphery. For weeks and months at a time, he would lose
-himself in the sparsely starred outer marches. Then he would find his
-position again, an agonizingly short distance from the last fix given
-him by star-chart and analyzer. Lethargically, the ship crawled across
-parsecs of space, a hollow shell of life amid the cosmic desolation of
-the great edge.</p>
-
-<p>A year passed. Two. Malenson knew he was safe now. No patrol ship could
-follow his aimless wanderings. But the ten year statute of limitations
-remained uppermost in his mind. He realized that he was assigning an
-arbitrary value to his days and months, thus he decided that he must
-stay in space for the full time allowed by his supplies. He could not
-risk a miscalculation.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>The solitude did not affect him. Malenson had no desire for
-companionship. And the library of the ship absorbed much of his time.
-He read great tomes and thin monographs, passionate novels and cold
-texts. And he could <i>feel</i> time slipping by.</p>
-
-<p>At the end of his fourth calculated year, Malenson noticed his
-feverishness. It was a slight thing. He felt perfectly well. But his
-temperature stood at 100.6. His curiosity aroused, he confined himself
-to the ship's infirmary for a month. Except for a periodical trip to
-the control room for a star sight, he remained under the UV lamps.
-He took large doses of streptomycin XXV. But he did not feel in the
-least alarmed when the fever refused to leave him. He merely adapted
-himself....</p>
-
-<p>In his eighth year in space Malenson abandoned any hope of finding a
-habitable planet. He had located five planetary systems among some nine
-hundred stars. But none of the globes were even remotely suitable for
-the support of humanoid life. Mostly they were great gassy worlds of
-frozen methane and ammonia. The few low gravity planets were generally
-so close to their primaries as to be parched wastelands with surface
-temperatures near the melting point of lead.</p>
-
-<p>It was at this point in his odyssey that Malenson's thoughts began to
-drift homeward. Many sleeps were spent in calculations and trial and
-error navigation before the ship's nose was turned inward toward the
-center of the galactic lens. Finally, Malenson was ready to begin the
-long voyage home.</p>
-
-<p>The loneliness had changed him, he knew. Not that he had once missed
-the nearness of mere people. Malenson felt himself above such a need.
-And there was the money in the hold to keep him company. More and more
-of his time was spent down there, fondling his wealth. The feel of the
-coins and the crisp irridium certificates more than made up for the
-solitude. Uncounted hours would slip by while he sat contentedly in
-the midst of his loot ... or was it days? Malenson had stopped trying
-to discover.</p>
-
-<p>The library had lost its appeal for him now. He had finished the
-majority of the books now, and strangely the reading tapes and
-recordings seemed to drag unbearably. It was getting so that he could
-hardly understand the mouthings that emanated from the speakers, and
-the vision screens were turgid masses of dark, muddy colors. Something,
-he decided, had gone wrong with the projection apparatus.</p>
-
-<p>The dawning of his tenth year in limbo was the occasion for a
-celebration. The statute of limitation was explicit in his particular
-form of larceny. It stated that should the case be unprosecuted for ten
-solar years, the crime was stricken from the records and an unequivocal
-pardon granted. Before Malenson's case, the law had never been evoked.
-But now at last the time was up. Malenson was free.</p>
-
-<p>He was only three years from Sol now, according to his estimate. He had
-been careful to allow for the seemingly reduced speed of the ship. But
-he was still unwilling to take any unnecessary chances. He realized
-that he could have made a considerable error in his timing. It was even
-possible, he reflected, that he was as much as a year off. Perhaps
-even two. So Malenson decided that having waited this long, he could
-wait yet a bit longer. He had become quite adapted to his artificial
-environment now, and another two or three years in space would be no
-great hardship. He set his course for the Centaurian System before
-heading for home. This slight detour would bring him into Sol's family
-at just the right time. Fifteen years, he calculated, from the time of
-his departure.</p>
-
-<p>That night ... or what passed for night in the timeless void ...
-Malenson celebrated his freedom.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Time slipped by in an endless, formless night. He began to notice that
-he was aging. The mirror in his stateroom showed lines and wrinkles in
-his face that had not been there when he fled Earth. He had been just
-forty when the flight began. He looked fifty three or four now, at
-least. It confirmed his computations. His timing was still right....</p>
-
-<p>It was a long time later that the Centaurian System slipped astern. He
-was in the infirmary at the time and did not even notice. Long solitude
-had dulled his perceptions. He was totally engrossed in the evidence of
-his thermometer. It registered a body temperature of 117.8. That wasn't
-possible, he knew. A man couldn't stand such a temperature. Yet he was
-perfectly well. The instrument, he decided, was faulty. He had not felt
-feverish since that first time long, long ago. He abandoned the sterile
-whiteness of the infirmary for the hold and the silent companionship of
-his money. He was happy there.</p>
-
-<p>The food was gone now, and though there was plenty of fuel in the
-tanks, the ship was nearing Sol. It had been many, many sleeps since
-Malenson had bothered to cut the drive for a position check. He sat
-contentedly with his money, oblivious to all else.</p>
-
-<p>But his ship was still a perfect machine. It arced down into the
-ecliptic plane, cutting the stellar drive automatically. The ship
-shifted smoothly into primary flight and spiralled in toward Earth.
-It set itself a stable orbit around the home planet and waited, alarm
-bells ringing.</p>
-
-<p>The Earth spread out into a green carpet under the slowly descending
-spaceship. Malenson sat stiffly in the control chair, eyes drinking in
-the forgotten beauty of his home world. The ship sank through a layer
-of fleecy clouds toward the spaceport. Buildings took shape out of the
-formless mass of the ground. Malenson frowned. Things looked just the
-same. One would have thought that changes would take place in fifteen
-years.</p>
-
-<p>He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass of the port. It
-angered him suddenly that the years should have been so sparing with
-Earth and so cruel to him. He had aged more than he thought.... He felt
-very tired....</p>
-
-<p>Very gently, the ship sank to a landing on the busy ramp. The
-generators sighed, and fell silent. Malenson smiled thinly. His timing
-was still good. He locked the hold carefully and made his way to the
-valve. The long unused mechanism worked smoothly and quickly. Malenson
-stepped out....</p>
-
-<p>A circle of resolute patrolmen surrounded him, hands on their weapons.
-He stared at them in stunned disbelief.</p>
-
-<p>A young inspector shouldered his way through the file. He spoke words
-that Malenson heard only dimly through the sudden roaring in his ears.</p>
-
-<p>"You are under arrest, Malenson," the inspector said shortly.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p><i>Subject: Report on Prisoner Malenson, File No. 8,697,032</i></p>
-
-<p><i>To: Wilton, Chief Penologist, Luna Criminal Detention Center</i></p>
-
-<p><i>From: Berry, Director North American Geriatrics Institute</i></p>
-
-<p><i>1. Transfer of subject prisoner to this institution is confirmed.</i></p>
-
-<p><i>2. Cursory examination reveals that the prisoner is a victim of
-acutely accelerated general metabolism.</i></p>
-
-<p><i>3. An interview with the prisoner reveals that he is firmly convinced
-that he recently spent a period of fifteen years in space, whereas
-port records conclusively prove that he was absent from Earth for a
-period of only twenty two months (Ref. N'york Sp. Log 2/890 Pages
-867,1098). His condition is perfectly suited to the experimental
-work now being conducted here, as I suspected. There is an excellent
-possibility that we may be able to correlate the clinical data of his
-case with our own hypotheses and so ascertain exactly to what extent
-senility is the product of psychological conditioning rather than
-chronological age as heretofore believed.</i></p>
-
-<p><i>4. Prognosis negative. In the case of Prisoner Malenson himself,
-we are unable to prescribe treatment. All efforts to retard his
-fantastically high metabolism rate have failed. His body temperature
-is now normal at 120.6&deg; Fahrenheit, and his pulse steady at
-140/minute. Definite indications of senescence are appearing. Symptoms
-of incipient ataxic aphasia have been detected.</i></p>
-
-<p><i>5. Death from advanced senility predicted within thirty days.</i></p>
-
-<p class="ph1"><i>Signed: Berry, NAGI Director.</i></p>
-
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