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                       Sphere of the Never-Dead

                             By SAM CARSON

             The Three Brains of Taval had spoken! Kenley
             must die! The cheerful youth from an earlier
          time-strata must enter Death-in-Life. Nothing less
         than a cosmic revolt could postpone his decreed fate.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Summer 1940.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The warm, night air whipped Bob Winslow's face as he crossed the
open space before Kerla Research, Inc., to the car where Jim Kenley,
his roommate and lifelong friend was waiting. A storm was roaring in
from the west, revealing the city's skyline at frequent intervals
silhouetted against a background of sheet lightning. Bob should have
been elated to the point of near explosion, over the news he could give
Jim. Bob was to be promoted for his achievements in polarization of
the newly discovered Decka light stream, and for his development of the
electronoscope that had given astronomy a new universe to explore.

Instead, Bob had a sixth sense of actual fear, as if something
invisible--invincible, was trailing him. Recently this feeling had
come, sometimes at night, arousing him abruptly, as if actually
touched. All today, and now tonight, the feeling grew that a Presence
was at hand. Small matter if he was to be director of Kerla Research,
Inc., at the age of twenty-six. Bob wondered if his nerves were shot.
Maybe, but he felt steady enough.

The car was at the curb and Jim, as far removed from a world of
scientific research as one could imagine, swung open the door. "Mean
storm coming," he called. "Must be hail in it. Let's scram for home. We
can listen in to that night ball game."

Water splashed Bob's face. He was thinking, as he crossed the pavement,
that Jim lived as much in the world of sports as he in the field of
scientific investigation. Jim Kenley worked hard as an auditor in
the daytime. Off duty, it might be football, horse racing, tennis or
baseball. He liked all of them, and could hardly wait for the score, or
result of a standout event. Perhaps that was why Bob liked Jim so well.

Bob was at the car as the first wave of rain and wind, broken into
needle point mist, obscured lights and broke over them. He saw that,
and then more. He saw Jim catapulted from the car as if pushed by
invisible hands. Then Bob felt himself gripped, and felt, not chill
rain, but absolute zero. It surely took no more time than the fraction
of a second, before he plunged into a white world--a world without
motion, without sound. But in that flicker of time fading so swiftly,
Bob saw men in strange raiment, at first opaque, then solidifying.
He saw, too, an elongated, golden red craft without wheels; and from
it emerged a tall man with a silver skull cap. After that--absolute
zero. It couldn't have been a point above. That was Bob's last
thought--absolute zero.



A tired sleeper arouses slowly, hovering between consciousness and
dreamland because the mind dreads taking over mastership of the body.
Such was the way Bob Winslow experienced his awakening. It was so
comfortable, to rouse slightly, then plunge back into soft, warm
slumber. At last voices disturbed his brain, and light beat against
closed lids. With a sigh Bob opened his eyes.

After one startled look Bob closed them briefly. He wasn't in his
room. He was in a strange place, a room with tinted, translucent walls
and concealed lights. The bed, sheet, everything about it, were odd.
Bob started to get up. Sharp pains streaked along arms and legs.
They passed and he tried it again. There was so much to take in: the
squat chairs of semi-transparent material, the room with a screen at
the farther end, flanked with metallic disks. The room itself, while
rectangular, had curved corners.

There was a peculiar scent in the room, pungent, yet not unpleasant. It
had an exhilarating effect. And Bob thought suddenly of Jim Kenley. He
had to laugh then, for Jim bounced up beside him, eyes wide. "Huh," he
said. "Tornado hit us? What sort of hospital is this?"

It came back to Bob--his departure from the laboratory building, to the
car as the storm bore down. Then the figures--and the machine! That
wasn't a dream. For Bob knew he was wide awake now, and this place
was real enough. "Maybe," he answered Jim. "I suppose it is a sort of
hospital. But where?"

"I'm hungry," Jim announced, yawning. "Ouch! Damned funny. Pains all
over. Like I'd been running ten miles. Sa-a-ay! Bob, I got hit out
of the car, and somebody piled ice on me. Hey--where the hell's my
clothes. Let's get out of this dump. Are there any nurses anywhere."

The disks across the room began to whir, without noise. Before either
could speak again, the screen began to send out a soft glow. Then a
figure materialized, that of a man, full sized, in a sort of garment
fitting like waist jacket and tight trousers, but in a single piece.
The man wore a helmet, chromium bright, and looked no more than forty.
Bob and Jim waited, the former fully aware that a tremendous change,
somehow, had come into their lives. As for Jim Kenley, he merely
grunted. "Movies. Gimme Mickey Mouse, or Popeye. T'hell with Flash
Gordon."

Then the figure on the screen spoke. His words didn't come from a
speaker. As certain as he believed his own eyes and ears, Bob realized
the man was actually talking to them, from this screen. "I perceive the
actinic frequency treatment has revived you," he said, rather amiably.
"Good. Did either of you experience muscular pains yet?"

"Say," Jim Kenley exclaimed, "what t'hell's it all about. Yeah, I got
pains. And why? Somebody slugged me, that's why.

"And if we're okay now, how about sending our clothes around, and no
bill. I didn't start it. And where are we anyway?"

The man on the screen frowned. "You are not Winslow. No?"

"I'm Jim Kenley. That's Bob. Say--any of you folks phone Bob's outfit
he got hurt or something?"

"No." The figure came nearer, growing in perspective. "I believe it is
time to inform you it would be somewhat difficult to notify anyone in
your period of time what happened. You are now existing in the year
3300."

The pit of Bob's stomach grew chill. Somehow, he had felt from the
moment of awakening, that he had left either his space, or his time
zone. It fit too well with that presentment, and the brief glimpse of
their kidnapers. And as his alert mind began to grasp their situation,
Bob went through panic. There were so many things he wanted to
complete, to eat, to see. There was a girl, not disturbing him yet, but
nevertheless in the background. There was his whole world, the one he
knew, and that was the world in which he wanted to live, and die. Bob's
curiosity wasn't to explore space. He wanted to better fellow men, and
gain information for them. He wondered if Jim could get the staggering
impact of this calm announcement of their fate.

Jim's reaction was typical. "Baloney. You gotta damned good act,
brother. And I don't know why you're rehearsing on us." Jim sprang out
of bed. "Come on, Bob. Let's get out of this booby hatch." In tight
fitting pajamas of strange fabric, he started around his bed. He struck
an object, bounded back. Whatever it was, Bob couldn't see it. As for
Jim, swearing, fists doubled, he charged. This time he went back and
struck the floor, turning a complete somersault.

The man on the screen chuckled. "Some take it easy. Some don't.
Winslow, I perceive you understand more readily, till you get a more
complete explanation. Good. Rest assured you shall get it. Now, if you
and your companion walk directly to this screen, I promise you entry to
your future quarters. Go there, put on clothing you will find, and wait
your summons to food."

Bob nodded. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"Granted this is the year 3300, give me a reason to believe you. A
fundamental one. I live in the Twentieth Century, in the year 1940. We
recognize the theory that time and space are relative, that the past
can still exist. But the future--"

The man's head nodded approvingly. "A sound question, Winslow. For
that request, I introduce myself. I am Vasper, assigned to instruct
you. Believe me when I say you actually are in the year 3300 and upon
the North American continent, in a region once known as Arkansas. So
much for that. You grasp the falseness of past time, balanced against
space. You understand dimly, I am certain--for it was shortly after
1940 that the Palonian theory of the spiral universe was developed from
previous ideas. Well, we know now that the same rule applied to time
and space without beginning, has no final boundary. Thus, if there is
no beginning, there is no end. If past time and space zones exist, then
so must future time and space zones exist. We have proved that very
definitely, in your case. I must go now," Vasper added quickly. He
smiled, eyes flicking to the dazed Jim Kenley struggling to his feet.
"The barrier is gone now. We put it up, for unbelievers. Walk into the
screen. I shall visit you there, within the hour."



The disks ceased whirling. The screen faded to flat white, and
Jim Kenley leaned against his bed, mumbling. "A nut," he said.
"A goof, with the baseball season coming on--and the Belmont
Stakes--and--everything. And my job--a bonus if I finished by the first
of the month!"

Bob went across to his friend. He felt sick, shaky. The impact of
Vasper's revelation was sufficient to daze any man, Bob felt. Now he
patted Jim's shoulder. "Then we're two nuts, Jim.

"We're in something, too big to grasp all at once. I'll stick by you,
Jim. Come on, let's do what--what Vasper said."

Jim looked long and searchingly at Bob. He gripped his hand. "I'm
dumb," he said slowly. "Yeah, I saw men, and a funny looking thing like
a gold tank--before they jumped us."

"I saw it, too, Jim."

"Then--then we're really somewhere else." Jim shuddered, then
straightened his body. "Okay Bob. I'll try and take it, if I don't go
nuts. We walk into the screen, huh? Boy--if that isn't hot. Walking
into screens over a thousand years ahead of your time--or is it after."

Still bewildered, the two walked slowly to the screen, kept on as
the disks sprang into life again. Bob flinched involuntarily, but he
felt no obstacle. They just walked through the screen as if it were
a shadow, and they were in a smaller room, with beds similar to the
ones they had vacated. There was a screen, much smaller, and chairs of
translucent, blue substance. The ceiling was low and glowed faintly,
as if reflecting daylight. But there were no windows. Jim walked to a
door, and it swung open of itself. "Huh. Kind of an electric eye. Hey,
look. Monkey suits."

There was clothing, and the metal helmets like Vasper wore. Bob rubbed
his chin. "Well, we might as well try 'em on."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "But if anybody else I know sees me, I'll be ribbed
for life. Say, that's the funniest stuff. Soft as velvet, but thick. Oh
well--"

They got into everything but the helmets. "Now what," Jim wondered,
handling the headpiece. "Lighter'n aluminum. And it's got earphones, or
something. See."

"Put them on," a voice suggested behind them. Turning, they saw Vasper
as he stepped casually through the screen. He was a six footer, built
like a halfback, with ruddy hair and blue eyes. "We must all wear them
in Taval."

"Why?" Jim demanded bluntly.

"Why? For instructions from The Three, of course. They are our leaders
and no man may be out of their reach."

At a nod from Bob, Jim slipped on the featherweight headgear. Bob found
it didn't interfere with ordinary conversation. Vasper regarded them,
smiling. "I know how you feel," he said. "My special task covers your
century. That's why I speak your language so well. All Taval speaks
English, with variations, for we are descendants of North American
peoples. But first, you are to go with me to the Twentieth Century
dining-room." He led the way to the screen. By now Bob wasn't surprised
at entering a room with a familiar look. It was a restaurant, with a
white coated waiter, and the smell of steaming foods. "Boy," Jim cried.
"I could eat a four-inch steak smothered with onions. And coffee--smell
it Bob. Just smell."

Bob felt like an animal, was conscious of a hunger he had never
possessed before. Obviously Jim was in the same mood, for he fairly
yanked a bowl of soup from the waiter's grasp. And there was steak,
juicy and appetizing. There was bread, coffee, vegetables and even pie.
And as they ate, Vasper sat there, smiling as if very much pleased.
At last both men knew they were filled. Jim sighed, reached dreamily
for a cigarette. "Anyway," he reflected, "it's worth this namby pamby
business--a feed like that. Okay, Vasper--let's hear details."

Vasper got up. "I've warned you sufficiently," he said. "I think
perhaps I had better take you outside. To see Taval."

"That the name of your city?" Jim inquired, winking at Bob. "How far is
it from our home?"

"A few hundred miles," Vasper answered. "And more than a thousand
years, this way--"



They walked into the inevitable screen Vasper indicated, and at once
found themselves in a green world, almost jungle-like in appearance,
with what appeared to be a mist overhead concealing the sun. There
were buildings, all domed and apparently resting upon queer looking
cushions. There were paths through trees, palms, hardwood, all sorts
of flowers and shrubs, but no streets. Through the foliage people were
moving leisurely, but not in profusion.

"What's this, a park?" Jim asked.

"Taval," Vasper answered. It was then Bob, drawn by curiosity, began
to study the sky. It wasn't blue, but ashy gray. Then he exclaimed,
peering more closely. "Why--we're under a great dome--a mile-high one,"
he cried.

Vasper nodded, smiling. "That's right. Taval--one of the domed cities.
There are others--many. All of the Brotherhood."

Jim found a bench nearby, sat down. "One story houses on cushions. With
funny round tops. No streets. Everything under glass, or something. My
good gosh, and encore. Why did I ever leave home, or did I?"

Bob joined him. He was excited, and yet strongly moved. His keen,
scientific mind told him thousands of problems had been solved here in
Taval, that Vasper surely was right about the time element. It would
take time to grasp all this. And it was too soon to puzzle why he and
Jim had been brought here. Now he forced a smile. "Suppose," he said,
"you tell us, in a general way, what it's all about."

Vasper sat down between them, while Jim fumbled for another cigarette.
"Who'll win the World Series?" he muttered. "The Yanks, of course.
But--and there's Placer in the Belmont, smacking 'em over in the Derby
the other day. Placer against Agate Second! What a race. And Tennessee
and Southern Cal--and Texas A & M. Will they be out in front this fall?
Goshamighty. It happened a thousand odd years ago, all this. And I
dunno how it came out. I--" Jim's mouth opened. He slapped his knee.
"Great day, Bob. Suppose I could check up on all the Derbies, and World
Series, and Bowl games for ten years, and got back. Wouldn't I rake in
the dough. Say, that's an idea?"

"There is no money in Taval," Vasper said quietly. "You do your task
and you are cared for." He turned to Bob. "We are Americans in Taval.
At least," he added, "the descendants of your stock. The machine age
you created with the United States as the driving force, eventually
brought chaos. That and natural disasters. We had few survivors in the
world, by comparison. And then there came Taval, for whom this city is
named. He discovered the key that divorced time and space--"

"He did," Bob broke in excitedly. "How? We were working on the theory
of overtaking time--by spiraling our speed."

Vasper nodded. "Yes, that resulted, of course, in the two adventures
to our satellite you called the moon. They were disastrous because
you were ignorant of ether frequencies at the upper end of the cosmic
ray band. But you cannot overtake space by the spiral theory. Always
there would be fractional time, and, therefore, you're always bound by
ordinary dimensions."

"One million--two million--ten million, as Amos would say," Jim Kenley
put in. "How clear you are, Grandma."

"Shut up," Bob told him. "Then how did Taval work his theory, Vasper?
That screen--is it a kind of fourth-dimensional business?"

"It is. But that was worked out later, by a group of his pupils. We
use the same base idea of Taval's, as he perfected it back in 2800.
Discarding time to overtake, or unwind space as you might define it, he
chose to search for a physical way of stopping motion--"

"I've got it," Bob cried, leaping to his feet. "It came to me--the
night--the night of the storm--absolute zero! That's it! Absolute zero
to stop motion, and therefore, eliminate time and space!"

"Sit down," Jim advised. "I'm Napoleon and you're Little Caesar.
Remember? And tomorrow's Mayday.... Absolute zero, huh? Well, I said I
felt like I was in a chunk of ice that night."

"But this screen affair," Bob put in. "It--it's different."

"Our method of transportation entirely," Vasper affirmed. "Yes, we
need no streets. No walks, save for exercise. Throughout Taval there
are outdoor screens, for convenience. Winslow, I said Taval's idea is
unchanged. It is, although refined. You were right about your absolute
zero. We came to you that way. In the only machine we employ today,
save for the manufacture of the skydome, and our laboratory equipment.
With absolute zero stopping motion, there is neither time nor space.
You know that. Well, the first contact, creating new motion, brings one
to the time in which he is revived."

"Freezing like that would kill anybody," Jim protested. "It breaks up
tissue."

"You and Winslow suffered all stoppage of motion in approximately
one-two millionth of a second, my skeptical friend. We brought you to
the portable laboratory, kept you in suspended animation for ten days,
then revived you in another fraction as short as the means we took
possession of your bodies."

"How long did the process last?" Bob asked.

"It was exactly thirty days since you reached Taval."



Jim whistled. "No wonder I was hungry. Thirty days."

"We injected fluids," Vasper told him. "You see, Kenley, we assimilate
food here now chiefly in liquid form. Now the screen--we have reduced
a margin of absolute zero between the walls of the screen, to a width
that your obsolete measuring system cannot cover. The screen itself is
not a physical wall. It is--well, unspatial. That is too advanced for
either of you to grasp now. It is sufficient to explain that you touch
the absolute zero wall, and are revived, all so instantaneously, that
you are not conscious of the change. And in that transition, you reach
any destination you head for."

"Simple," Jim groaned. "So very, very simple. Okay, and I thought
Aladdin--or whoever he was, just happened to be a myth." Jim studied
Vasper thoughtfully. "And now, my good friend, why are we here?"

"You," Vasper announced, "are here because of your friend Winslow.
We are few, and we need brains, and fit bodies. Winslow has both. We
search the back centuries constantly for men--and women. Men with
brains to keep our race, and our world existing. We placed the skydome
over all our cities because the sun will cool for a thousand years. We
have learned that and must start now, to keep our plant and animal life
from perishing, till the cycle ends and the earth grows hot again. You,
Jim Kenley, were brought along because you are Winslow's friend, and
your company will be of advantage while he adjusts himself to what must
be an amazing change in his career."

"A master work of understatement," Bob observed. "Maybe I was serving
my time to better purpose. It was all I wanted to do. Do you think I'm
ever to be happy here?"

"What sort of ball clubs do you have?" Jim fired at Vasper. "I'll bet
there's not even a golf club."

Vasper laughed. "You're due for some surprises, Kenley."

For Bob Winslow, there followed hours that intrigued him. Only here
and there did he meet Taval residents. Vasper explained that by going
directly from point to point, that there was no traffic, that all duty
hours were staggered because Taval at night, was as well illuminated
as by day. The chief plants were operated by robot workers, who could
reproduce their kind in other factories. "Taval, like our other cities,
now needs only brains," Vasper went on. "We maintain sports here to
keep our bodies fit." As he spoke, Vasper undid a tiny container
hanging to one shoulder, extracted a handful of tiny pellets and
swallowed them. At Bob's look of curiosity he smiled. "Energy," he
said. "But we use more fluid food than these. Come, while I take you
to The Three, your companion is at liberty to go across there to the
stadium of sports."

"I'd like to see that too," Bob said. Vasper nodded. He pointed to an
outside screen. They entered it and found themselves in a great open
air arena. Upon the grass-mantled field a game was in progress, not
unlike basketball. Farther away, a group of young women, the first
Bob had seen, clad in trunks like any miss of the Twentieth Century,
engaged in a game, somewhat like tennis, save that the ball was
larger and a dozen took part in each court. Youths were jogging along
a circular track, and in the distance was a narrow, but rather long
swimming pool. The arena itself, was double the size of any Bob had
ever seen before. "I think," Vasper observed, "that should interest
Kenley. And now, if you have been listening carefully, there comes an
order for us."

Bob heard it now, a voice speaking slowly, some of the words not
recognizable. The speaker had no accent. Vasper was watching Bob. "The
language has changed," he explained. "That was Fator, the senior of
Taval's Three. He must examine you, assign you your future duties."

"Future duties!"

"Of course. Why else did The Three send for you out of time? Your
brain is needed, if we prepare to save the world in the centuries to
come. There are others we are summoning, if we had more apparatus.
Unfortunately, certain elements are scarce, and we have but one--the
one in which they brought you here." So speaking, Vasper led the way to
another screen.



Somehow, Bob had expected to find an aged, bearded man. Instead, Fator,
senior of The Three looked no more than sixty, was clean shaven and his
hair was hardly gray. He was at a desk, in a room minus windows, and
very similar to the other interiors Bob had already seen here. Fator
had his hands upon an inclosed cylinder which gave forth a whirring
sound. He wore a look of deep concentration, and Vasper motioned for
silence till the cylinder ceased whirring. Then Fator rose, walked
across the room and held out a hand.

"I bid you welcome to Taval, Winslow," he spoke slowly, in his stilted
manner. "You will find more--more sympathy here, than in your time.
More than you had in your own research laboratory."

"Why--you know about that?"

Fator nodded, cold gray eyes flicking over Bob's body. "I notice
you are well kept. Splendid. You shall have the same food as you
are accustomed to, sir. Your duties are to be with an advanced
group--charting our universe--as we reach the Peltior Dark."

Bob stared. "The Peltior Dark," Fator explained, "is as visible now as
the so-called--Oh yes, the Milky Way was in your century. We are going
to strike it in three hundred and twenty nine years."

"We charted the dark regions with the iconoscope," Bob put in eagerly.
"Till then, our astronomers, working with glass scopes, had only a
vague idea."

"Still," Fator told him, "our speed toward the first of these abysmal
regions accelerated in the last two centuries. Our sun first will
expand, then contract. Now you see what we are preparing for."

Bob smiled. "But we'll be gone sir, before this happens."

Fator's smile was enigmatic. "Perhaps--not. For some of us. I trust you
are reconciled, Winslow. You cannot go back. Otherwise, you are as free
as any resident of Taval. You must remain inside the dome, unless it is
directed otherwise. Our sun is two degrees colder today, and ice covers
the northern hemisphere outside. You could not escape, but I hardly
have to warn you. There are plenty of matters to interest you in our
midst. You are that type. As for your companion--"

"Kenley's a sensible chap," Bob cut in. "True, he lives for sports.
But he is an excellent auditor--I mean," he floundered, "good at
calculation and all that."

"We have machines for that, in our cities," Fator replied. And the way
he said it, made Bob feel a tiny cold shudder.

Fator closed the interview with the word that he--Bob Winslow, would be
answerable to the Senior of Taval's ruling Three. He further said that
Vasper would continue as his instructor for the present. Then, with a
nod, he turned back to his cylinder. It was whirring as Bob and Vasper
stepped into the screen.

They emerged within the sports arena again, and Bob noted Jim, watching
the games. Then he thought of Fator's cylinder. "That?" Vasper replied
in answer to a question. "He was dictating. We use a system--phonetic.
The fingers of both hands control Taval rays and thereby, the phonetic
words. Fator is writing a story of Taval, or rather, bringing the
history up to date, with a plan for his successor to carry on. That
is," Vasper added, "if he doesn't carry on himself."

"What do you mean?" Bob demanded. "You haven't discovered immortality!"

Vasper shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. But--well, there are
whispers. It would be death to mention it openly, what I have heard. Do
not ask me. But in time, listen to the whispers."

Jim Kenley trotted across the great field, looking more cheerful. "Say,
I told 'em about baseball and they're willing to take a crack at it.
And that tennis business the gals have is red hot. Some swell looking
kids around here. Hey Vasper--they ever marry in Taval?"

"If The Three decrees, yes. Otherwise, no."

Jim's face dropped. "Heck, just as I had a redhead squinting at me in
that way. Oh well, when I wake up she'll be gone, and I'll probably
find I'm fired for this spree. Where to now, friend Vasper."



For days they examined Taval, learned that it took in far more
territory than they had imagined. They visited the vat farms, where
giant plants grew, blossomed and produced heat in the matter of days,
fed by chemicals directly to the roots.

They visited factories, where food was prepared as concentrates, where
plastics from elements and vegetable tissue were compounded, all by
other machines, not at all like Bob's conception of robots. Indeed,
a lot of machines were operated by tiny mechanisms, all lens and
coils, capable of being carried around by hand. The Taval ray, Bob
learned, was a development starting with the so-called electric eye
of the Twentieth Century. And it didn't take him long to recognize
many fundamentals created by earlier Americans. Then it was he who
came to recognize others, brought into Taval as he. Vasper showed him
a stout, slow-moving person called Miller, who had ridden on Fulton's
Clermont. Miller was a chemist. And there was a slight figure out of
the Twenty Second Century, Gregg by name. He was worrying about the
First World Confederacy threatened with breakup when he was removed to
Taval. Gregg, Vasper explained, had one of the finest of new minds, and
was engaged in sinking shafts into the earth's core, to obtain heat
for Taval. As for Jim, he had taken up with a group of young fellows,
all of athletic build, and all, strangely enough, imported in recent
months. Jim mentioned a boxer, who fought in England while Jackson
was President; of a runner who broke the mile record in 1995, and of
an Olympic star winning his awards at the turn of the Twenty First
century. It amused Bob that Jim appeared to fit in so quickly. Already,
by one means or other, Jim actually had organized a baseball team,
and was considering bowling. "Too bad they ain't got race horses," he
complained to his friend. "They tell me there's one section, south of
Taval, that's clean given over to cows and hogs and horses. Funny."

"Heard anything about your duties?" Bob inquired.

"Nope. Got hauled up before your friend Fator the other day. He just
asked me if I enjoyed my meals, and minded taking part in the sports.
Asked if I'd ever been sick, or had any ailments, and they typed my
blood, and a lot of other things."

At Bob's look, Jim laughed, shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, they're doing
the same thing to the other fellows. And say, Bob. Soon as I get
acclimated, Vasper says, they want me to live at the stadium, with the
other beef eaters."

Bob didn't know why, but he had a premonition then, of some menace
directed at Jim and his friends. But he was about to be taken to his
group, and Bob felt a growing excitement at the prospect. He couldn't
help that, for Taval, scientifically speaking, was a treasure house for
any man of Bob's type. Vasper told him he should feel proud, in that he
was the only newcomer, other than an actual native of Taval, to join
this advanced group.

The day Bob heard Fator's voice over the headphones, summoning him
to face the screen, Bob's pulse was racing. Fator did him the honor
of standing before his desk as he spoke. "I am addressing the other
members of the advanced group," he said. "Winslow is to join you now.
Instruct him faithfully, and remember he has so much to study, before
he can be of value to you, and Taval. Come forward, Winslow, and join
your group."

As Fator vanished, Bob turned, gripped Vasper's hand. The latter looked
sad. "Now I must go back--for another," he whispered. "Good luck--Bob."

He was due for a surprise, to find the advanced group atop the great
dome, living in translucent quarters, a mile above Taval. There he
met Kalen and Forg, the two scientists in charge. He was shown the
rayscopes, that literally crawled along light waves, to annihilate time
and bring before the human eye universes a billion light years away.
There too, he studied the black wastes of Peltior Dark, and saw the
spectograms that revealed the choking gas areas through which they must
pass.



There was so much to learn, so much already learned, that Bob Winslow
forgot ordinary hours. The phonetic language wasn't difficult. He spent
his allotted hours in the library, and both Forg and Kalen, men high in
years, yet with agile minds were patient in revealing discoveries some
of them already centuries old. They told him that the entire universe
would suffer, and they were gambling upon a chance to survive such
intense cold passing through Peltior Dark, that the atmosphere would
thaw inside five centuries. After that, they had concluded, provided
there were no changes in the solar system, the sun would resume its
natural sphere.

"Is there a way of traveling ahead as I have come," Bob asked. "So that
we might learn our fate?"

Forg looked at Bob thoughtfully. "We have been afraid--of utter
destruction," he said finally. "In that case, we could not return. But
if someone bold enough to make the venture tried it--" He broke off.
Bob knew Forg was thinking of him. All right, he concluded. And even
then, the germ of an idea was born in his mind.

At the end of the first month, Fator summoned him again. He was pleased
with Bob's progress. It was even more than they had expected. He asked
about Bob's health, then smiled. "I believe a rest period would benefit
you," he said. "You may find your friend Kenley and spend five days--as
you wish."

"Could Vasper share the rest period with me?" Bob inquired.

"Yes. I shall advise him. He has been back to your century. He delayed,
for your benefit. You shall learn, upon seeing him."

Vasper had brought back two more young men. Likewise, he had some
magazines and newspapers. He delivered these in Jim's presence and the
latter grabbed for the sports pages. Bob picked up his choice paper.
There was a headline, and pictures.

                    THREE DEAD, 47 HURT IN TORNADO

Bob saw pictures of twisted buildings, wreckage, littering streets. The
entire downtown section of his home city had suffered. Kerla Research
structures had been particularly hard hit. And there, at the bottom of
the page, was his own photograph.

YOUNG DIRECTOR OF KERLA RESEARCH LOST, read the caption.

Many bodies were still buried in debris, Bob read, and it was assumed
Bob had met such a fate. Jim interrupted. "Sa-a-ay. The Cincy Reds
are coming right back. Can you tie that? And the Cards--sa-a-ay. The
Nationals will be all tied up again this year. And--" Jim crushed the
paper, tossed it away. He got up, face pale.

Bob laid his paper aside, walked over and patted Jim's shoulder. "They
said it was a tornado, just as we got kidnaped, Jim. I'm supposed to be
killed. And maybe you. We'll have to forget it, Jim."

"I wish to hell Vasper hadn't stopped on his way back. Or--that's the
particular hell of it. Vasper going back. And coming just like coming
home on the bus. And look at us. Look at us. Now I want to get back.
Back home. To hell with this--all of it."

"Hush Jim. Shut up." Vasper looked sorry. He shook his head. "I
thought I was doing you a favor," he apologized. "To tell the truth,
I had never seen such a storm, and I wanted to know how--how intense
it was myself. We--we almost gave up taking you back because of the
disturbance."

"I wish it had blown you to the year 50,000," Jim said bitterly. "Now
I'm thinking of Yanks and Reds and Cubs, and football and racing,
and--of everything."

Vasper removed his headgear as Jim sauntered into another room. He
motioned for Bob to do the same thing. In wonder, Bob obeyed. Watching
the screen constantly, Vasper drew nearer. "Did you hear--whispers?" he
asked anxiously. Bob shook his head.

Vasper hesitated. Then, "I like your friend Jim. Many young men do. But
he is doomed."

"What!"

"Not so loud," Vasper said in lower tones. "Jim Kenley is doomed,
unless some way is found. The young men are afraid, as more like
Jim--with strong bodies and no great brains, are being brought here."

"Go on," Bob answered. "I betray no secrets. What do you mean?"

"Bodies are plentiful, but brains are not. Bodies can die, but brains
must survive. The Three have decided that."

Ice raked across Bob's heart. "So what?"

"At last they know--how to transfer the mind from body to body. Now, do
you understand?" Quickly Vasper slipped on his headgear. Bob imitated
his action mechanically. They were not a moment too soon, for a figure
passed across the screen, bearing an apparatus resembling a miniature
camera. It vanished. Vasper nodded. "Room inspector. He records
everything as he goes across the screen." And now Jim returned. Vasper
suggested going outside. Bob remained in the room. He wanted to think.



Vasper had taken a real chance to get this information to him. Now he
understood why Jim was removed to the stadium barracks. Taval's rulers
had stumbled upon something, more important probably than all other
findings. Brain transference! Old men gaining immortality! Young men
doomed, to premature senility, then death! And Jim among them. Bob felt
sick now.

There must be a way out. Bob felt his debt to Vasper, for undoubtedly
the latter knew more than he had revealed. Now a chance remark of
Forg's made recently bobbed up in Bob Winslow's mind. "We won't have
to worry about leaving our work undone." That was what Forg had said.
It tied in with another comment by one of the advance group, who
vouchsafed the information to Bob that there would be few additions to
their division.

Jim returned at that moment. He started talking about organizing two
baseball nines. "Calling 'em the Yanks and Cubs," he laughed. "Say
Vasper--where you going?"

Vasper had been listening intently, obviously to a message over his
headphone. He whirled, raced toward the screen and vanished. "Can you
tie that," Jim exclaimed. "He's a funny duck. But a good scout, Bob. I
mean, like us. He--"

Two men materialized on the screen. They stepped into the room.
Addressing Jim, one, a swarthy, wide-shouldered man spoke. "You are to
come with us."

"Me? I'm suppose to be on leave."

"I had permission for him to join me," Bob put in.

The swarthy one looked at Bob. "I have orders," he said slowly.

Jim swore, looked thoughtful, then shrugged his shoulders. "In this
place, they don't fool with you," he mused. "Okay. See you later, Bob."

Panic gripped Bob. Vasper hadn't skipped out because of his own orders.
Somebody had tipped him off. "Wait a minute," he addressed the men.
"Maybe I can straighten this out. Fator--"

"We are under Fator's orders."

Jim looked pale. "Keep a stiff upper lip, Bob. I know more than you
thought. See you later--if you won't recognize me--"

For quite a while Bob Winslow paced the room like a caged animal. Jim
did know something. Maybe Vasper had told him, too. Maybe a lot of
young men in Taval were whispering the dread news around, helpless yet,
hoping for some sort of break to check this menace. It was some time
later when Vasper entered the room, caught Bob's eyes with a motion
for silence, beckoning him at the same time. Curious, Bob came to him.
Vasper held out his hand, pointing to the screen.

They entered a small room, not well lighted. It had no occupants. That
is, not till Vasper removed his headgear, as did Bob. The room had a
false front, painted to resemble walls and furnishings. Two young men
were in the semi darkness behind the false wall.

"Godi and Lelan," Vasper whispered. "They have arranged this room, once
a guard room and forgotten. They have knowledge."

"About what? Why they came for Jim?"

"Yes," said the one known as Godi. "Lelan and I are sons of men near
The Three. We know Fator has learned brain transference and plans to
experiment, first with Forg, of your own group."

"When?"

"Within the hour. That is why he sent for Jim Kenley."

Bob looked at the three, all sober faced, rebellious. "You like Jim,"
he suggested.

"He is--swell," Godi put in. "That is his word for things he likes.
Fator has no right to take any of our bodies, for housing brains of old
men."

"But we are helpless," Lelan sighed. "Godi and I, like others born of
Taval families, are safe. But the Jim Kenleys brought out of time--they
must suffer. It is not right. When I am old I am ready to die."

Vasper nodded. "I do not want to go back, and take men of my age, for
such purposes. It's murder, no less. We do not believe in murder, here
in Taval."

Fator! He had appeared so benevolent. He was a brilliant man. Bob could
understand in a way. Fator was ambitious for his period of stewardship,
to reach all the goals he had set. And he could live himself, through
his brain, till he had gained those objectives. And Forg! Jim's body
and Forg's brain, toiling at his own side in the years to come. Bob
shuddered. But what to do? If the experiment was so nearly at hand--



Yes, there was a chance. It came to Bob in a wave of inspiration. It
was a chance that had about as long odds as his own at returning to
1940. The single, time-space transfer machine! If it could be called
a machine. Vasper should know of it. He had made so many trips. Now he
met his Taval friend's troubled eyes. "The machine," he whispered.

Vasper looked scared. "No. One dies attempting to even touch it, except
at Fator's orders. It is a sacred trust of a hundred men. To try and
reach it means you would be exploded, into sheer gas."

"But if Fator gave an order," Bob went on, "what then?"

Vasper shrugged his shoulders. "Obedience, of course. But Fator will
not give such an order."

Godi plucked Bob's arm. "I think I understand," he spoke quietly. "If
such an order was given. In Fator's place, I mean. Then one would die,
but perhaps you could gain the machine."

"True, Godi. But the only little item lacking, is how to give that
order, and then keep Fator from canceling it."

"I think I could attend to that," Lelan put in. "My duties are in the
rooms of The Three. I know that the other two are sick old men, and
Fator alone directs us. I know his directing room, from where all
his orders originate. In fact, I go in and out at will, because I am
responsible for all equipment."

Bob looked at Vasper. "Where would this experiment be held--Forg's, and
Jim--"

"I do not know, unless it be in Fator's rooms. Again, it might be
somewhere else. Fator has a secret workroom."

Bob sank to a stool, mind going over the picture. Presently he looked
up at Lelan. "If we left here at precisely the same moment, you to the
directing room, Vasper and I to where I could be near the time-space
transfer machine, I'm willing to, well, make a try and get in the
machine. But Vasper, or someone must tell me what to do."

"That is impossible," Vasper told him. "However I can operate
everything. Winslow, I wish to go with you and Jim. Back to your 1940."

"But they'd come and get us--I mean you in particular."

Vasper smiled. "There is one way, my friend, they cannot reach us. We
keep the machine. But before that, we take Fator along, to drop into
another time. Then there will be no brains transferred, and there will
be no new machine, for many, many years. I know. This one took fifty
years of construction."

"We might fail," Bob muttered. He looked at Godi and Lelan. Godi spoke
up. "I have heard whispers of Fator's secret workroom. Maybe I can find
it, if you fail otherwise. I leave now." He turned, pressed Lelan's
hand. "We do this for Jim Kenley, one--one swell sportsman," he said,
then hurried around the false wall.



They stood there for minutes, the remaining three, whispering final
details, Bob felt alternate hot and cold chills now, as he realized
his own end, should they fail. Or Lelan fail. Lelan assured them he
would not fail. "You shall have the orders before the count of ten," he
swore. "The guard will fall back and admit you."

They walked around the false wall, toward the screen. Then the trio
stiffened. A room inspector, his tiny apparatus turned their way, was
visible. Now he entered boldly. "What's this," he demanded. "This
place--you three--unauthorized here!" He pressed the side of his
apparatus and a pale light flickered. Vasper and Lelan leaped together,
struck the room inspector, all three crashing to the floor. Vasper got
up first. He snatched a plastic chair, brought it down on the man's
head. Lelan was jumping up and down. "The alarm's given. We've got
seconds, at the most. Now--now--we've got a chance--"

Lelan went through the screen first. Then Vasper grasped Bob's hand.
"Just go with me," he cried. "Don't think where you're headed." They
came into a large, domed structure, and Bob saw it--the golden hued,
snubnosed machine, looking more like a submarine than anything else.
Guards were tumbling out of screens. They bore slender, black wands.
But already Bob knew those wands could blast any known substance, at
almost any distance. The men formed a circle about the machine, and
wands were leveled at the pair. "If Lelan fails--we're gone," Vasper
cried. "They have orders to kill--anyone. Unless the word comes."

They were a hundred feet from the machine, before the largest screen.
It was hopeless to rush the men. For even if Vasper could get inside
the machine, they would be gas instead of humans before sprinting
twenty feet. It was tempting to wheel and dash back through the screen.
And yet the alarm surely was out now, and it wouldn't take long to
identify the guilty. Then it was that Vasper cried out. "Look. They've
made no move. They have the order from Lelan."

Not a guard moved, true, but the wands were still leveled. And now
Vasper strode forward. Bob's knees felt weak, but he followed. Panic
was upon him, so much that he felt an almost overwhelming urge to dash
for the machine. As for Vasper, he spoke no word. It was evident the
guards were dumbfounded, still suspicious, but powerless for the moment
to halt them. And Vasper reached up, moved a hand and a door slid open.
The pair entered.

Already the men outside were in motion. As one a half hundred rushed
toward the door. But Vasper had it closed. "Lelan's in trouble," he
called, running forward to a turret. "Hang on. We're going to Fator's
quarters--to his entrance hall."



The domed ceiling melted. In one continuous motion they seemed to blend
into another building, beneath another dome, more brightly lighted.
There were men, guards, but Vasper groaned. "Fator is not here," he
shouted.

Bob was conscious of a voice sounding in his earphone. It
was high pitched, insistent. "Tell Vasper--my legs are gone.
Fator--Stadium--underneath--" Lelan's voice died in a great sigh. Bob
pictured the onrush of guards, blasting their friend's body bit by bit
into gas. Bob shouted the words to Vasper, who nodded. They made the
arena field first, and there was Godi, racing toward them and pointing
toward the tower overlooking the stadium entrance. Then Godi reached
the tower, pointed downward.

Even as Godi pointed vigorously into the earth, he seemed to swell, to
grow abruptly, into a white cloud that became mist. Guards were coming
across the field. Vasper circled the machine above the dissolving mist.
Then, with an air of decision, he pointed the machine earthward.

This was no sudden transition by means of fourth-dimensional powers.
The machine struck, and they became the center of an exploding mass of
soil and masonry. And as quickly, they dived into a great, underground
chamber.

There, visible to the invaders, was Fator. There were two beds, side by
side. One held Jim Kenley, bared to the waist. Forg was stretched upon
the other. Fator had his hands upraised, and Vasper got down, ran to
the exit and waved his hand. "You take Fator. I'll take care of Jim,"
he called. Bob was outside as quickly. He realized the chance they must
take now. Let the screens pour in a horde of guards and the machine's
security for them would vanish. Fator was fumbling for a wand. It had
fallen to the floor. Now Fator was bent over, hand outstretched. Bob
made a dive. He struck the director of Taval, sent him beyond reach.

Vasper was racing toward the machine with Jim's body. Forg made feeble
efforts to raise as Bob, the death wand in his possession, grabbed
Fator's arm. "Get up," he snarled. "You kill no buddy of mine, for his
body. Get up, or I'll blow you out of Taval."

Fator wasn't calm now. He looked wolfish, screaming curses, clawing for
the wand. He resisted, and Bob started dragging him. And now men did
pour forth from screens, wands before them. "Blast him," Fator shouted.
"Quick--"

Bob yanked Fator around, holding him as a screen. He held the wand
before him. "Okay," he said. "Let's start."

It was a bluff. Vasper shouted encouragement. But Fator fought, and
almost pulled away, while guards circled at a safe distance, hesitating
to attack. They followed, till Bob was below the machine entrance. It
was a three-foot climb, and Fator himself laughed. "When he turns to
push me in, use the ray," he ordered.

Bob stood there. He was stymied. He heard Vasper talking. He must be
talking to Jim. Then Bob felt a hand. "Jim's coming around," he said.
"Hold tight when we pull." Hands slid under both shoulders. Fator let
out a scream of sheer terror now, and both Jim and Vasper tugged.
Guards ran toward them. Vasper calmly snatched Bob's wand. He made a
quick flip and the room became a cloud of white mist. Then, as he and
Jim pulled Bob and Fator inside, Vasper closed the door and jumped
for the control turret. Fator was still struggling, but Bob and Jim
held to him, as Vasper directed. Up through the earth they roared and
the stadium field was in bold relief, for one brief moment. It was
Bob's last glimpse of Taval. For the roaring increased, and the ports
admitted a nightmare of flashing, ever-changing lights, coupled with
deepest darkness. Then the roaring stopped. The lights slowed. Motion
ceased; Vasper climbed down, stared at Fator thoughtfully. "Your brain
can hunt a body--in the Sixth Century," he said.



Bob saw green fields, the ocean in the distance, blue and dotted with
sails. They were atop a hill, and vineyards stretched downward, to
a city at the water's edge. Fator stared, then nodded. "I was too
ambitious," he sighed. "Too ambitious." He stepped down, without
a backward look. Vasper closed the door, and when he reached the
controls, the roaring, and the succession of shifting colored lights,
like tinted lightning, recommenced. Bob had no idea how long it took
them. Jim, looking pale, suddenly woke up fully. "Gosh," he shouted. "I
wish we could go back, for a while," he called.

"Why?" Bob wanted to know.

"Why--right away my Yanks and Cubs were to tangle for a five-game
series, and Lelan's to pitch for the Cubs."

Bob looked at Vasper, who smiled sadly, shook his head. Bob didn't
explain what had happened to Lelan, who had given his life for this
friend from the Twentieth Century. Then the machine jolted to earth.
It was night outside. Vasper opened the door, extended his hand. "That
glow is your home city," he said. "You have been away exactly sixty-one
days, my friends. Perhaps you can explain that both were taken to
hospitals out of the city during the excitement, after the great storm,
and your identities were lost, due to great stress."

Bob nodded. "Yes, that can be explained. We'll arrange that, Vasper.
But now, the problem is--well, you. Come and live with us. We'll make
it up, for all this."

But Vasper shook his head. "No. I would be difficult to explain,
perhaps. Or at least, my conveyance, eh?" He smiled.

"But you can't go back to Taval," Jim protested. "You've broken a half
dozen laws, and swiped their precious machine."

"True. I doubt I could ever return," Vasper affirmed. He sighed. "I've
been something I regret now. Very much. But life has its compensations,
Bob and Jim. Perhaps I would have kept right on, kidnaping, as you
say, to bolster up our civilization. But Fator's discovery--that made
the difference. It is possible there might be a revolt in Taval. I can
discover that, by visiting a later time than the year 3300. Meanwhile,"
he added, "there are some many periods of our history I want to
investigate. From the beginning. Think of that. The stone age. The ice
ages. When the world was young. I can go when and where I please, right
on down the ages. What a story I could dictate, when I grow old."

"You make me want to join you," Bob muttered. But he already felt a
curiosity about Kerla Research, and the rebuilding. He could think of
a particular restaurant, and of shows, and people he wanted to talk
with again. Jim put it into words. "Boy-oh-boy. Shows. Who won the
Belmont. And they're thinking of the Series--and football. And all the
gang--they'll want to know where I recovered, huh. And my folks--"
Jim's voice broke. As for Vasper, he put an arm about Jim's shoulder.
Then he came over, pressed Bob's hand. "Maybe," he smiled, "I might
visit you, some time, and take you for--well a sort of leave. If you
care."

"Care! I'll make it my vacation this same time next year. For a month.
We'll go back--and forward too. And Jim--"

"You're wrong there," Jim said flatly. "I'll entertain Vasper here,
in good old 1940, or 45. But I'm not leaving this place, unless," he
added, "I can run up ahead six months some time, and get the series and
Bowl game results. You know, just for luck."

And that was that. Vasper reentered the golden tinted machine. They
could see him, silver headgear gleaming, through the turret plastic
hood. He waved a hand. Then a roar, and the machine was gone.

Below, lights of a row of cars marked a highway. Bob and Jim, both
silent, trudged down the hill, toward the highway. Once more they must
live where time and space counted very much indeed.