Authors: Chad Oliver
With
a
visible
effort,
Mark
looked
away.
He
still
did not
dare
to
move—he
was
taking
no
chances
on
being thrown
by
some
accident
into
the
time
stream
alone. When
Doctor
Nye,
with
his
wide
knowledge
and
calm self-assurance,
was
with
him
it
was
all
right
and
everything
was
under
control,
but
alone
it
was
a
different story.
Mark
stood
very
still,
waiting
for
his
uncle
to come
back.
It
was
very
still
now
in
the
lead
sphere
of
the
space-time
machine.
It
was
so
quiet
that
Mark
thought
that he
could
hear
his
heart
beating
in
his
chest.
He
swallowed
hard,
ashamed
of
his
nervousness.
He
clenched his
fists
tightly,
afraid
of
he
knew
not
what.
It
was almost
as
if—
With
a
suddenness
that
numbed
his
brain,
it
happened.
A
slugging,
hammering
concussion
slammed into
his
body
and
threw
it
across
the
sphere.
A
sharp, blasting
roar
boomed
through
the
little
room,
and Mark
felt
the
house
shuddering
around
him.
With desperation,
Mark
tried
to
keep
his
footing.
The
rocket,
the
rocket,
his
mind
screamed
in
the chaos.
The
rocket’s
gone
off
her
course
and
blown
up
in
the
hills!
Swaying,
stunned,
Mark
felt
himself
going.
He fought
valiantly
not
to
fall,
but
his
mind
was
spinning, his
legs
wobbled,
and
he
sank
toward
the
side
of
the sphere,
falling,
falling
.
.
.
Too
late,
he
saw
that
he
was
collapsing
on
the
control
panel.
The
tiny
green
light
looked
at
him,
laughed at
him,
pulled
him
down.
Mark
gasped
breathlessly and
tried
to
arch
his
body
back
away
from
it.
It
was no
use.
With
a
shudder
he
sank
down
against
the
control
panel—and
felt
a
knife
switch
click
shut
under his
body.
Mark
screamed
once
and
tried
to
claw
his
way
up again.
It
was
too
late.
Horrified,
his
mind
reeling
with shock,
he
saw
the
green
light
wink
off.
The
circular lead
door
of
the
space-time
machine
hissed
into
place, sealing
him
in.
The
red
light
in
the
control
panel
flicked on
and
a
vast
humming
vibration
filled
the
sphere.
The
machine,
his
mind
whispered.
It’s
started—I’m trapped
.
.
.
Mark
couldn’t
get
up
and
he
dimly
realized
that
he could
do
nothing
even
if
he
could
get
to
the
controls. Once
the
space-time
machine
got
underway,
it
could not
be
tampered
with.
He
was
alone—going
backward into
time!
Backward
to—where?
Where
was
the
machine
set
for?
When
Doctor
Nye had
spun
the
dial,
where
had
it
come
to
rest?
Where was
he
going?
Desperately,
Mark
made
a
final
effort
to
regain
his footing.
He
pulled
himself
to
his
knees
and
felt
the blood
rushing
and
pounding
in
his
brain.
He
gasped with
shock
and
fought
to
get
up.
The
pounding
in
his head
became
a
roar—a
roaring
torrent
of
darkness
that swirled
and
eddied
and
wrapped
itself
around
him, pulling
him
down,
down
into
the
cool
depths,
down.