Chapter IV

And a bang-up journey it was. There was a route to travel, and guards to knock out and bind, and a heavy machine to cart up into the rear chambers of Independence Hall. Then came the nerve-wracking business of setting it up, and the Thinker’s frantic re-scanning of the Professor’s charts and directions as he set the computers. By the time they were ready to take off--1:45 a.m. on the dot--the transition itself was almost an anti-climax.

Anti-climax it proved to be. They huddled in the machine, the vacuum-lock set and the vacuum-lined walls enclosing them, and a generator hummed and their fluorescent light above the dials dimmed and the Thinker pressed his finger down after endless adjustment of tab-buttons and then--

Nothing happened.

Or seemed to happen, until the moment--or century, or eternity--of darkness elapsed. None of them were conscious of a change at all. It was when they opened the compartment and stepped out that the change occurred, or they were aware of its prior occurrence.

“Thinker!” Nunzio said, blinking in the bright morning sunlight that streamed through the high windows, “We made it!”

Sammy and the Thinker and Mush didn’t even look at him. They were staring at the four men on the other side of the room--four men who stared, in turn, at them.

Then things happened fast. Things happened with orders and heaters and ropes and gags. Things happened with wigs and shoes and clothing.

Four writhing figures squirmed on the floor, then calmed to quiescence as Mush used the butt of his heater.

“Fancy this!” he sighed. “Me knocking out old Ben Franklin hisself!”

“Never mind fancying it now,” the Thinker told him. “We’ve got to get ready for more action.”

And so they’d gone into their act.

Altering the text of the Declaration itself was an inspiration on the Thinker’s part. “Give ’em something to argue about all morning,” he said. “Keep them talking, then we don’t have to. And if they accept the business about temporary governing powers and a treasurer, there’ll be no questions asked when the gold arrives and we take charge of it.”

He glanced at Mush and Nunzio. “You two go in the back room right now. Watch the machine, keep the Founding Fathers company. And don’t forget to watch the windows--maybe the gold will arrive early. Professor Cobbett was no fool. I respect his judgment. If he said things might be a bit different in the past because our coming changed it, maybe he’s right.”

“Nothing different so far,” Sammy said.

“Well, one never knows.”

Mush and Nunzio vanished and the Thinker turned to his companion. “Remember your laryngitis. They call it quinsy in these times, and that’s how I’ll refer to it. And when I do, you cough.”

“Got it,” Sammy said. “But hey, when’s the gang showing up?” He pulled his watch out of his pocket and studied it. “Must be after eight by now.” He frowned. “That’s funny, it stopped. Still says seven-thirty.”

“Let me take a look outside,” the Thinker suggested. He strode to the window. “Crowd down there all right. But--wait a minute--” He tugged Sammy’s arm. “Look at those soldiers!”

“I see ’em. You mean the ones in the tall hats, with the red uniforms?”

“Red uniforms mean British troops.”

“British?”

The Thinker didn’t answer. He rushed to the door of the hall, flung it open. Two grenadiers in scarlet coats confronted him. He stared at the white piping on the coats, stared at the silvery steel of their bayonets.

“Halt!” cried the taller of the two. “In the name of His Majesty.”

“His Majesty?”

“Yes, His Majesty, you pesky rebel.”

“What kind of a gag is this?” Sammy muttered.

“No gag,” the Thinker whispered. “Professor Cobbett knew. We changed the past by coming here. The British occupy Philadelphia.”

“Enough of your blabbing, sirrah,” the soldier shouted. “Save your protests for General Burgoyne. When he enters the city today you and your fellow-traitors can explain at a drum-head court martial.”

The Thinker paled. “Changed history,” he whispered. “Burgoyne the victor. The Congress scattered. The four men we came upon in the back room weren’t waiting for it to meet today. They’ve been trapped here without warning. They’re prisoners. Which means we’re prisoners, too!”

“Oh no we ain’t!” Sammy drew out his heater and pulled the trigger. There was an almost inaudible click. He tried to fire again, but the Thinker slammed the door.

“What good is that?” he murmured. “The place is surrounded.”

“Gun jammed,” Sammy was grumbling. “Can’t figure how--” Then he blinked. “Surrounded. And we’re stuck, huh? Now what?”

“Obviously we get back in the machine and get out of here.”

“But don’t you have to wait until noon, anyway?”

“I’ll worry about that. Let’s get the boys. And hurry. Those soldiers may decide to come in after us at any time.”

So they retreated to the rear room and they got the boys and explained. And in a surprisingly short time they were huddled in the time-machine once more; huddled in the incongruous flummery of their Colonial costumes; huddled and trembling and perspiring as the Thinker hastily checked his data and then reached for the computer levers.

Reached and pressed.

Or tried to press.

“What’s happening?” Sammy shouted, the echo of his voice almost deafening them in the cramped confines of the metal chamber.

“Nothing,” the Thinker groaned. “Nothing’s happening. That’s just the trouble.”

“It don’t work?” Nunzio wailed.

“No. And Sammy’s watch doesn’t work, and your guns don’t work, because all of the principles are wrong, altered the way everything is altered.”

“Let me try!” Mush pawed at the levers, the buttons, the dials. Then they were all clawing and scrabbling at once, and still nothing happened.

The Thinker stopped them. “Might as well give up,” he muttered. “Professor Cobbett was right. We’ve changed the past.”

“But even in seventeen seventy-six, guns and watches and machinery worked, didn’t they?” Sammy demanded.

“In _our_ seventeen seventy-six,” the Thinker said. “In _our_ past. But this isn’t our past any more. It’s our present. And by making the past the present we’ve violated a fundamental law. Or tried to. Actually, fundamental laws can’t be violated.”

“But we came here.”

“Yes. Here. But here _isn’t_ our past. It couldn’t be. It would have to be somewhere else.”

“Where else could it be?” Mush wanted to know.

“A place where modern mechanisms don’t work, not having been perfected yet. A place where the British defeated the forces of the Revolution and captured the Founding Fathers. And that could only be in--an alternate universe.”

“Alternate universe?”

The Thinker was still trying to explain the concept of an alternate universe to them when the soldiers finally came in to drag them away.

He had time only for a final warning as the troops seized them. They were very rough about it.

“Remember, like Franklin said, we must all hang together,” he whispered.

Even there the Thinker was wrong.

They were hanged separately.

Transcriber’s Note:

This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, July 1956 (Vol. 5, No. 6). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.