Read Online Time After Time by Karl Alexander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karl Alexander
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in his experience, they all reverted to either innocence or religion when sandwiched in bed with him. Enlightenment? Whoosh! None of them had ever come close. And, to tell the truth, neither had he.
His thoughts became more specific. How easy it would be to shed this young lady of her clothing. There were no balloon skirts and layers of petticoats and God knows how many hand traps above the waist to dispose of. Just the blouse and the trousers. Here, in 1979.
He swallowed hard and nodded slightly. Aside from catching Stephenson, he must definitely try some âfuturologicalâ sex. He
smiled with pleasure, not realizing that he had appeared foolish for quite a while. The young lady finally felt his gaze, turned and glanced at him, then quickly looked away.
Whistling, he jauntily came up alongside her. âExcuse me, madam.â He bowed slightly. âCan you tell me where I am?â
She rolled her eyes, frowned, got up and briskly walked away.
H.G. was puzzled. He already knew that these people spoke English, so that couldnât be the problemâunless it was his dialect or choice of words. Then he inspected himself and understood. His clothes were out of date. Not only that, his shoes and trousers were wet and muddy, and he could only imagine what the rest of him looked like. He must cash in the jewelry for some modern American currency, buy some clothes and make himself appear respectable.
The other side of the street seemed populated, so he figured that he might as well begin there. He started to cross the intersection, not really understanding or caring about the red light atop the green metal lamppost. When he was in the middle of the street, several vehicles came around a curve, speeding toward the intersection at forty-five miles per hour. He was looking the other way when he heard a horn blast. He spun around, horrified. The gleaming metallic machine was hurtling toward him. Then came a horrible screech, and black smoke billowed up from the wheels of the craft. At the last moment it swerved and stopped. The young man who was operating the machine leaned out of a window and yelled:
âYou stupid son of a bitch!â
And then the other vehicles were upon him, their operators playing a surprised and grotesque zigzag, trying to avoid him and each other. The cacophony of horns was deafening.
H.G. sprinted for the sidewalk, but just then a man riding what appeared to be a very large motorized bicycle rounded the corner at high speed. H.G. dove to get out of the way, hit the pavement
and just barely jerked his legs out of the machineâs path in time. The edge of the rear fender caught his trailing coat and left a large rent in the distinguished tweed.
Extremely shaken, H.G. scrambled up and fled back into the park. He hurried through then crossed long, sloping lawns at a calmer pace, moving back in the direction from which he had come. He followed a little-used path down into a glen thick with trees and foliage. He sat on a rock, rested and tried to quell the anxieties resulting from his first brush with an alien technology. He told himself that the incident was probably his own damned fault since he was unfamiliar with the laws governing the mass use of machines. Then he grew annoyed, for he remembered the words of his brilliant and fascinating biology instructor, T. E. Huxley: You must respect the great potential power of science and treat it wisely. Above all, never place science above the realm of humanity, for there is nothing as sacred as the individual rights of man.
Perhaps it wasnât my fault, he thought.
He got up to inspect the glen and noticed that the sun had set. Undoubtedly all the places of business were closed, so he wouldnât make any progress this night selling his jewelry.
He wondered how Stephenson was doing. Badly, he hoped. Then H. G. shuddered. He suddenly had a feeling that Stephenson was all right. Anyone who could elude Scotland Yard for five years and
His thoughts became more specific. How easy it would be to shed this young lady of her clothing. There were no balloon skirts and layers of petticoats and God knows how many hand traps above the waist to dispose of. Just the blouse and the trousers. Here, in 1979.
He swallowed hard and nodded slightly. Aside from catching Stephenson, he must definitely try some âfuturologicalâ sex. He
smiled with pleasure, not realizing that he had appeared foolish for quite a while. The young lady finally felt his gaze, turned and glanced at him, then quickly looked away.
Whistling, he jauntily came up alongside her. âExcuse me, madam.â He bowed slightly. âCan you tell me where I am?â
She rolled her eyes, frowned, got up and briskly walked away.
H.G. was puzzled. He already knew that these people spoke English, so that couldnât be the problemâunless it was his dialect or choice of words. Then he inspected himself and understood. His clothes were out of date. Not only that, his shoes and trousers were wet and muddy, and he could only imagine what the rest of him looked like. He must cash in the jewelry for some modern American currency, buy some clothes and make himself appear respectable.
The other side of the street seemed populated, so he figured that he might as well begin there. He started to cross the intersection, not really understanding or caring about the red light atop the green metal lamppost. When he was in the middle of the street, several vehicles came around a curve, speeding toward the intersection at forty-five miles per hour. He was looking the other way when he heard a horn blast. He spun around, horrified. The gleaming metallic machine was hurtling toward him. Then came a horrible screech, and black smoke billowed up from the wheels of the craft. At the last moment it swerved and stopped. The young man who was operating the machine leaned out of a window and yelled:
âYou stupid son of a bitch!â
And then the other vehicles were upon him, their operators playing a surprised and grotesque zigzag, trying to avoid him and each other. The cacophony of horns was deafening.
H.G. sprinted for the sidewalk, but just then a man riding what appeared to be a very large motorized bicycle rounded the corner at high speed. H.G. dove to get out of the way, hit the pavement
and just barely jerked his legs out of the machineâs path in time. The edge of the rear fender caught his trailing coat and left a large rent in the distinguished tweed.
Extremely shaken, H.G. scrambled up and fled back into the park. He hurried through then crossed long, sloping lawns at a calmer pace, moving back in the direction from which he had come. He followed a little-used path down into a glen thick with trees and foliage. He sat on a rock, rested and tried to quell the anxieties resulting from his first brush with an alien technology. He told himself that the incident was probably his own damned fault since he was unfamiliar with the laws governing the mass use of machines. Then he grew annoyed, for he remembered the words of his brilliant and fascinating biology instructor, T. E. Huxley: You must respect the great potential power of science and treat it wisely. Above all, never place science above the realm of humanity, for there is nothing as sacred as the individual rights of man.
Perhaps it wasnât my fault, he thought.
He got up to inspect the glen and noticed that the sun had set. Undoubtedly all the places of business were closed, so he wouldnât make any progress this night selling his jewelry.
He wondered how Stephenson was doing. Badly, he hoped. Then H. G. shuddered. He suddenly had a feeling that Stephenson was all right. Anyone who could elude Scotland Yard for five years and
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