Part 1

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."