Murray Leinster - The Runaway Skyscraper
M >>
Murray Leinster >> The Runaway Skyscraper
The Runaway Skyscraper
_by_ Murray Leinster
COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE.[*]
I.
The whole thing started when the clock on the Metropolitan Tower
began to run backward. It was not a graceful proceeding. The hands
had been moving onward in their customary deliberate fashion,
slowly and thoughtfully, but suddenly the people in the offices
near the clock's face heard an ominous creaking and groaning.
There was a slight, hardly discernible shiver through the tower,
and then something gave with a crash. The big hands on the clock
began to move backward.
Immediately after the crash all the creaking and groaning ceased,
and instead, the usual quiet again hung over everything. One or
two of the occupants of the upper offices put their heads out into
the halls, but the elevators were running as usual, the lights
were burning, and all seemed calm and peaceful. The clerks and
stenographers went back to their ledgers and typewriters, the
business callers returned to the discussion of their errands,
and the ordinary course of business was resumed.
Arthur Chamberlain was dictating a letter to Estelle Woodward,
his sole stenographer. When the crash came he paused, listened,
and then resumed his task.
It was not a difficult one. Talking to Estelle Woodward was at
no time an onerous duty, but it must be admitted that Arthur
Chamberlain found it difficult to keep his conversation strictly
upon his business.
He was at this time engaged in dictating a letter to his principal
creditors, the Gary & Milton Company, explaining that their demand
for the immediate payment of the installment then due upon his office
furniture was untimely and unjust. A young and budding engineer in
New York never has too much money, and when he is young as Arthur
Chamberlain was, and as fond of pleasant company, and not too
fond of economizing, he is liable to find all demands for payment
untimely and he usually considers them unjust as well. Arthur
finished dictating the letter and sighed.
"Miss Woodward," he said regretfully, "I am afraid I shall never
make a successful man."
Miss Woodward shook her head vaguely. She did not seem to take his
remark very seriously, but then, she had learned never to take any of
his remarks seriously. She had been puzzled at first by his manner of
treating everything with a half-joking pessimism, but now ignored it.
She was interested in her own problems. She had suddenly decided
that she was going to be an old maid, and it bothered her. She
had discovered that she did not like any one well enough to marry,
and she was in her twenty-second year.
She was not a native of New York, and the few young men she had met
there she did not care for. She had regretfully decided she was too
finicky, too fastidious, but could not seem to help herself. She
could not understand their absorption in boxing and baseball and
she did not like the way they danced.
She had considered the matter and decided that she would have to
reconsider her former opinion of women who did not marry. Heretofore
she had thought there must be something the matter with them.
Now she believed that she would come to their own estate, and
probably for the same reason. She could not fall in love and she
wanted to.
She read all the popular novels and thrilled at the love-scenes
contained in them, but when any of the young men she knew became
in the slightest degree sentimental she found herself bored, and
disgusted with herself for being bored. Still, she could not help it,
and was struggling to reconcile herself to a life without romance.
She was far too pretty for that, of course, and Arthur Chamberlain
often longed to tell her how pretty she really was, but her
abstracted air held him at arms' length.
He lay back at ease in his swivel-chair and considered, looking at
her with unfeigned pleasure. She did not notice it, for she was so
much absorbed in her own thoughts that she rarely noticed anything
he said or did when they were not in the line of her duties.
"Miss Woodward," he repeated, "I said I think I'll never make a
successful man. Do you know what that means?"
She looked at him mutely, polite inquiry in her eyes.
"It means," he said gravely, "that I'm going broke. Unless something
turns up in the next three weeks, or a month at the latest, I'll
have to get a job."
"And that means--" she asked.
"All this will go to pot," he explained with a sweeping gesture. "I
thought I'd better tell you as much in advance as I could."
"You mean you're going to give up your office--and me?" she asked,
a little alarmed.
"Giving up you will be the harder of the two," he said with a smile,
"but that's what it means. You'll have no difficulty finding a new
place, with three weeks in which to look for one, but I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too, Mr. Chamberlain," she said, her brow puckered.
She was not really frightened, because she knew she could get
another position, but she became aware of rather more regret than
she had expected.
There was silence for a moment.
"Jove!" said Arthur, suddenly. "It's getting dark, isn't it?"
It was. It was growing dark with unusual rapidity. Arthur went to
his window, and looked out.
"Funny," he remarked in a moment or two. "Things don't look just
right, down there, somehow. There are very few people about."
He watched in growing amazement. Lights came on in the streets
below, but none of the buildings lighted up. It grew darker and
darker.
"It shouldn't be dark at this hour!" Arthur exclaimed.
Estelle went to the window by his side.
"It looks awfully queer," she agreed. "It must be an eclipse
or something."
They heard doors open in the hall outside, and Arthur ran out. The
halls were beginning to fill with excited people.
"What on earth's the matter?" asked a worried stenographer.
"Probably an eclipse," replied Arthur. "Only it's odd we didn't
read about it in the papers."
He glanced along the corridor. No one else seemed better informed
than he, and he went back into his office.
Estelle turned from the window as he appeared.
"The streets are deserted," she said in a puzzled tone. "What's
the matter? Did you hear?"
Arthur shook his head and reached for the telephone.
"I'll call up and find out," he said confidently. He held the
receiver to his ear. "What the--" he exclaimed. "Listen to this!"
A small-sized roar was coming from the receiver. Arthur hung up
and turned a blank face upon Estelle.
"Look!" she said suddenly, and pointed out of the window.
All the city was now lighted up, and such of the signs as they
could see were brilliantly illumined. They watched in silence.
The streets once more seemed filled with vehicles. They darted along,
their headlamps lighting up the roadway brilliantly. There was,
however, something strange even about their motion. Arthur and
Estelle watched in growing amazement and perplexity.
"Are--are you seeing what I am seeing?" asked Estelle
breathlessly. "_I_ see them _going backward_!"
Arthur watched, and collapsed into a chair.
"For the love of Mike!" he exclaimed softly.
II.
He was roused by another exclamation from Estelle.
"It's getting light again," she said.
Arthur rose and went eagerly to the window. The darkness was
becoming less intense, but in a way Arthur could hardly credit.
Far to the west, over beyond the Jersey hills--easily visible from
the height at which Arthur's office was located--a faint light
appeared in the sky, grew stronger and then took on a reddish
tint. That, in turn, grew deeper, and at last the sun appeared,
rising unconcernedly _in the west_.
Arthur gasped. The streets below continued to be thronged with
people and motor-cars. The sun was traveling with extraordinary
rapidity. It rose overhead, and as if by magic the streets
were thronged with people. Every one seemed to be running
at top-speed. The few teams they saw moved at a breakneck
pace--backward! In spite of the suddenly topsyturvy state of
affairs there seemed to be no accidents.
Arthur put his hands to his head.
"Miss Woodward," he said pathetically, "I'm afraid I've gone
crazy. Do you see the same things I do?"
Estelle nodded. Her eyes wide open.
"What _is_ the matter?" she asked helplessly.
She turned again to the window. The square was almost empty once
more. The motor-cars still traveling about the streets were going so
swiftly they were hardly visible. Their speed seemed to increase
steadily. Soon it was almost impossible to distinguish them,
and only a grayish blur marked their paths along Fifth Avenue and
Twenty-Third Street.
It grew dusk, and then rapidly dark. As their office was on the
western side of the building they could not see that the sun had
sunk in the east, but subconsciously they realized that this must
be the case.
In silence they watched the panorama grow black except for the
street-lamps, remain thus for a time, and then suddenly spring into
brilliantly illuminated activity.
Again this lasted for a little while, and the west once more began
to glow. The sun rose somewhat more hastily from the Jersey hills
and began to soar overhead, but very soon darkness fell again. With
hardly an interval the city became illuminated, and then the west
grew red once more.
"Apparently," said Arthur, steadying his voice with a conscious
effort, "there's been a cataclysm somewhere, the direction of
the earth's rotation has been reversed, and its speed immensely
increased. It seems to take only about five minutes for a rotation
now."
As he spoke darkness fell for the third time. Estelle turned from
the window with a white face.
"What's going to happen?" she cried.
"I don't know," answered Arthur. "The scientist fellows tell us
if the earth were to spin fast enough the centrifugal force would
throw us all off into space. Perhaps that's what's going to happen."
Estelle sank into a chair and stared at him, appalled. There was a
sudden explosion behind them. With a start, Estelle jumped to her
feet and turned. A little gilt clock over her typewriter-desk lay
in fragments. Arthur hastily glanced at his own watch.
"Great bombs and little cannon-balls!" he shouted. "Look at this!"
His watch trembled and quivered in his hand. The hands were going
around so swiftly it was impossible to watch the minute-hand,
and the hour-hand traveled like the wind.
While they looked, it made two complete revolutions. In one of
them the glory of daylight had waxed, waned, and vanished. In the
other, darkness reigned except for the glow from the electric
light overhead.
There was a sudden tension and catch in the watch. Arthur dropped
it instantly. It flew to pieces before it reached the floor.
"If you've got a watch," Arthur ordered swiftly, "stop it this
instant!"
Estelle fumbled at her wrist. Arthur tore the watch from her hand
and threw open the case. The machinery inside was going so swiftly
it was hardly visible; Relentlessly, Arthur jabbed a penholder in
the works. There was a sharp click, and the watch was still.
Arthur ran to the window. As he reached it the sun rushed up, day
lasted a moment, there was darkness, and then the sun appeared again.
"Miss Woodward!" Arthur ordered suddenly, "look at the ground!"
Estelle glanced down. The next time the sun flashed into view
she gasped.
The ground was white with snow!
"What _has_ happened?" she demanded, terrified. "Oh, what _has_
happened?"
Arthur fumbled at his chin awkwardly, watching the astonishing
panorama outside. There was hardly any distinguishing between
the times the sun was up and the times it was below now, as the
darkness and light followed each other so swiftly the effect was
the same as one of the old flickering motion-pictures.
As Arthur watched, this effect became more pronounced. The tall
Fifth Avenue Building across the way began to disintegrate. In a
moment, it seemed, there was only a skeleton there. Then that
vanished, story by story. A great cavity in the earth appeared,
and then another building became visible, a smaller, brown-stone,
unimpressive structure.
With bulging eyes Arthur stared across the city. Except for the
flickering, he could see almost clearly now.
He no longer saw the sun rise and set. There was merely a streak of
unpleasantly brilliant light across the sky. Bit by bit, building
by building, the city began to disintegrate and become replaced
by smaller, dingier buildings. In a little while those began to
disappear and leave gaps where they vanished.
Arthur strained his eyes and looked far down-town. He saw a forest
of masts and spars along the waterfront for a moment and when
he turned his eyes again to the scenery near him it was almost
barren of houses, and what few showed were mean, small residences,
apparently set in the midst of farms and plantations.
Estelle was sobbing.
"Oh, Mr. Chamberlain," she cried. "What is the matter? What has
happened?"
Arthur had lost his fear of what their fate would be in his
absorbing interest in what he saw. He was staring out of the window,
wide-eyed, lost in the sight before him. At Estelle's cry, however,
he reluctantly left the window and patted her shoulder awkwardly.
"I don't know how to explain it," he said uncomfortably, "but it's
obvious that my first surmise was all wrong. The speed of the earth's
rotation can't have been increased, because if it had to the extent
we see, we'd have been thrown off into space long ago. But--have
you read anything about the Fourth Dimension?"
Estelle shook her head hopelessly.
"Well, then, have you ever read anything by Wells? The 'Time
Machine,' for instance?"
Again she shook her head.
"I don't know how I'm going to say it so you'll understand, but
time is just as much a dimension as length and breadth. From what I
can judge, I'd say there has been an earthquake, and the ground has
settled a little with our building on it, only instead of settling
down toward the center of the earth, or side-wise, it's settled in
this fourth dimension."
"But what does that mean?" asked Estelle uncomprehendingly.
"If the earth had settled down, we'd have been lower. If it had
settled to one side, we'd have been moved one way or another, but as
it's settled back in the Fourth Dimension, we're going back in time."
"Then--"
"We're in a runaway skyscraper, bound for some time back before
the discovery of America!"
III.
It was very still in the office. Except for the flickering outside
everything seemed very much as usual. The electric light burned
steadily, but Estelle was sobbing with fright and Arthur was trying
vainly to console her.
"Have I gone crazy?" she demanded between her sobs.
"Not unless I've gone mad, too," said Arthur soothingly. The
excitement had quite a soothing effect upon him. He had ceased to
feel afraid, but was simply waiting to see what had happened. "We're
way back before the founding of New York now, and still going
strong."
"Are you sure that's what has happened?"
"If you'll look outside," he suggested, "you'll see the seasons
following each other in reverse order. One moment the snow covers
all the ground, then you catch a glimpse of autumn foliage, then
summer follows, and next spring."
Estelle glanced out of the window and covered her eyes.
"Not a house," she said despairingly. "Not a building. Nothing,
nothing, nothing!"
Arthur slipped, his arm about her and patted hers comfortingly.
"It's all right," he reassured her. "We'll bring up presently,
and there we'll be. There's nothing to be afraid of."
She rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed hopelessly for
a little while longer, but presently quieted. Then, suddenly,
realizing that Arthur's arm was about her and that she was crying
on his shoulder, she sprang away, blushing crimson.
Arthur walked to the window.
"Look there!" he exclaimed, but it was too late. "I'll swear to
it I saw the Half Moon, Hudson's ship," he declared excitedly.
"We're way back now, and don't seem to be slacking up, either."
Estelle came to the window by his side. The rapidly changing scene
before her made her gasp. It was no longer possible to distinguish
night from day.
A wavering streak, moving first to the right and then to the left,
showed where the sun flashed across the sky.
"What makes the sun wabble so?" she asked.
"Moving north and south of the equator," Arthur explained
casually. "When it's farthest south--to the left--there's always
snow on the ground. When it's farthest right it's summer. See how
green it is?"
A few moments' observation corroborated his statement.
"I'd say," Arthur remarked reflectively, "that it takes about fifteen
seconds for the sun to make the round trip from farthest north to
farthest south." He felt his pulse. "Do you know the normal rate
of the heart-beat? We can judge time that way. A clock will go
all to pieces, of course."
"Why did your watch explode--and the clock?"
"Running forward in time unwinds a clock, doesn't it?" asked
Arthur. "It follows, of course, that when you move it backward in
time it winds up. When you move it too far back, you wind it so
tightly that the spring just breaks to pieces."
He paused a moment, his fingers on his pulse.
"Yes, it takes about fifteen seconds for all the four seasons to
pass. That means we're going backward in time about four years a
minute. If we go on at this rate another hour we'll be back in the
time of the Northmen, and will be able to tell if they did discover
America, after all."
"Funny we don't hear any noises," Estelle observed. She had caught
some of Arthur's calmness.
"It passes so quickly that though our ears hear it, we don't separate
the sounds. If you'll notice, you do hear a sort of humming.
It's very high-pitched, though."
Estelle listened, but could hear nothing.
"No matter," said Arthur. "It's probably a little higher than your
ears will catch. Lots of people can't hear a bat squeak."
"I never could," said Estelle. "Out in the country, where I come
from, other people could hear them, but I couldn't."
They stood a while in silence, watching.
"When are we going to stop?" asked Estelle uneasily. "It seems as
if we're going to keep on indefinitely."
"I guess we'll stop all right," Arthur reassured her. "It's obvious
that whatever it was, only affected our own building, or we'd see
some other one with us. It looks like a fault or a flaw in the rock
the building rests on. And that can only give so far."
Estelle was silent for a moment.
"Oh, I can't be sane!" she burst out semihysterically. "This can't
be happening!"
"You aren't crazy," said Arthur sharply. "You're sane as I am. Just
something queer is happening. Buck up. Say your multiplication
tables. Say anything you know. Say something sensible and you'll
know you're all right. But don't get frightened now. There'll be
plenty to get frightened about later."
The grimness in his tone alarmed Estelle.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked quickly.
"Time enough to worry when it happens," Arthur retorted briefly.
"You--you aren't afraid we'll go back before the beginning of the
world, are you?" asked Estelle in sudden access of fright.
Arthur shook his head.
"Tell me," said Estelle more quietly, getting a grip on herself. "I
won't mind. But please tell me."
Arthur glanced at her. Her face was pale, but there was more
resolution in it than he had expected to find.
"I'll tell you, then," he said reluctantly. "We're going back a
little faster than we were, and the flaw seems to be a deeper one
than I thought. At the roughest kind of an estimate, we're all of
a thousand years before the discovery of America now, and I think
nearer three or four. And we're gaining speed all the time. So,
though I am as sure as I can be sure of anything that we'll stop
this cave-in eventually, I don't know where. It's like a crevasse
in the earth opened by an earthquake which may be only a few feet
deep, or it may be hundreds of yards, or even a mile or two. We
started off smoothly. We're going at a terrific rate. _What will
happen when we stop?_"
Estelle caught her breath.
"What?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know," said Arthur in an irritated tone, to cover his
apprehension. "How could I know?"
Estelle turned from him to the window again.
"Look!" she said, pointing.
The flickering had begun again. While they stared, hope springing
up once more in their hearts, it became more pronounced. Soon they
could distinctly see the difference between day and night.
They were slowing up! The white snow on the ground remained there
for an appreciable time, autumn lasted quite a while. They could
catch the flashes of the sun as it made its revolutions now,
instead of its seeming like a ribbon of fire. At last day lasted
all of fifteen or twenty minutes.
It grew longer and longer. Then half an hour, then an hour. The
sun wavered in midheaven and was still.
Far below them, the watchers in the tower of the skyscraper saw trees
swaying and bending in the wind. Though there was not a house or a
habitation to be seen and a dense forest covered all of Manhattan
Island, such of the world as they could see looked normal. Wherever
or rather in whatever epoch of time they were, they had arrived.
IV.
Arthur caught at Estelle's arm and the two made a dash for the
elevators. Fortunately one was standing still, the door open, on
their floor. The elevator-boy had deserted his post and was looking
with all the rest of the occupants of the building at the strange
landscape that surrounded them.
No sooner had the pair reached the car, however, than the boy came
hurrying along the corridor, three or four other people following
him also at a run. Without a word the boy rushed inside, the others
crowded after him, and the car shot downward, all of the newcomers
panting from their sprint.
Theirs was the first car to reach the bottom. They rushed out and
to the western door.
Here, where they had been accustomed to see Madison Square spread
out before them, a clearing of perhaps half an acre in extent showed
itself. Where their eyes instinctively looked for the dark bronze
fountain, near which soap-box orators aforetime held sway, they saw
a tent, a wigwam of hides and bark gaily painted. And before the
wigwam were two or three brown-skinned Indians, utterly petrified
with astonishment.
Behind the first wigwam were others, painted like the first with
daubs of brightly colored clay. From them, too, Indians issued,
and stared in incredulous amazement, their eyes growing wider
and wider. When the group of white people confronted the Indians
there was a moment's deathlike silence. Then, with a wild yell,
the redskins broke and ran, not stopping to gather together their
belongings, nor pausing for even a second glance at the weird
strangers who invaded their domain.
Arthur took two or three deep breaths of the fresh air and
found himself even then comparing its quality with that of the
city. Estelle stared about her with unbelieving eyes. She turned
and saw the great bulk of the office building behind her, then
faced this small clearing with a virgin forest on its farther side.
She found herself trembling from some undefined cause. Arthur glanced
at her. He saw the trembling and knew she would have a fit of nerves
in a moment if something did not come up demanding instant attention.
"We'd better take a look at this village," he said in an off-hand
voice. "We can probably find out how long ago it is from the weapons
and so on."
He grasped her arm firmly and led her in the direction of the
tents. The other people, left behind, displayed their emotions in
different ways. Two or three of them--women--sat frankly down on
the steps and indulged in tears of bewilderment, fright and relief
in a peculiar combination defying analysis. Two or three of the
men swore, in shaken voices.
Meantime, the elevators inside the building were rushing and
clanging, and the hall filled with a white-faced mob, desperately
anxious to find out what had happened and why. The people poured
out of the door and stared about blankly. There was a peculiar
expression of doubt on every one of their faces. Each one was asking
himself if he were awake, and having proved that by pinches, openly
administered, the next query was whether they had gone mad.
Arthur led Estelle cautiously among the tents.
The village contained about a dozen wigwams. Most of them were made
of strips of birch-bark, cleverly overlapping each other, the seams
cemented with gum. All had hide flaps for doors, and one or two were
built almost entirely of hides, sewed together with strips of sinew.
Arthur made only a cursory examination of the village. His principal
motive in taking Estelle there was to give her some mental occupation
to ward off the reaction from the excitement of the cataclysm.
He looked into one or two of the tents and found merely couches of
hides, with minor domestic utensils scattered about. He brought
from one tent a bow and quiver of arrows. The workmanship was good,
but very evidently the maker had no knowledge of metal tools.
Arthur's acquaintance with archeological subjects was very slight,
but he observed that the arrow-heads were chipped, and not rubbed
smooth. They were attached to the shafts with strips of gut or
tendon.