The Time Traveler's Almanac (3 page)

10.
Now that you know this information, go back to tip number 2 above. Go back to the time when you first read that, and read it again. There are no rules. Okay? None. Now: what a concept. Now. Now: you’ve got your whole life, what came before and what will come after, gathered up here in this little area here, the whole thing. What are you going to do with your life? What was it, what is it, what will it be?

EXPERIMENTS

DEATH SHIP

Richard Matheson

Richard Matheson was an American author and screenwriter most known for his work in fantasy, horror, and science fiction. Some of his best-known works are
The Shrinking Man, Hell House,
and
I Am Legend
(the latter having been made into full-length films three times). In addition to the many feature films adapted from his work, he also wrote several episodes of
The Twilight Zone
original series in the 1960s. “Death Ship” was first published in
Fantastic Story Magazine
in 1953 and then later adapted for television as Episode 6, Season 4, of
The Twilight Zone
in 1963.

Mason saw it first.

He was sitting in front of the lateral viewer taking notes as the ship cruised over the new planet. His pen moved quickly over the graph-spaced chart he held before him. In a little while they’d land and take specimens. Mineral, vegetable, animal – if there were any. Put them in the storage lockers and take them back to Earth. There the technicians would evaluate, appraise, judge. And, if everything was acceptable, stamp the big, black inhabitable on their brief and open another planet for colonization from overcrowded Earth.

Mason was jotting down items about general topography when the glitter caught his eye.

“I saw something,” he said.

He flicked the viewer to reverse lensing position.

“Saw what?” Ross asked from the control board.

“Didn’t you see a flash?”

Ross looked into his own screen.

“We went over a lake, you know,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t that,” Mason said. “This was in that clearing beside the lake.”

“I’ll look,” said Ross, “but it probably was the lake.”

His fingers typed out a command on the board and the big ship wheeled around in a smooth arc and headed back.

“Keep your eyes open now,” Ross said. “Make sure. We haven’t got any time to waste.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mason kept his unblinking gaze on the viewer, watching the earth below move past like a slowly rolled tapestry of woods and fields and rivers. He was thinking, in spite of himself, that maybe the moment had arrived at last. The moment in which Earthmen would come upon life beyond Earth, a race evolved from other cells and other muds. It was an exciting thought. 1997 might be the year. And he and Ross and Carter might now be riding a new
Santa Maria
of discovery, a silvery, bulleted galleon of space.

“There!” he said. “There it is!”

He looked over at Ross. The captain was gazing into his viewer plate. His face bore the expression Mason knew well. A look of smug analysis, of impending decision.

“What do you think it is?” Mason asked, playing the strings of vanity in his captain.

“Might be a ship, might not be,” pronounced Ross.

Well, for God’s sake, let’s go down and see, Mason wanted to say, but knew he couldn’t. It would have to be Ross’s decision. Otherwise they might not even stop.

“I guess it’s nothing,” he prodded.

He watched Ross impatiently, watched the stubby fingers flick buttons for the viewer. “We might stop,” Ross said. “We have to take samples anyway. Only thing I’m afraid of is…”

He shook his head. Land, man! The words bubbled up in Mason’s throat. For God’s sake, let’s go down!

Ross evaluated. His thickish lips pressed together appraisingly. Mason held his breath.

Then Ross’s head bobbed once in that curt movement which indicated consummated decision. Mason breathed again. He watched the captain spin, push and twist dials. Felt the ship begin its tilt to upright position. Felt the cabin shuddering slightly as the gyroscope kept it on an even keel. The sky did a ninety-degree turn, clouds appeared through the thick ports. Then the ship was pointed at the planet’s sun and Ross switched off the cruising engines. The ship hesitated, suspended a split second, then began dropping toward the earth.

“Hey, we settin’ down already?”

Mickey Carter looked at them questioningly from the port door that led to the storage lockers. He was rubbing greasy hands over his green jumper legs.

“We saw something down there,” Mason said.

“No kiddin’,” Mickey said, coming over to Mason’s viewer. “Let’s see.”

Mason flicked on the rear lens. The two of them watched the planet billowing up at them.

“I don’t know whether you can … oh, yes, there it is,” Mason said. He looked over at Ross.

“Two degrees east,” he said.

Ross twisted a dial and the ship then changed its downward movement slightly.

“What do you think it is?” Mickey asked. “Hey!”

Mickey looked into the viewer with even greater interest. His wide eyes examined the shiny speck enlarging on the screen. “Could be a ship,” he said. “Could be.”

Then he stood there silently, behind Mason, watching the earth rushing up.

“Reactors,” said Mason.

Ross jabbed efficiently at the button and the ship’s engines spouted out their flaming gases. Speed decreased. The rocket eased down on its roaring fire jets. Ross guided.

“What do you think it is?” Mickey asked Mason.

“I don’t know,” Mason answered. “But if it’s a ship,” he added, half wishfully thinking, “I don’t see how it could possibly be from Earth. We’ve got this run all to ourselves.”

“Maybe they got off course,” Mickey dampened without knowing.

Mason shrugged. “I doubt it,” he said.

“What if it is a ship?” Mickey said. “And it’s not ours?”

Mason looked at him and Carter licked his lips.

“Man,” he said, “that’d be somethin’.”

“Air spring,” Ross ordered.

Mason threw the switch that set the air spring into operation. The unit which made possible a landing without then having to stretch out on thick-cushioned couches. They could stand on deck and hardly feel the impact. It was an innovation on the newer government ships.

The ship hit on its rear braces.

There was a sensation of jarring, a sense of slight bouncing. Then the ship was still, its pointed nose straight up, glittering brilliantly in the bright sunlight.

“I want us to stay together,” Ross was saying. “No one takes any risks. That’s an order.”

He got up from his seat and pointed at the wall switch that let atmosphere into the small chamber in the corner of the cabin.

“Three to one we need our helmets,” Mickey said to Mason.

“You’re on,” Mason said, setting into play their standing bet about the air or lack of it in every new planet they found. Mickey always bet on the need for apparatus. Mason for unaided lung use. So far, they’d come out about even.

Mason threw the switch and there was a muffled sound of hissing in the chamber. Mickey got the helmet from his locker and dropped it over his head. Then he went through the double doors. Mason listened to him clamping the doors behind him. He kept wanting to switch on the side viewers and see if he could locate what they’d spotted. But he didn’t. He let himself enjoy the delicate nibbling of suspense.

Through the intercom they heard Mickey’s voice.

“Removing helmet,” he said.

Silence. They waited. Finally, a sound of disgust.

“I lose again,” Mickey said.

The others followed him out.

“God, did they hit!”

Mickey’s face had an expression of dismayed shock on it. The three of them stood there on the greenish-blue grass and looked.

It
was
a ship. Or what was left of a ship for, apparently, it had struck the earth at terrible velocity, nose first. The main structure had driven itself about fifteen feet into the hard ground. Jagged pieces of superstructure had been ripped off by the crash and were lying strewn over the field. The heavy engines had been torn loose and nearly crushed the cabin. Everything was deathly silent, and the wreckage was so complete they could hardly make out what type of ship it was. It was as if some enormous child had lost fancy with the toy model and had dashed it to earth, stamped on it, banged on it insanely with a rock.

Mason shuddered. It had been a long time since he’d seen a rocket crash. He’d almost forgotten the everpresent menace of lost control, of whistling fall through space, of violent impact. Most talk had been about being lost in an orbit. This reminded him of the other threat in his calling. His throat moved unconsciously as he watched.

Ross was scuffing at a chunk of metal at his feet.

“Can’t tell much,” he said. “But I’d say it was our own.” Mason was about to speak, then changed his mind. “From what I can see of that engine up there, I’d say it was ours,” Mickey said.

“Rocket structure might be standard,” Mason heard himself say, “everywhere.”

“Not a chance,” Ross said. “Things don’t work out like that. It’s ours all right. Some poor devils from Earth. Well, at least their death was quick.”

“Was it?” Mason asked the air, visualizing the crew in their cabin, rooted with fear as their ship spun toward earth, maybe straight down like a fired cannon shell, maybe end-over-end like a crazy, fluttering top, the gyroscope trying in vain to keep the cabin always level.

The screaming, the shouted commands, the exhortations to a heaven they had never seen before, to a God who might be in another universe. And then the planet rushing up and blasting its hard face against their ship, crushing them, ripping the breath from their lungs. He shuddered again, thinking of it. “Let’s take a look,” Mickey said.

“Not sure we’d better,” Ross said. “We say it’s ours. It might not be.”

“Jeez, you don’t think anything is still alive in there, do you?” Mickey asked the captain.

“Can’t say,” Ross said.

But they all knew he could see that mangled hulk before him as well as they. Nothing could have survived that.

The look. The pursed lips. As they circled the ship. The head movement, unseen by them.

“Let’s try that opening there,” Ross ordered. “And stay together. We still have work to do. Only doing this so we can let the base know which ship this is.” He had already decided it was an Earth ship.

They walked up to a spot in the ship’s side where the skin had been laid open along the welded seam. A long, thick plate was bent over as easily as a man might bend paper.

“Don’t like this,” Ross said. “But I suppose…”

He gestured with his head and Mickey pulled himself up to the opening. He tested each handhold gingerly, then slid on his work gloves as he found some sharp edge. He told the other two and they reached into their jumper pockets. Then Mickey took a long step into the dark maw of the ship.

“Hold
on,
now!” Ross called up. “Wait until I get there.”

He pulled himself up, his heavy boot toes scraping up the rocket skin. He went into the hole, too. Mason followed.

It was dark inside the ship. Mason closed his eyes for a moment to adjust to the change. When he opened them, he saw two bright beams searching up through the twisted tangle of beams and plates. He pulled out his own flash and flicked it on.

“God, is this thing wrecked,” Mickey said, awed by the sight of metal and machinery in violent death. His voice echoed slightly through the shell. Then, when the sound ended, an utter stillness descended on them. They stood in the murky light and Mason could smell the acrid fumes of broken engines.

“Watch the smell, now,” Ross said to Mickey who was reaching up for support. “We don’t want to get ourselves gassed.”

“I will,” Mickey said. He was climbing up, using one hand to pull his thick, powerful body up along the twisted ladder. He played the beam straight up.

“Cabin is all out of shape,” he said, shaking his head.

Ross followed him up. Mason was last, his flash moving around endlessly over the snapped joints, the wild jigsaw of destruction that had once been a powerful new ship. He kept hissing in disbelief to himself as his beam came across one violent distortion of metal after another.

“Door’s sealed,” Mickey said, standing on a pretzel-twisted catwalk, bracing himself against the inside rocket wall. He grabbed the handle again and tried to pull it open.

“Give me your light,” Ross said. He directed both beams at the door and Mickey tried to drag it open. His face grew red as he struggled. He puffed.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s stuck.”

Mason came up beside them. “Maybe the cabin is still pressurized,” he said softly. He didn’t like the echoing of his own voice.

“Doubt it,” Ross said, trying to think. “More than likely the jamb is twisted.” He gestured with his head again. “Help Carter.”

Mason grabbed one handle and Mickey the other. Then they braced their feet against the wall and pulled with all their strength. The door held fast. They shifted their grip, pulled harder.

“Hey, it slipped!” Mickey said. “I think we got it.”

They resumed footing on the tangled catwalk and pulled the door open. The frame was twisted, the door held in one corner. They could only open it enough to wedge themselves in sideways.

The cabin was dark as Mason edged in first. He played his light beam toward the pilot’s seat. It was empty. He heard Mickey squeeze in as he moved the light to the navigator’s seat.

There was no navigator’s seat. The bulkhead had been stove in there, the viewer, the table and the chair all crushed beneath the bent plates. There was a clicking in Mason’s throat as he thought of himself sitting at a table like that, in a chair like that, before a bulkhead like that.

Ross was in now. The three beams of light searched. They all had to stand, legs spraddled, because the deck slanted.

And the way it slanted made Mason think of something. Of shifting weights, of
things
sliding down …