The Second Fredric Brown Megapack

First Time Machine

Dr. Grainger said solemnly, “Gentlemen, the first time machine.”

His three friends stared at it.

It was a box about six inches square, with dials and a switch.

“You need only to hold it in your hand,” said Dr. Grainger, “set the dials for the date you want, press the button—and you are there.”

Smedley, one of the doctor’s three friends, reached for the box, held it and studied it. “Does it really work?”

“I tested it briefly,” said the doctor. “I set it one day back and pushed the button. Saw myself—my own back—just walking out of the room. Gave me a bit of a turn.”

“What would have happened if you’d rushed to the door and kicked yourself in the seat of the pants?”

Dr. Grainger laughed. “Maybe I couldn’t have—because it would have changed the past. That’s the old paradox of time travel, you know. What would happen if one went back in time and killed one’s own grandfather before he met one’s grandmother?”

Smedley, the box still in his hand, suddenly was backing away from the three other men. He grinned at them. “That,” he said, “is just what I’m going to do. I’ve been setting the date dials sixty years back while you’ve been talking.”

“Smedley! Don’t!” Dr. Grainger started forward.

“Stop, Doc. Or I’ll press the button now. Otherwise I’ll explain to you.” Grainger stopped. “I’ve heard of that paradox too. And it’s always interested me because I knew I would kill my grandfather if I ever had a chance to. I hated him. He was a cruel bully, made life a hell for my grandmother and my parents. So this is a chance I’ve been waiting for.”

Smedley’s hand reached for the button and pressed it.

There was a sudden blur… Smedley was standing in a field. It took him only a moment to orient himself. If this spot was where Dr. Grainger’s house would some day be built, then his great-grandfather’s farm would be only a mile south. He started walking. En route he found a piece of wood that made a fine club.

Near the farm, he saw a red-headed young man beating a dog with a whip. “Stop that!” Smedley yelled, rushing up.

“Mind your own damn business,” said the young man as he lashed with the whip again.

Smedley swung the club.

Sixty years later, Dr. Grainger said solemnly, “Gentlemen, the first time machine.”

His two friends stared at it.