He Who Shrank: A Collection of Short Fiction Page 2

  With some trepidation, he arose and made for the door, and Tyme remained seated, harmless enough.

  Pencill hurried out, closing the door behind him. He used the other ’phone all right, and used it to good advantage.

  And all the time, Tyme sat waiting patiently, visioning newspapers filled—except for the comic sheets—with items concerning him and his astounding accomplishment. But he mustn’t forget there was work to be done. Again he praised the Fates that he had had the astounding good fortune to materialize in the presence of the one person who was best fitted to believe him and to credit the truth of his story.

  So Tyme waited patiently, and the clock ticked on, and inexorable Fate was marshalling her forces, as she so obligingly does in stories.

  At last poor Tyme, all unsuspecting, heard the tramp of feet in the ante-room. He arose and faced the door expectantly.

  Pencill opened the door and ceremoniously ushered in those whom he had called.

  He was the first to speak. Both his words and tone struck an ominous note in Tyme’s ears, and caused him great wonder.

  “There he is, boys!”

  Tyme gazed on in interest. He hadn’t thought that reporters wore blue uniforms, and blue caps, and badges on the caps, and the word “KEEPER” on the badges. He hadn’t thought that reporters carried lengths of rope, and stout, laced leather jackets. He was right. They didn’t!

  A gentle hand grasped Tyme by each arm, and a soothing voice said:

  “Gently, now. That’s the way. Just come along with us. We’ll see that no one harms you. We’ve a nice supper for you, down at the house.”

  Poor Tyme. On his face was the same bewilderment he had shown when Pencill first saw him.

  One of the guards said to the editor in a low voice: “The way you talked on the ’phone, we thought he was violent. See, he’s as gentle as a lamb.”

  “You’d think he was violent, if you had heard the things he told me!”

  “Say, it’s a funny thing, though. None of our patients have escaped, and if this bird’s been runnin’ around loose it’s a wonder we ain’t heard of it before now. But thanks, anyway; there’s no tellin’ when one of those kind will get violent.”

  Down the stairs Tyme was led, and into a special sedan waiting for him.

  “Home, James,” said one of the men on either side of Tyme in the back seat. “We mustn’t keep Mr. Tyme waiting for his supper.”

  Mr. Tyme was whisked away at a speed that did not compare favorably with radio transportation.

  The only notice in the papers of Tyme’s “arrival” was an inch stick on the twelfth page telling how “the Editor-in-Chief of Future Fiction, Mr. B. Lue Pencill, had been menaced by a lunatic, but happily the editor had soothed his feelings, and by a brilliant expedient, managed to call the local asylum.”

  And, the day following, there appeared the following item: “Doctors, upon examination of the queerly attired person who yesterday menaced editor B. Lue Pencill in the offices of Future Fiction, decided that he was quite an unusual mental case. The stranger had been confined to the local asylum pending further examination, but last night, some time after six o’clock, he somehow managed to make his escape. One of the guards stated that about six-thirty he had heard a queer 'whirling, rushing noise,' and that when he passed the new inmate’s cell a short time later, it was empty. The man’s escape has baffled the authorities. In his cell was found a scrap of paper with the following words, the ramblings of his unbalanced mind: ‘I can see now how impossible it all is . . . how useless . . . The colossal stupidity of the human race is pitiable, and has reflected direfully upon following years. I shall go back to my own time and direct my work toward the betterment of the present, and leave the past to—’ Officials of the institution wish to announce that the man is not dangerous, merely a mental case, and hopes are held for his speedy return.”

  In his office, editor B. Lue Pencill read this latter item. For a few moments he stared pensively at the spot where he had first noticed Tyme. Then he sighed, and sadly shook his head.

  Suddenly he became editorially brisk. Why, he hadn’t done any work at all on that story besides reading it! He must permit his associate editors to know of his plans. There were the editorials to be written in its honor; the circulars to be mailed.

  He must have the best artist draw the illustration—perhaps two illustrations would be better; and, of course, the story must have the cover painting.

  That story!

  His eyes gleamed in remembrance. “Yes, indeed—beyond a doubt the best thing Future Fiction has had yet. ‘The End of Time’—it shall take its place among the classics. So unique in its theme—so refreshingly original in its plot—so tremendous in its scope! And, above all, so plausible. Just what the readers have been wanting. So plausible—why, I almost believed it myself!”

  The End

  ****************************

  He Who Shrank,

  by Henry Hasse

  Amazing Aug. 1936

  Novella - 24529 words

  I

  Years, centuries, aeons have fled past me in endless parade, leaving me unscathed: for I am deathless, and in all the universe alone of my kind. Universe? Strange how that convenient word leaps instantly to my mind from force of old habit. Universe? The merest expression of a puny idea in the minds of those who cannot possibly conceive whereof they speak. The word is a mockery. Yet how glibly men utter it!

  How little do they realise the artificiality of the word!

  That night when the Professor called me to him he was standing close to the curved transparent wall of the astrono-laboratory looking out into the blackness. He heard me enter, but did not look around as he spoke. I do not know whether he was addressing me or not.

  “They call me the greatest scientist the world has had in all time.” I had been his only assistant for years, and was accustomed to his moods, so I did not speak. Neither did he for several moments and then he continued:

  “Only half a year ago I discovered a principle that will be the means of utterly annihilating every kind of disease germ. And only recently I turned over to others the principles of a new toxin which stimulates the worn-out protoplasmic life-cells, causing almost complete rejuvenation. The combined results should nearly double the ordinary life span. Yet these two things are only incidental in the long list of discoveries I have made to the great benefit of the race.” He turned then and faced me, and I was surprised at a new peculiar glow that lurked deep in his eyes.

  “And for those things they call me great! For these puny discoveries they heap honours on me and call me the benefactor of the race. They disgust me, the fools! Do they think I did it for them? Do they think I care about the race, what it does or what happens to it or how long it lives? They do not suspect that all the things I have given them were but accidental discoveries on my part—to which I gave hardly a thought. Oh, you seem amazed. Yet not even you, who have assisted me here for ten years, ever suspected that all my labours and experiments were pointed toward one end, and one end alone.” He went over to a locked compartment which in earlier years I had wondered about and then ceased to wonder about, as I became engrossed in my work. The Professor opened it now, and I glimpsed but the usual array of bottles and test-tubes and vials. One of these vials he lifted gingerly from a rack.

  “And at last I have attained the end,” he almost whispered, holding the tube aloft. A pale liquid scintillated eerily against the artificial light in the ceiling. “Thirty years, long years, of ceaseless experimenting, and now, here in my hand—success!”

  The Professor’s manner, the glow deep in his dark eyes, the submerged enthusiasm that seemed at every instant about to leap out, all served to impress me deeply. It must indeed be an immense thing he had done, and I ventured to say as much.

  “Immense!” he exclaimed. “Immense! Why—why it’s so immense that—. But wait. Wait. You shall see for yourself.”

  At that time how l
ittle did I suspect the significance of his words. I was indeed to see for myself.

  Carefully he replaced the vial, then walked over to the transparent wall again.

  “Look!” he gestured toward the night sky. “The unknown! Does it not fascinate you? The other fools dream of some day travelling out there among the stars. They think they will go out there and learn the secret of the universe. But as yet they have been baffled by the problem of a sufficiently powerful fuel or force for their ships. And they are blind. Within a month I could solve the puny difficulty that confronts them; could, but I won’t. Let them search, let them experiment, let them waste their lives away, what do I care about them?”

  I wondered what he was driving at, but realised that he would come to the point in his own way. He went on:

  “And suppose they do solve the problem, suppose they do leave the planet, go to other worlds in their hollow ships, what will it profit them? Suppose that they travel with the speed of light for their own life time, and then land on a star at that point, the farthest point away from here that is possible for them? They would no doubt say: ‘We can now realise as never before the truly staggering expanse of the universe. It is indeed a great structure, the universe. We have travelled a far distance; we must be on the fringe of it.’

  “Thus they would believe. Only I would know how wrong they were, for I can sit here and look through this telescope and see stars that are fifty and sixty times as distant as that upon which they landed. Comparatively, their star would be infinitely close to us. The poor deluded fools and their dreams of space travel!”

  “But, Professor,” I interposed, “just think—”

  “Wait! Now listen. I, too, have long desired to fathom the universe, to determine what it is, the manner and the purpose and the secret of its creation. Have you ever stopped to wonder what the universe is? For thirty years I have worked for the answer to those questions. Unknowing, you helped me with your efficiency on the strange experiments I assigned to you at various times. Now I have the answer in that vial, and you shall be the only one to share the secret with me.”

  Incredulous, I again tried to interrupt.

  “Wait!” he said. “Let me finish. There was the time when I also looked to the stars for the answer. I built my telescope, on a new principle of my own. I searched the depths of the void. I made vast calculations. And I proved conclusively to my own mind what had heretofore been only a theory. I know now without doubt that this our planet, and other planets revolving about the sun, are but electrons of an atom, of which the sun is the nucleus. And our sun is but one of millions of others, each with its allotted number of planets, each system being an atom just as our own is in reality.

  “And all these millions of solar systems, or atoms, taken together in one group, form a galaxy. As you know, there are countless numbers of these galaxies throughout space, with tremendous stretches of space between them. And what are these galaxies? Molecules! They extend through space even beyond the farthest range of my telescope! But having penetrated that far, it is not difficult to make the final step.

  “All of these far-flung galaxies, or molecules, taken together as a whole, form—what? Some indeterminable element or substance on a great, ultramacroscopic world! Perhaps a minute drop of water, or a grain of sand, or wisp of smoke, or—Good God!—an eyelash of some creature living on that world!”

  I could not speak. I felt myself grow faint at the thought he had propounded. I tried to think it could not be—yet what did I or anyone know about the infinite stretches of space that must exist beyond the ranges of our most powerful telescope?

  “It can’t be!” I burst out. “It’s incredible, it’s—monstrous!”

  “Monstrous? Carry it a step further. May not that ultra-world also be an electron whirling around the nucleus of an atom? And that atom only one of millions forming a molecule? And that molecule only one of millions forming -”

  “For God’s sake, stop!” I cried. “I refuse to believe that such a thing can be! Where would it all lead? Where would it end? It might go on—forever! And besides,” I added lamely, “what has all this to do with—your discovery, the fluid you showed me?”

  “Just this. I soon learned that it was useless to look to the infinitely large; so I turned to the infinitely small. For does it not follow that if such a state of creation exists in the stars above us, it must exist identically in the atoms below us?”

  I saw his line of reasoning, but still did not understand. His next words fully enlightened me, but made me suspect that I was facing one who had gone insane from his theorising. He went on eagerly, his voice the voice of a fanatic:

  “If I could not pierce the stars above, that were so far, then I would pierce the atoms below, that were so near. They are everywhere. In every object I touch and in the very air I breathe. But they are minute, and to reach them I must find a way to make myself as minute as they are, and more so! This I have done. The solution I showed you will cause every individual atom in my body to contract, but each electron and proton will also decrease in size, or diameter, in direct proportion to my own shrinkage! Thus will I not only be able to become the size of an atom, but can go down, down into infinite smallness!”

  II

  When he had stopped speaking I said calmly: “You are mad.”

  He was unperturbed. “I expected you to say that,” he answered. “It is only natural that that should be your reaction to all that I have said. But no, I am not mad, it is merely that you are unacquainted with the marvellous propensities of ‘Shrinx’. But I promised that you should see for yourself, and that you shall. You shall be the first to go down into the atomic universe.”

  My original opinion in regard to his state of mind remained unshaken.

  “I am sure you mean well, Professor,” I said, “but I must decline your offer.”

  He went on as though I hadn’t spoken:

  “There are several reasons why I want to send you before I myself make the trip. In the first place, once you make the trip there can be no returning, and there are a number of points I want to be quite clear on. You will serve as my advance guard, so to speak.”

  “Professor, listen. I do not doubt that the stuff you call ‘Shrinx’ has very remarkable properties. I will even admit that it will do all you say it will do. But for the past month you have worked day and night, with scarcely enough time out for food and hardly any sleep at all. You should take a rest, get away from the laboratory for a while.”

  “I shall keep in contact with your consciousness,” he said, “through a very ingenious device I have perfected. I will explain it to you later. The ‘Shrinx’ is introduced directly into the blood stream. Shortly thereafter your shrinkage should begin, and continue at moderate speed, never diminishing in the least degree so long as the blood continues to flow in your body. At least, I hope it never diminishes. Should it, I shall have to make the necessary alterations in the formula. All this is theoretical of course, but I am sure it will all work according to schedule, and quite without harm.”

  I had now lost all patience. “See here, Professor,” I said crossly, “I refuse to be the object of any of your wild-sounding experiments. You should realise that what you propose to do is scientifically impossible. Go home and rest—or go away for a while—”

  Without the slightest warning he leaped at me, snatching an object from the table. Before I could take a backward step I felt a needle plunge deep into my arm, and cried out with the pain of it. Things became hazy, distorted. A wave of vertigo swept over me. Then it passed, and my vision cleared. The Professor stood leering before me.

  “Yes, I’ve worked hard and I’m tired. I’ve worked thirty years, but I’m not tired enough nor fool enough to quit this thing now, right on the verge of the climax!”

  His leer of triumph gave way to an expression almost of sympathy.

  “I am sorry it had to come about this way,” he said, “but I saw that you would never submit otherwise.
I really am ashamed of you. I didn’t think you would doubt the truth of my statements to the extent of really believing me insane. But to be safe I prepared your allotment of the ‘Shrinx’ in advance, and had it ready; it is now coursing through your veins, and it should be but a short time before we observe the effects. What you saw in the vial is for myself when I am ready to make the trip. Forgive me for having to administer yours in such an undignified manner.”

  So angered was I at the utter disregard he had shown for my personal feelings, that I hardly heard his words. My arm throbbed fiercely where the needle had plunged in. I tried to take a step toward him, but not a muscle would move. I struggled hard to break the paralysis that was upon me, but could not move a fraction of an inch from where I stood.

  The Professor seemed surprised too, and alarmed.

  “What, paralysis? That is an unforeseen circumstance! You see, it is even as I said: the properties of ‘Shrinx’ are marvellous and many.”

  He came close and peered intently into my eyes, and seemed relieved.

  “However, the effect is only temporary,” he assured me. Then added: “But you will likely be a bit smaller when the use of your muscles returns, for your shrinkage should begin very shortly now. I must hurry to prepare for the final step.”

  He walked past me, and I heard him open his private cupboard again. I could not speak, much less move, and I was indeed in a most uncomfortable, not to mention undignified, position. All I could do was to glare at him when he came around in front of me again. He carried a curious kind of helmet with ear-pieces and goggles attached, and a number of wires running from it. This he placed upon the table and connected the wires to a small flat box.