“Yes, my boy. I understand your aversion to making any more trips into the historical Past. You have been a—um—lodestone for violent trouble . . .” “Something always happens to me!” exclaimed Pete. “What if I sh’d get bumped off in the Past? Nix. No more o’ that stuff for me.” “Quite right, my son. And yet—” Mayhem’s benign tone and dreamy stare at the ceiling were pure ham. “I would never have invited you here again, Pete, knowing it to be a place of strange memories, except that occassionally in our lives there arise demands that transcend all selfish personal considerations. Do you follow me?” —“Grief of Bagdad”
“Great Snell!” he gasped. “So that was it! I ran into a temporal snag!”
Henry Kuttner and C.L. Moore, Master Travellers
Kuttner and Moore hold the distinction of being the recipients of the only joint Master Travellers award. It’s hard to pick which is their most unforgetable story: “The Twonky”? “Mimsy...”? “Vintage Season”? Nope. I’m nominating the lesser known “What You Need”!
He was, Vanning reflected, an odd duck. Galloway was essentially amoral, thoroughly out of place in this too-complicated world. He seemed to watch, with a certain wry amusement, from a vantage point of his own, rather disinterested for the most part. And he made things—
An Eloi Honorable Mention
Neither Paradine nor Jane guessed how much of an effect the contents of the time machine were having on the kids.
Now, shielding the bills with his body, he took them out for a closer examination. They looked all right. They weren’t counterfeit; the serial numbers were O.K.; and they had the same odd musty smell Holt had noticed before. “You must have been hoarding these,” he hazarded. Smith said absently, “They’ve been on exhibit for sixty years—” He caught himself and drank rye.
An Eloi Gold Medal Winner
Looking backward later, Oliver thought that in that moment, for the first time clearly, he began to suspect the truth. But he had no time to ponder it, for after the brief instant of enmity the three people from—elsewhere—began to speak all at once, as if in a belated attempt to cover something they did not want noticed.
After my treatment, you’l awake. You’ll find yourself in a room a thousand miles from here and back seven years in time. You’ll have absolutely no remembrance of these past seven years. The slate will be clean. —“Another Chance”
So, even now I do not know all that lay behind the terror in that Peruvian valley. This much I learned: the Other, like Lhar and her robot, had been cast adrift by a time-slip, and thus marooned here. There was no way for it to return to its normal Time-sector. It had created the fog-wall to protect itself from the direct rays of the sun, which threatened its existence.
These aren’t the droids you’re looking for . . . move along.