Yesterday's Revenge

by H. L. Nichols

The Master watched, smiling secretly as he exulted in his power over Heidkamp. It was small pleasure to have the right of life and death over the workers who toiled in the depths of the city, but here was one of the great minds of all time, whom the Master could crush out of existence like an insect. The Master's eyes sparkled as he acknowledged the salute of the Technician.

From the top of the cabinet Heidkamp lifted the separate eyepiece, its control buttons showing white against the ruby case, and laid it on the Master's desk. Again he saluted.

"Your Excellency, a year ago you commanded me to construct a machine through which, for your amusement, you could view the past. Night and day I have labored, and now I offer to you the Time Visor through which you may view one small segment of the past—that time when the world, long tottering on the brink of disaster, spread too late the wings of war, and hurled itself to its long ruin. From this high place you may see the towers of Manhattan once more piled against the southern sky, in the midst of that vast ancient web of bridges, highways and villages, with its great harbor filled with the shipping that the War of the Wings has since destroyed. Look downward, and you may follow hour by hour the simple life of the old village of Nyack where our city now stands. Or you may carry it to the ends of the earth, and view the whole crowded world of those other days.

"The instrument is adjusted to your Excellency's eyes. The lower button regulates the magnification, now set at three diameters. Your Excellency, you have long possessed the present and the future. It is my honor now to offer you the past." Heidkamp paused, his face glowing with the impersonal exultation of the born scientist.

The Master lifted the instrument toward his eyes, and as he did so, saw on the southern horizon a small cloud, intensely black, and from some forgotten saying there flashed uneasily through his mind the phrase "no larger than a man's hand." But through the eye piece there was no cloud, but a dawn-cleared sky into which the haphazard towers of the now almost legendary Manhattan lifted their pinnacles, softened by plumes of drifting smoke and flattered by slanting bars of golden sunlight. Long the Master looked, and at length turned the visor directly downward, to look through half a mile of empty space at a village sprawled toylike on a green hill sloping upward from the river.

Interested in the town which had once occupied the land where the Serene Tower now soared aloft, the Master increased the magnification. He had a nightmare sensation of falling with rocket speed, snatched his eyes away, and saw that in the south the cloud towered over a third of the horizon, black and ominous. He barked to the watchful image in the visiscreen, "Tell those fools in the weather department to stop that storm!" and again looked down thru the visor. He seemed now to be a few feet above a green lawn fronting a trim white house, roofed with wooden shingles. On the gravel path stood a girl whose pure young beauty made him catch his breath. She threw back her golden hair and looked directly toward him, her blue eyes wide and fearless.

But suddenly the Master was jerked back to the present as the floor swayed beneath him, and a fearful crash of thunder entered his eyrie, where no outside sound had ever come unbidden. He looked up and saw the great cloud, now overhead, pouring forth torrents of rain which made the campanulet seem like a diving bell in a cataract. On the outer surface of the glass was an incessant race of lightning, flashing over the surface in zigzags and spirals, seeking angrily to penetrate the Room of Power. The visiscreen was blank and rimmed with fire, blue flames and crackling sparks flickered from the machines and the robots, and it seemed to the Master that at last his defenses had failed.

Now the secret fear which lay hidden at the Master's heart grew in power, and he shrank back into his chair, while the great Negro guards stood like statues of fear, their hair erect and snapping. The elements, then, were not wholly under control of the Master's mighty science! Nature had broken the chains with which he had thought to bind her. And if the weather control could fail, could not something go wrong, too, with all the Master's power and authority?

Heidkamp, immobile, watched the Master and seemed to guess at his thoughts. Only his eyes betrayed his exultation at the fury of the storm. Only a flicker of the lids, when he looked at the Master, shadowed forth a hatred of the man in whose war his only brother had fallen, the man who had negligently said to Heidkamp, "Well, give her to him, man! What's a brown-haired girl?" when the Master's current favorite had coveted Heidkamp's only daughter. The favorite was dead now, executed at one of the Master's whims, and the daughter too was dead, refusing to survive her shame and perishing by her own hand.

But soon the torrent of rain ceased, the dancing fires vanished, and the lightning thinned and waned. The cloud was breaking under the impact of great rays that lashed out from below, boiling away in harmless beaten puffs, dissolving into the upper air or blowing north like fragments of a vanquished fleet. Belatedly the weather control operators had reasserted their mastery.