Adventures in time and space told in future tense. The National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Street and Smith, publishers of astounding science fiction, bring you Dimension X. It happened during a routine skirmish in the Great War. Patrols advanced from the defense perimeter under jet cover and proceeded by napalm throwers. The enemy defended in depth and mopped up with guided 98s fired from 40 miles to the rear. The blast area was 10 miles in circumference and the medics didn't find much to pick up over 500 yards in. Taste of hope frighted member of police officer Catholic Home Department. Easy, easy. You want to kill him? Okay, take it away. They might have left these joes where they was. Half of them won't last till the plane comes. As long as they're alive, they'll be treated. Get off the tags, Travis. Start talking names. Yes, sir. This one must have been a thousand yards in. Get his dog tag out. What a mess. Here. Hardly Allen, Captain G5, Chem Research, AN-73D, number SO-238-690-403J. Allen Hardley? Allen Hardley. Well, that could be the hunter that wrote Children of the Mist and Conqueror's Road. Never heard of him. Major, I think maybe he's part conscious. Maybe I should give him another shot. Go ahead, Sergeant. There isn't much else we can do for him. It's a rotten shame. Ain't it always? Okay, Captain, give me your arm. There. Allen! Allen! Look out! Down! Down! Get up, Allen. You can't stay in bed all day. I remember that. Clear as if it were real. Pop an atom. Hit the deck. Remarkably vivid. Strange. Allen, are you all right? I'm all right. What's wrong with my voice? It's too high. What are you doing? Practicing singing? My voice has changed. Is that all? You're growing up. Happy birthday, son. Happy birthday? Hey, wake up, son. Wake up. I am awake. Come on. Out of bed. I don't understand. Breakfast waiting. Out of bed or I'll turn it over. All right, all right. It's a dream. Maybe, but you're wide awake now. I am awake now. Well, half awake anyway. That's the Bellacy Boniface, isn't it? What day is it? Are you kidding? You forget today's your birthday? No. No, I didn't forget. Neither did I. Here, son. Happy 13th birthday. You won't guess what's in here. A rifle. A light 22 rifle. How'd you know that? I remembered. Did I spill the beans sometime? I could have sworn it'd be a surprise. Well, go on. Open it. Like it? Yeah. Yeah. It's perfect, Dad. I'll be shaving, Alan. Come down to breakfast when you're ready. It's a big day today. You're almost a man. Almost? You're still groggy. Snap out of it, Alan. I will. There's a dream in it somewhere. But I'm not sure which. What? Never mind, Dad. I'll be right down for breakfast. Now for coffee. Mr. Stauber makes the best in town. Black for me. What? I mean... You may be 13, Alan, but they're still a little young for coffee, especially black. Oh, I wasn't thinking. What are you going to do today, son? I want to do some reading this morning, I guess. That's always a good thing to do. After breakfast, suppose you take a walk down to the station and get me a Times. Didn't it come? What, the Times? They don't deliver. Be a good idea, though. Maybe I'll talk to Sam Ashburn about it. Here's a half dollar, Alan. Get anything you want for yourself out of the change. Thanks, Dad. Finish your milk before you go. Oh, sure, Dad. And hurry back. I like to finish the crossword puzzle before lunch. Here you are, Alan. One Times. Tell your father the puzzle's a stinker. Thanks, Mr. Ashburn. Look out for the trucks when you cross the highway. Oh, I'll go cross Elton's lot shortcut. Elton's? You'll have a hard time crossing there, son. There's four buildings on that block. I thought they burned down. Seen them this morning. Big as life. Oh, I guess that didn't happen yet. What'd you say? Oh, nothing, Mr. Ashburn. I was just muttering. In my days, youngsters talked up. Yes, sir. Bye, Mr. Ashburn. Monday, August 6, 1945. Okinawa 1, bombing Japan. Hey! Hey, Alan, wait up! Larry Morton! Hi, Larry! Hi, Al. Hey, you want to have a catch or something? No, I have some things I want to do at home. Wow, get him. Fancy pants talk. Things I want to do at home. Oh, go chase yourself around the block. Go jump in a garbage can, will you? Go take a flying jet to the moon. Hey, that's a new one. A flying jet to the moon. Hey, you thought up a new one, Al. Yeah. Hey, how about us going swimming at the canoe club Zafter? Gee, I wish I could. I got to stay home. Zafter. You see the football movie at the Grand? Boy, what a team. Notre Dame. I thought you liked Cornell. Cornell? Ha, they couldn't even beat Vassar. You're going to Cornell, aren't you? Me? Cornell? Fat chance. I'll bet you do. I wouldn't take your money. I know you wouldn't. You'll go to Cornell, all right? Ha, Cornell. Far above Cayuga's water, there's an awful smell. Just the same. You'll go to Cornell. I've got to hurry, Larry. Well, so long, Al. See you. So long, Larry. See you. I'm stuck in this corner. A seven-letter word to mix in proportion. Titrate. T-I-E. It fits. How'd you know that, Alan? What? Oh, I read it somewhere, I guess. Oh. What are you reading now? Tarzan again? No, not Tarzan. It's refreshing to see you with a book. Sometimes I think I ought to forbid comic books in the house. They must be raising the devil with those bombing raids in Japan. How long do you think the war in Japan will last, Dad? Oh, I'd say the middle of 1946. We'll have to invade those islands foot by foot. I wouldn't be surprised if the war was over very suddenly. How, by magic? There isn't a thing on Earth that'll make those Japanese surrender. You expect somebody to make a pass and it'll be all over by this afternoon? That's just about it. Mr. Hartley, excuse me. Could I see you for a minute? Oh, hello, Mr. Gottschall. Sure. That's Frank Gottschall, Dad? That's right. Excuse me. Didn't mean to disturb you, Mr. Hartley. That's quite all right. It's a lovely day, isn't it, Mr. Gottschall? The Lord's world is always beautiful. Oh, of course, Mr. Gottschall. Mr. Hartley, I wonder if you could lend me a gun and some bullets. My little dog's been hurt and it's been suffering. Something terrible. Oh, that's too bad. I want a gun to put the poor thing out of its pain. Of course. How would a 20-gate shotgun do? You wouldn't want anything heavy. I was hoping you'd let me have a little gun, maybe so big. A pistol? So I could put it in my pocket. Wouldn't look right for a godly man to carry a hunting gun through town. I don't hold with killing innocent creatures. People wouldn't understand that it was for a work of mercy. Of course I understand. You're a very religious man. The whole world is evil, Mr. Hartley. Sometimes it certainly looks like it. Well, I have a Colt 38 Special from the auxiliary police out there. That's fine. Fine. You'll have to bring it right back, Mr. Gottschall. I might be called out. Dad, Dad, wait a minute. I just remembered. Remembered what, son? Aren't there some cartridges left for the Luger? Then you wouldn't be without the Colt. That's right. I've got a German automatic, Mr. Gottschall, like I thought you have. That way I wouldn't get stuck. Wait, Dad, I'll get it. I know where the cartridges are. Be careful, son. Well, Mr. Gottschall, it sure turned out nice after all that rain. Hello, police headquarters. This is Blake Hartley. Frank Gottschall, who lives on Campbell Street, has just borrowed a gun from me ostensibly to shoot a dog. What? No, he has no dogs. He intends shooting his wife. Yes, I'll take out the firing pin. You walk home. If you hurry, you can get a man there in time. Right. Oh, there you are. What kept you, Ellen? I couldn't find the cartridges at first. I'll show Mr. Gottschall how it works. It's all loaded, ready to shoot. This is the safety. Just push it forward and up. There are eight shots in it. Did you load the chamber, Ellen? Oh, sure. It's unsafe now. You understand how it works, Mr. Gottschall? Yes, yes, I understand. Thank you, Mr. Hartley. Thank you, sonny. Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Gottschall. Return the gun when you're done. Yes, I'll be done with it soon. Goodbye. Ellen, you shouldn't have loaded that gun. I guess it's all over now. I had to keep you from falling with it. Didn't want you to see I took out the firing pin. You what? Gottschall didn't want that gun to shoot a dog. He's a fanatic. He sees visions, hears voices. The voices probably put him up to this. I'll submit that any man who holds intimate conversations with disembodied spirits isn't to be trusted with a gun. He wants to shoot his wife. What are you talking about? While I was upstairs, I called the police. I put a handkerchief over my mouth and told them I was you. You... Why'd you have to do that? I couldn't have told them. This is little Alan Hartley, 13 years old. And suppose he really wants to shoot a dog. What kind of a mess will I be in then? No mess, because I'm right. But you'll have to front for me. They give me a lot of cheek-boy hero publicity, which I don't want. This is crazy, Alan. This is absolutely crazy. We'll have the complete returns in 20 minutes. Mr. Hartley, Mr. Blake Hartley? That's right. I'm Detective Sergeant Kiborsky from Homicide. Here's your luger. Thank you. I don't know how you spotted that guy, but when we busted in, he was pointing that gun at his wife, swearing a blue streak, because it wouldn't go off. Well, I'm glad I was able to help. They may have some kind of citation, Mr. Hartley. Oh, I don't think that's necessary. Well, in the department, we figure a little publicity never hurt nobody. Even a lawyer, huh? I really preferred having kept quiet. Well, whatever you say. We'll want you to drop around in the morning for a statement. I'll be glad to. Well, thanks, Mr. Hartley. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye, sonny. Goodbye, Sergeant. Why don't you take the citation, Dad? Well, you were right. You saved that woman's life. Let's, uh, see you put back the firing pin. Sure. There. Suppose we have a little talk. But I explained everything. You did not. Yesterday, you wouldn't even have known how to take this pistol apart. Today, you've been using language and expressing ideas that are outside of everything you've ever known before. Now, I want to know. Well, I hope you're not toying with the medieval notion of obsession. What? You seem changed. When did you first notice this? Last night, you were still my little boy. This morning, I don't know. You've been strange all day. Alan, what's happened to you? I wish I could be sure myself, Dad. You see, when I woke up this morning, all I could remember was lying on a stretcher injured by a bomb explosion. I was 43 years old, and the year was 1975. 1975? That's right, you'll be 43 in 1975. But, but, a bomb? Yes, during the Siege of Buffalo in the Third World War. I was the captain in G5 Scientific Warfare General Staff. Buffalo? You mean Buffalo, New York? Yes, there had been a transpolar invasion of Canada. I was sent to the front to check on service failures of a new lubricating oil. I got hit by a bomb blast. I remember being picked up and getting a narcotic injection. The next thing I knew, I was in bed upstairs, and it was 1945 again. And I was back in my own 13-year-old body. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Alan, you just had a nightmare to end all nightmares, that's all. I thought it might be that at first, but I rejected it. It wouldn't fit the facts. It's ridiculous, all this battle of Buffalo stuff. You picked it up listening to the radio. All the commentators have been going on about another war after this one. You've just got an undigested chunk of H.V. Kaltenborn in your subconscious. But that isn't everything. I remember four years of high school, four years at Cornell, seven years as a reporter on the Philadelphia Record, three novels, Children of the Mist, Rolls of Death, and Conqueror's Road. I wrote detective stories under a phony name. I worked in chemistry. You think a 13-year-old can dream up all that stuff? But it's the only possible explanation. Maybe, but I can speak five languages today that I couldn't yesterday. French, German, Chinese, Russian, and Spanish. Although I've got a Mexican accent you could cut with a knife. But, but how'd it happen? I, I can't believe it. All I know is here I am. I've been reading up on time theories. Nobody seems to know much about them. Evidently time exists parallel as another dimension. And I've got kicked backwards and somehow. But how? It may have been the radiation from the bomb, or the narcotic injection, or both together. But the fact remains I'm here with full knowledge of, of my future identity. This, this is quite a shock, Alan. But you do believe me, don't you? Yes, I suppose I must. You seem so strange as, as if you weren't my son. I'm your son, all right. The same body as yesterday. I've just had an educational shortcut. Wait a minute. If you can remember the next 30 years, suppose you tell me when the war is going to end. This one against the Japs, I mean. Sure, the Japanese surrender will be announced at exactly 7 or 1 p.m. on August 14th, the week from Tuesday. Better make sure we have plenty of grub in the house by then. Everything will be closed up tight till Thursday morning. Even the restaurants. I remember we had nothing to eat in the house but some scraps. Tuesday week? That's pretty sudden, isn't it? Not after today. What do you mean, what happened today? Plenty. What time is it, Dad? 11 16. Did you watch right? To the second, why? It'll come at exactly 11 17 40. What'll come? The radio announcement. What are you getting at? Something important on the radio? We'll see. Don't bother, Dad. It won't work. I remember we had a tube burned out. There is something wrong. What is this announcement of yours? I memorized it in journalism school at Columbia in 1954. What time is it? 11 18. They're breaking into the programs now. President Truman has just announced that an atomic bomb has been dropped on the Japanese industrial city of Hiroshima. The bomb was dropped 16 hours ago and the announcement was delayed to ascertain the results of the explosion. A man named John Howard Peterson read the announcement from the Washington newsroom of MBC. I don't believe it. No? Listen. That's the burnt plate factory whistle and the bells at St. Boniface. Next, the whistle at the volunteer firehouse. And it's true. It is true. Sure. Then Larry Morton came by on his bicycle. Hey, hey Al, you hear? You hear about the bomb? An atomic bomb. Yeah, we heard. Oh boy, atomic bomb. Oh boy. I gotta go find my father. He's on the golf course. Bye Al. Bye Mr. Hartley. You knew. You knew about it. The next bomb hit Snackasaki. I thought that stuff about atomic energy was so much fantasy. Was that the kind of bomb that got you? That was a firecracker compared to the one that got me. It was a guided 98 exploded 10 miles away. And that's going to happen in 30 years? I remember it. How about, well, how about me? Wait, never mind. I don't think I better know when I'm going to die. I couldn't tell you anyway. I had a letter from you just before I left for the front. You were 78 then and you were still hunting and fishing and flying your own plane. But another war and fought on American soil. Al, I wish this hadn't happened to you. It happened. I remember it. But if I can help it, I'm not going to get killed in any battle of Buffalo. But if you remember it, if time exists as a parallel dimension, then every kick we're getting closer to that third world war. Dad, you know what I remember when Gucho came to borrow that gun? I suppose that you suspected him and warned me. No, no, that wasn't it. The other time, the first time when I was really 13. I wasn't home. I'd been swimming at the canoe club with Larry Morton. When I got home about half an hour from now, I found the house full of cops. But if the gun didn't fire... What makes you think it didn't? Gucho took the 38 out of you, went home, shot his wife four times in the body, once behind the ear, and used the sixth shot to blow his own brains out. That's what you remember? Yes, but now it hasn't happened because I warned you. Dad, I found out the future can be changed. One man can't change the whole future. I stopped the murder and the suicide. I know something, but... With 30 years to work, I can stop a world war. I'll have the means. The means? Unlimited wealth and influence. I've got a good memory, Dad. I wrote a list out this afternoon. Look at this. Assault, jet pilot, citation, pond, middle ground, counter... What is this code? Horses. That's a list of Kentucky Derby winners from 1946 to 1970. You sure? I learned that list on a bet at the Officers Club in Cincinnati in 1971. Assault paid 8 to 1. You figure out what we can take in. But gambling sucks. This isn't gambling. It's a sure thing. When we get rolling, we'll make the Rockefellers look like pikers. Assault at 8 to 1. I suppose I could scrape up $5,000. In 10 years, that'll make a lot of money. Any other little thing you have in mind, Alan? By 1952, we start building a political organization here in Pennsylvania. In 1960, I think we can elect you president. Of course, I... President? Isn't that going a little too far? Why not? Who wouldn't vote for a politician who was always right? Besides, that's one thing we've got to change. In 1960, we had a man in the White House who was good to his wife and sang a nice tenor. And that's about all. He fouled up so completely, we ended up at war. I think President Hartley might be a little more trusted to take a strong line. Well, I don't know anything about international decisions. I do. I know all the wrong ones. If we can stop a murder, with time we can stop a war. How do I start? Well, as I remember, just after that bomb announcement, you got a phone call from the city fusion party about the next election. Well, there is a lot of talk about a reform ticket. That call is going to be important, Dad. It's the turning point. You've got... There it is. What...what do I do? Answer it. Go ahead. But, Alan... Don't worry. I'll tell you what to say. Go ahead. Hello. Yes, this is Blake Hartley. Judge Crimmons? Well, just a moment. Alan, he's asking me to run. Oh, oh, my head. Alan, Alan, what's the matter? Alan. He passed out. Alan, what do I do now? Alan, listen to me. Alan. Alan, what's the matter? Alan. Captain Hartley. Captain Hartley. Captain Hartley. It's all right, Doctor. I gave him a shot and he was all right. He's dead. All right, Sergeant, make up the tag. Yes, sir. Hartley, Alan, Captain. Dead August 8, 1975. Alan, Alan, what happened? Alan, Alan. Huh? Alan, are you all right? Hi, Dad. I've got Judge Crimmons on the phone. What do I tell him? What? Alan, are you all right? You passed out. Sure, I'm all right. Hey, today's my birthday. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Hey, today's my birthday, isn't it? What did you get me, Dad? Oh, what did you get me? Alan, are you all right? Sure, I'm all right. What did you get for my birthday, huh? Don't you remember the Third World War? What Third World War? Gee, Dad, what's the matter? You're looking at me funny. Judge Crimmons, I'll have to call you back. Goodbye. You don't remember. You're back again, aren't you? Back to 13 years old. Sure, I'm 13 today. For corn sakes, Dad. You must have died up there. It was only a mind transfer. That means now I'm on my own. I have to do it myself without your help. Help for what? Oh, if it's the grass, I said I'd cut it tomorrow. Oh, no, it isn't the grass. I've got to save your life, Alan. I can't let you die that way in 1975. What are you talking about, Dad? You sound goofy. I've got to change it all by myself. Change what? Never mind, Alan, you don't know yet. Come on, let's have lunch. Sure, Dad. Hey, how about my present now? What did you get me for my birthday? Hey, in a minute, son. Go on in. Hurry up, Dad. All right. Now where'd I put that list of horses? You have just heard another adventure into the unknown world of the future. The world of... Dimension. Dimension. Homecoming is a joyous word. But when the home you're returning to is a burned-out, radioactive planet, and when you cannot even imagine what terrible changes you will find there, the word then takes on a very different meaning. Next week, Dimension X brings you a strange story called Dwellers in Silence. Dimension X is brought to you each week by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Street and Smith, and the publishers of the magazine Astounding Science Fiction. Today, Dimension X is presented time and time again, written for radio by Ernest Conoy and the story by H. Beam Piper. Featured in the cast were David Anderson as Alan and Joseph Curtin as his dad. Your host was Norman Rhodes, music by Albert Berman. Dimension X is produced by William Welch and directed by Fred Way.
