In just a moment, X minus one. But first, when you hear the hearty laugh and familiar voice of the great gilder sleep tomorrow night, you know you're in for some hilarious adventures. Because whenever Gildy is around, somehow things never seem to go as planned. It might be his impulsive nature, or maybe it's his incurable weakness for the fairest sex, but whatever it is, the great gilder sleep is bound to keep you laughing for a full 25 minutes. Tune in tomorrow night and meet Judge Hooker, Nephula Roy, Housekeeper Bertie, and all the rest of the friendly people from Summerfield as they join the great gilder sleep. Now stay tuned for X minus one on NBC. Countdown for blast off. X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one, fire. From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future. Adventures in which you'll live in a million could be years on a thousand maybe worlds. The National Broadcasting Company, in cooperation with Street and Smith, publishers of astounding science fiction, presents... X minus one. Tonight's story, Time and Time Again by H. Beam Piper. 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 mocked 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. Come on, come on. All right, back it in here. Look out, it's lousy with mud. More, more. Now, now, cut left. More, hold it. There it is. Coming up, coming up. Come on, Travers, get those men out. Yes, sir. Get a move on, line them up. Come on. Easy, easy. You want to kill them? Okay, take it away. They might have left those 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 those tags out, Travers. Start taking names. Yes, sir. This one must have been a thousand yards in. Get his dog tag out. What a mess. Here. Hartley Allen, Captain G5 Chem Research, AN-73D. Number SO-23869403-J. Hartley? Allen Hartley. Oh, that must be the Hartley that wrote Children of the Mist and Conker's Road. Never heard of him. Major, Major, I think maybe he's partly conscious. And I'd better give him another shot. Go ahead, Sergeant. There isn't much else we can do for him. So rotten shame. Yeah, ain't it always. Okay, Captain, let me have that arm. There. Oh. Allen. Oh, God. Don't. Don't. Get up, Allen. Can't stay in bed all day. I remember that. Clear as if it were real. Up and at him. Hit the deck. Remarkably vivid. It's strange. Allen, are you all right? I'm all right. What's wrong with my voice? Huh? Ah! It's too high. What are you doing, practicing singing? My voice has changed. Is that all? You're growing up. Happy birthday. Happy birthday? Hey, wake up, son. Wake up. I am awake. It's impossible. I am awake. The way you slept through that alarm, I'd say it was impossible. Come on, out of bed. I don't understand. You went to bed at a decent hour. You could wake up the next morning. Come on, son, 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. I'm awake. Well, half awake anyway. That's the bell at St. Boniface, isn't it? What day is it? Are you kidding? You forget today's your birthday? No, 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. Oh, now how did you know that? I remembered. Did I spill the beans sometime? Oh, I could have sworn it would be a surprise. Well, go on. Open it. You like it? Yeah. Yeah, it's perfect, Dad. Well, we'll have to lay down rules about using it. And I'll have to teach you how to operate it. I don't believe in letting a boy handle a gun till he really knows how. If I let you play with that thing before I teach you about guns, you'd blow your head off. I suppose so. I'll be shaving, Alan. Come down to breakfast when you're ready. Well, 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. What are you going to do today, son? I want to do some reading this morning. 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? Well, they don't deliver. It'd be a good idea, though. Maybe I'll talk to Sam Ershmoen 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. Sure, Dad. Thanks for the money. You're big enough to handle it now. Hurry back. I'd like to finish the crossword puzzle before lunch. Here you are, Alan, one Times. Tell your father the puzzle's a stinker this week. Thanks, Mr. Ashburn. Look out for the trucks when you cross the highway. I'll go across Elton's lot. It's a shortcut. Elton's? You'll have a hard time crossing there, son. There's four buildings on that block. I thought they burned down. I've seen them this morning. Big as life. I guess that didn't happen yet. What'd you say? Nothing, Mr. Ashburn. I was just muttering. My days, youngsters talked up. Yes, sir. Bye, Mr. Ashburn. Monday, August 6th, 1945. Okinawa 1, bombing Japan. Hey, hey, Alan. Alan, wait up. Hey, Larry Morton. Hi, Larry. Hi, Al. You going to Sunday school? No, I have some things I want to do at home. Oh, get him. Fancy pants talk. Things I want to do at home. Aw, go chase yourself around the block. Go jump in a garbage can. Go take a flying jet to the moon. Hey, that's a new one. Flying jet to the moon. You thought up a new one, Al. Yeah. I wish I could stay home from Sunday school when I want to do. How about us going swimming at the canoe club after? I wish I could. I got to stay home. We're expecting company. A couple aunts of mine. Dad wants me to stay home when they come. Answer a pain. Nothing I can do. You see the football movie at the Grand? Boy, what a team. Notre Dame. I thought you'd like Cornell. Cornell? Ha. They couldn't beat Vassar. Well, you're going to go to Cornell, aren't you? Me, Cornell? Fat chance. I'll bet you do. I wouldn't take your money. Well, I know you wouldn't, but you'll go to Cornell all right. Ha, Cornell. Far above Cayuga's waters, there's an awful smell. Just the same. You all go to Cornell. Larry, I got to go. Well, so long, Al. I'll see you. So long, Larry. See you. I'm stuck in this corner. I'm stuck in this corner, staring at a word that makes in proportion. Titrate. Huh? Titrate? T-I-T-I-T-I-T. It fits. Now, how did you know that, Alan? That? Well, 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. Hmm. Yeah, 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? Hmm, I'd say to the middle of 1946. They'll have to invade those islands foot by foot. I don't think so, Dad. I wouldn't be surprised if the war was over very suddenly. How, by magic? There isn't a thing on earth that will make those Japanese surrender. You expect somebody to make a pass and it'll be all over by this afternoon? Something like that. Hmm, I wish it could. There'll be a lot of boys dead in the invasion of Japan. Mr. Hartley, excuse me, please. Oh, hello, Mr. Gutchell. That's Frank Gutchell, Dad? That's right. Excuse me. I didn't mean to disturb you, Mr. Hartley. It's all right. Lovely day, isn't it, Mr. Gutchell? Mr. Hartley, the Lord's Day is always beautiful. Of course, Mr. Gutchell. 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-gauge shotgun do? You wouldn't want anything heavy. I was hoping you'd let me have a little gun. Maybe, oh, so big. Pistol? So I could put it in my pocket. It wouldn't look right to carry a hunting gun on the Lord's Day, and 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 outfit. Well, that's fine. You've got to bring it right back, Mr. Gutchell. I might be called out. You'll have to promise to get it right back. Dad, wait a minute. I just remembered. Remembered what? Well, aren't there some cartridges left for the Luger? Then you wouldn't be without the Colt. That's right. I haven't got a German automatic I could let you have. That way I wouldn't get stuck. You'd have to return it promptly, though. Oh, wait, Dad. I'll get it. I know where the cartridges are. Be careful, son. Well, Mr. Gutchell, it sure turned out nice after all that playing. Hello, police headquarters. This is Blake Hartley. Frank Gutchell, who lives on Campbell Street, has just borrowed a gun from me, ostensibly, to shoot a dog. What? No, he has no dog. He intends shooting his wife. Now, listen, he'll walk home. If you hurry, you can get a man there on time. What? No, but I wish you'd get my pistol back to me. It's from the First World War. All right, all right. Then you'll take care of it. Goodbye. There you are. What kept you, Alan? I couldn't find the cartridges at first. I'll show Mr. Gutchell how it works. It's all loaded, ready to shoot. What is the safety? Just push it forward and up. There are eight shots in it. Did you load the chamber, Alan? Sure, it's on safe now. Do you understand how it works, Mr. Gutchell? Oh, yes, yes, I understand. Thank you, Mr. Hartley. Thank you, Sonny. Goodbye. Goodbye, Mr. Gutchell. Return the gun when you're done. Yes, I'll be done with it soon. Goodbye. Alan, you shouldn't have loaded that gun. I guess it's all over now. I had to keep you from fooling with it. I didn't want you to see I took out the firing pin. You what? Gutchell 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. What are you talking about? While I was at it, I called the police upstairs. I put a handkerchief over my mouth and told them I was you. You? Well, why did you have to do that? I couldn't have told them this is little Alan Hartley, 13 years old. Then suppose he really wants to shoot a dog. What kind of a mess will I be in then? No mess. If I'm wrong, which I'm not, I'll take the rap for it. Dumb kid trick, you know. But if I'm right, you'll have to front for me. They give me a lot of cheap boy hero publicity, which I don't want. This is crazy, Alan. This is absolutely crazy. Maybe. 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 and swearing a blue streak because it wouldn't go off. I'm glad I was able to help. You know, they may even have some kind of a citation for you, Mr. Hartley. I don't think that's necessary. In the department, we figure a little publicity never hurt nobody, even a lawyer. I really would prefer it if it 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, goodbye. Goodbye, Sonny. Goodbye, Sergeant. Goodbye, Sergeant. Why don't you take the citation, Dad? Well, you were right. You saved that woman's life. Now, let's see you put back the firing pin. Sure. Here. All right, Ellen. Suppose we have a little talk. 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... I hope you're not toying with the medieval notion of obsession. What? Would you say I'm 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. There's been something... Ellen, what's happened to you? I wish I could be sure of myself, Dad. You see, when I woke this morning, I hadn't the least recollection of anything I'd done yesterday, August 4th, 1945. Oh, that's serious. You don't know how serious. My last memory was lying on a stretcher, injured by a bomb explosion. I was 43 years old, and the year was 1975. 1975? Well, 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 a captain in G5, Scientific Warfare, General Staff. Buffalo? You mean Buffalo, New York? There'd been a trans-polar invasion of Canada. I was sent to the front to check on service failures of a new lubricating oil. A week after I got there, Ottawa fell, and the retreat started. We made a stand at Buffalo, and that was where I got it. 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. Oh, 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 won't fit the facts. But it's ridiculous, all this battle of Buffalo stuff. You picked up something listening to the radio, all the commentators have been going on about another war after this one. You've just got an undigested hunk of H.V. Kalinborn in your subconscious, that's all. 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, Rose of Death, Conqueror's Road. 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 a little Spanish. Although I've got a Mexican accent you could cut with a knife. But how did it happen? Alan, 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 got kicked backwards along it. But how? It may have been the radiations from the bomb or the narcotic injection, or both together. But the fact remains I'm here with full knowledge 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 if you weren't my son. I'm your son, all right. Same body as yesterday. I've just had an educational shortcut. Ah. 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. Oh, sure. Well, the Japanese surrender will be announced at exactly 7.01 p.m. on August 14th. That's a week from Tuesday. A week from Tuesday? You 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. A week from Tuesday. That's pretty sudden, isn't it? Not after today. What do you mean? What happened today? Plenty. What time is it, Dad? Mm-hmm. That's 11.16. Is your watch right? Well, to the seconds, 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? Well, we'll see. Well, don't bother, Dad. It won't work. I remember we had a tube burned out. There is something wrong. When is this announcement of yours? Now I remember it. I memorized it in journalism school in 1954. What time is it? 11.18 o'clock. We're breaking into the program now. President Truman has just announced that an atomic bomb has been dropped in 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 that announcement from the Washington newsroom with NBC. I... I don't believe it. No? Well, listen. What? That's the Burk Platt factory whistle. And the bells of St. Boniface. Now, next, the whistle at the volunteer firehouse. The bell? The bell? Then it's true. It's true. Sure. Then Larry Morton came by on his bicycle. Hey, hey, hey, Al. Did you hear about the bomb? The atomic bomb. Yeah, we heard. Boy, atomic bomb. Oh, boy. I gotta go find my poppies on the golf course. Bye, Al. Bye, Mr. Hartley. You knew. You knew about it. The next bomb hits Nagasaki. The atomic energy was so much fantasy. Was... was that the kind of bomb that got you? Oh, that was a firecracker 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, uh, how about me? Oh, wait, wait. Never mind. I don't think I'd 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. Oh, Ellen, 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 tick, we're getting closer to that Third World War. Dad, you know what I remembered when Gutschel came to borrow that gun? I suppose that you suspected him and mourned me. No, 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 a 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? Gutschel talked the 38 out of you. He 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. The cops traced the gun. They took a very poor view of your lending it to them. You never got it back. But here it is. Oh, not the way I remember it. But I didn't want you in trouble, so I warned you. Dad, I found out the future can be changed. One man can't change the whole future. I stopped a murder and a suicide. I know, but... With 30 years to work, I can stop a world war. I'll have the means, too. The means? Unlimited wealth and influence. I've got a good memory, Dad. I wrote a list out this afternoon. Assault, jet pilot, citation, ponder, middle ground. What is this called? Horses. That's a list of Kentucky Derby winners from 1946 to 1970. You sure? I learned that list on a bet at the office's club in Cincinnati in 1971. Assault paid 8 to 1. You figure out what we can take in. Oh, 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, Ellen? Well, by 1952, we start building a political organization here in Pennsylvania. In 1960, I think we can elect you president. President? Isn't that going a little too far? Well, why not? Who wouldn't vote for a politician who was always right? Besides, it's the 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. But I don't know anything about international decisions. I do. I know all the wrong ones. If we can stop one murder, we can stop a war. It's worth a try, isn't it? I guess so. How do I start? Well, as I remember, just after the bomb announcement, you got a phone call from the city fusion party about the next election. There's a lot of talk about a reform ticket. Well, that call is going to be important, Dad. It's the turning point. Now, you've got to know. There it is. What do I do? Well, answer it. Go ahead. Don't worry. I'll tell you what to do. Go ahead. Hello? Yes, this is Blake Hartley. Judge Crimmins. Yes. Just a moment. Alan, he's asking me to run. 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? Captain. Captain Hartley. Captain Hartley. He was all right, Doctor. I gave him the shot and he was all right. Well, he's dead. All right, Sergeant. Make out the tag. Hartley, Alan. Captain. Dead April 8th, 1975. Alan. Alan, what happened? Alan. Alan. Alan, are you all right? Hi, Dad. I've got Judge Crimmins on the phone. What do I tell him? Alan, are you all right? You passed out. Sure. I'm all right. Hey, today's my birthday, isn't it? What'd you get for my birthday, huh? Don't you remember? The Third World War? What Third World War? Dad, what's the matter? You're looking at me funny. You don't remember? You're back again, aren't you? You're back again, aren't you? Back to 13 years old. Sure. I'm 13 today. For corn's sake, Dad. You must have died up there. It was only a mind transfer. That means I'm on my own. I have to do it myself without your help. Help for what? If it's the grass, I said I'd cut it tomorrow. No, no. It's not the grass. I've got to save your life, Alan. I can't let you die that way in 1975. You're 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. How about my present now? What'd you get me for my birthday? In a minute, Son. Go on in. Okay. Well, hurry up, Dad. Sure. All right. Hmm. Now, where did I put that list of horses? You have just heard X-Minus One, presented by the National Broadcasting Company in cooperation with Street and Smith, publishers of astounding science fiction. Tonight, by transcription, X-Minus One has brought you Time and Time Again, written by H. Beam Piper and adapted for radio by Ernest Canoie. Featured in the cast were Jack Grimes, Peter Fernandez, Joe DeSantis, Joseph Bell, Clark Gordon, Herm Dinkin, Dick Hamilton, and James Dukas. Your announcer, Fred Collins. X-Minus One was directed by Daniel Sutter and is an NBC radio network production.
