DICTATOR OF TIME
An Exciting Novel
By NELSON S. BOND
Humanity against the Arch-Brain of the
Future! Twentieth-Century Larry Wilson
and Sandra Day lead the Armageddon of
the Ages against Harg, crafty, vain
monster-intellect bent on warping
Man to his Inhuman Will!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1940.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Larry Wilson was going to miss his train. He swung from his cabat Philadelphia's Broad Street Station, glanced swiftly at hiswrist-watch, tossed a bill in the general direction of the cabby, thendashed for the staircase that led to the train platform. His watchshowed exactly 10:59. The New York express was scheduled to leave ateleven sharp.
Behind him, morning traffic made its customary din in the streetsof the Quaker City. Automobile horns whonked belligerently. Radioloudspeakers blared from the doorways of tiny Market Street shops. Anewsboy bellowed headlines on the European war situation. A bus chuggedinto the station, disgorged its cargo of human freight, lumberedponderously on down the street. A vendor offered dried lavender; hiswhine was a thin, discordant note in the hum of a busy city.
But Larry Wilson, intent only on gaining the train platform above, didnot notice these things. He brushed by a puffing matron at the foot ofthe stairs, steamed past a descending red-cap, and noticed with onlycasual interest as he took the steps three at a time a silken-clad calfbefore him. He might make it yet, he thought hopefully, if—
Then, suddenly, something was indefinably wrong!
Larry had ascended these stairs dozens of times in the past, bothleisurely and, as now, at top speed. But at no time had they ever beenlike this! His stride faltered; then, even as the first, tiny fingersof wonderment plucked at his bewildered brain, he realized that thebright electric lights that limned the staircase had vanished. That intheir place was a dull, unearthly, grayish glow that seemed to emanateequally from the walls, the staircase, and from the roof above him.
His foot, reaching for the next step, encountered no support. Hestaggered, thrown off balance, and stumbled forward to his hands andknees. Yet he was not bruised. As he fell he realized, with numbastonishment, that the steps were no longer there!
Wildly he scrambled to save himself. His shoulder collided withsomething fragrantly yielding. His outthrust hand clutched warm, firmflesh cased in sheer silk. Then he was falling helplessly, headlong,dizzily, down a dim tunnel of spinning grayness—and he was rollingover and over on a warm, grassy turf. The scent of flower-laden air wasin his nostrils.
And a voice was saying indignantly, "Well, really! If you don'tmind—!"
In one hand Larry still clutched his bag. In the other—. He flushed,relaxed his grip in swift embarrassment. The girl was the one whomhe had glimpsed before him on the steps of the Broad Street Station.It was her ankle that, in his moment of blind groping, his hand hadclutched.
"I—I'm sorry!" gulped Larry. "I didn't mean to be—" Then he stopped,staring about him transfixed. "But what's this? Where the he—I mean,where in blazes are we?"
They were lying on a grassy plain horizoned by a forest of toweringtrees that reached aimlessly toward a wan and cloudless sky. The girl,her own blue eyes wide in astonishment, forgot her pique in amazementtha