Later Than You Think
By FRITZ LEIBER
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction October 1950.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It's much later. The question is ... how late?
Obviously the Archeologist's study belonged to an era vastly distantfrom today. Familiar similarities here and there only sharpened thefeeling of alienage. The sunlight that filtered through the windows inthe ceiling had a wan and greenish cast and was augmented by radiationfrom some luminous material impregnating the walls and floor. Even thewide desk and the commodious hassocks glowed with a restful light.Across the former were scattered metal-backed wax tablets, styluses,and a pair of large and oddly formed spectacles. The crammed bookcaseswere not particularly unusual, but the books were bound in metal andthe script on their spines would have been utterly unfamiliar to themost erudite of modern linguists. One of the books, lying open on ahassock, showed leaves of a thin, flexible, rustless metal coveredwith luminous characters. Between the bookcases were phosphorescent oilpaintings, mainly of sea bottoms, in somber greens and browns. Theirstyle, neither wholly realistic nor abstract, would have baffled thehistorian of art.
A blackboard with large colored crayons hinted equally at theschoolroom and the studio.
In the center of the room, midway to the ceiling, hung a fish withirridescent scales of breathtaking beauty. So invisible was its meansof support that—also taking into account the strange paintings and thegreenish light—one would have sworn that the object was to create anunderwater scene.
The Explorer made his entrance in a theatrical swirl of movement. Heembraced the Archeologist with a warmth calculated to startle thatcrusty old fellow. Then he settled himself on a hassock, looked upand asked a question in a speech and idiom so different from any weknow that it must be called another means of communication rather thananother language. The import was, "Well, what about it?"
If the Archeologist were taken aback, he concealed it. His expressionshowed only pleasure at being reunited with a long-absent friend.
"What about what?" he queried.
"About your discovery!"
"What discovery?" The Archeologist's incomprehension was playful.
The Explorer threw up his arms. "Why, what else but your discovery,here on Earth, of the remains of an intelligent species? It's the findof the age! Am I going to have to coax you? Out with it!"
"I didn't make the discovery," the other said tranquilly. "I onlysupervised the excavations and directed the correlation of material.You ought to be doing the talking. You're the one who's justreturned from the stars."
"Forget that." The Explorer brushed the question aside. "As soon asour spaceship got within radio range of Earth, they started to sendus a continuous newscast covering the period of our absence. One ofthe items, exasperatingly brief, mentioned your discovery. It capturedmy imagination. I couldn't wait to hear the details." He paused, thenconfessed, "You get so eager out there in space—a metal-filmed dropletof life lost in immensity. You rediscover your emotions...." Hechanged color, then finished rapidly, "As soon as I coul