TIME TRAVEL INC.
                                    by ROBERT F. YOUNG
                                               illustrated by ORBAN


        Reddinger and Held wanted to witness the Crucifixion. This could be arranged by
         Time Travel Inc. But there were certain conditions — as well as certain dangers


    THE TT official in charge of briefing was being anything but brief. Reddinger shifted irritably in his
seat, glanced sideways at Held. Held, judging from his expression, was impatient to get started too. Not
that a thousand dollars would break either man—far from it. But it wasn't the bet per se that mattered: it
was the nagging need to know whether you were right or wrong, whether your own particular credo was
based on fact or falsehood.
     The TT official was very young—a factor that contributed considerably to his listener's attitude.
Middle-aged men of Reddinger's and Held's financial and social stature could hardly be expected to be
amenable to the pedagogic discoure of a downy-cheeked college boy.
     "The only reason we are able to return to the past at all," he was saying, "is because the means for
doing so is—and always has been—an innate ability of the human mind. Time Travel, Inc., merely
discovered this latent quality and constructed the necessary equipment to take full advantage of it.
     "However, this ability is severely limited by two basic laws, which can be stated as follows: (1)
Nothing that has not already happened, or that is not going to happen, can happen, and (2) all
time-identifications must be in character. The first law eliminates all paradoxes. The second
eliminates, for all practical purposes, wish-fulfillment: that is, none of us can return to the Napoleonic age,
for instance, and identify with Napoleon—unless his character is essentially the same as Napoleon's. In
other words, no matter what period we return to, we will become basically what we are now."



     "But what if there's no one living in the particular year Held and I choose whose character fits either
of us?" Reddinger interrupted. "What happens then?"
     "In that case, the transition would not occur. But such an eventuality is highly improbable—unless you
select a prehistoric date. According to our calculations, the thousand odd basic character types were
pretty well established by 4000 B.C., so if both of you name a temporal destination within the last 7,000
years, in a reasonably well-populated 1ocale, neither of you needs to worry much about finding a body."
     "Let me get this straight now," Reddinger said. "About bodies, I mean. I'm a successful automobile
dealer, and Held here is a successful real estate man. So the chances are, if we choose to return, say, to
the year 1877 and retain our present location, inhabit the body of someone like me who's engaged in a
business similar to mine—maybe the carriage trade—and who's as well-fixed financially as I am. And the
same would hold true with Held. Is that what you're trying to tell us?"
     The TT official looked embarrassed—and a little exasperated. "I'm afraid you're oversimplifying the
matter, Mr. Reddinger," he said. "A rich man, in this age, wouldn't necessarily have been a rich man in a
preceding age, even given the same character traits. The same holds true for a poor man, and, if you will,
to take the analogy one step further, a beggar man. So many factors enter into the situation that it's
impossible to say exactly what one's status would be."
     "Just the same—" it was Held who interrupted this time— "the odds have it that our present
economic and social position is pretty likely to be duplicated, no matter what age we choose. You don't
deny that, do you?"
     "No, I don't deny it," the TT official said. "But I must qualify it. You see, your character-counterparts
in a past age may not have had the same opportunities which you have had in this age. Then, too, we
have to consider the different thought-world in which they lived. Certainly your character-counterparts,
regardless of the age you choose, will have reacted essentially the same to their societies as you have
reacted to yours—but not necessarily with the same results."
     "Nevertheless," Reddinger said, "we still stand a pretty good chance of identifying with a couple of
reasonably well-off merchants. Right?"
     The TT official sighed. "Let's put it this way," he said wearily: "Your chances of identifying with a rich
man are certainly better than your chances of identifying with a poor man. There has always been
opportunism in the world and I suspect there always will be. So if reassurance is what you're seeking,
Mr. Reddinger, I can give you that much—but no more. Now, if neither of you objects, I'll get on with
the rest of my lecture and you can be on your way to wherever you're going.
     "As you know, we've done everything possible here at Time Travel, Inc. to insure the safety of our
customers. But there is one hazard which we cannot cope with and which you will have to regard as a
calculated risk.
     "The length of time you remain in the past is up to you. You merely tell the Time-tech the number of
hours, days, or weeks, and he sets the temporal pattern accordingly. But, once set, the pattern is
inalterable. Therefore, if your character-counterparts should die during the period of time you are
indentifying with them, you too will die. We cannot revert to the moment before your death and bring
you back.
     "However, I don't think either of you has much to worry about. The character-counterparts you will
identify with will probably be your physical as well as your mental equals, and since both of you are big
robust men, there is little likelihood of either you or your counterparts dying during any reasonable period
of identification. Nevertheless, there is a risk, and I must request your signatures on these two waivers."

    Reddinger and Held read the documents the TT official handed them. There was a long silence
broken only by the occasional crackling of expensive parchment. Then: "Oh hell!" Reddinger said, and
signed his name. Held followed suit.
    "Thank you, gentlemen," the TT official said. "If you'll follow me, please—"


    THE Time Terminal was a disappointment. Reddinger, who was partial to B-movies, had expected
to see banks of colorful equipment lining the walls, crimson fluid gurgling through networks of glass
tubing, and blue flames arcing continuously between brightly polished terminals. Instead, he saw a row of
couches, reminiscent of hospital beds, each with a crystal canopy suspended; several feet above it. Then
he noticed the footboards, and his faith in his civilization was restored: each of them boasted a control
panel almost, but not quite, as lavish as the dashboard of the new 1977 Road Queen he had just put on
display in his uptown showroom.
     The TT official introduced Reddinger and Held to the Time-tech, and left. The Time-tech, another
annoyingly young man, escorted them to two adjacent couches. "Lie down, gentlemen," he said. "On
your backs, please."

    Both men complied. Reddinger felt foolish—and a little frightened. He turned his head, caught Held's
eyes. "Still think she'll be there?" he asked.
    "Absolutely," Held said. "Want to double the bet?"
    "All right. Make it two thousand."
    "Two thousand it is, then. I say she won't be there, you say she will be."
    The Time-tech stepped between the couches. "What year do you wish to return to, gentlemen?"
    "29 A.D.," Reddinger said.
    "Oh... The Crucifixion. You want to witness it, of course—"
    "Of course," Reddinger said.
    "You're quite fortunate. We've only recently been able to determine the exact day. You'll have to
allow 24 hours leeway, though."
    "We figured on 24 hours," Reddinger said.
    "Fine! ... Now, if you'll lie back and relax and look up into the time-screens above your beds, I'll set
your temporal patterns."
    "Joseph of Arimathaea was a rich man, wasn't he?" Reddinger asked dreamily.
    "Yes, I believe he was," the Time-tech said.
    "And a merchant, too—"
    "Probably. Now no more conversation, please. Look straight up into your screens."

    The screens, Reddinger discovered, comprised the underside of the crystal canopies—were, in fact,
the crystal canopies. As he looked up into his, it began to glow. Presently it became a mirror in which he
saw himself lying on a couch looking up into a mirror in which he saw himself lying on a couch looking up
into a mirror, ad infinitum...
    There was a sudden, painful jolt, followed by a tearing sensation—


    HIS right shoulder was a mass of screaming agony and the weight upon it bent his burly body
halfway to the cobbled pavement. There was shouting all around him, and oaths, and the stench of sweat
and dung.

    Behind him he could hear the clanking of the accouterments of the Roman soldiers. To his right he
glimpsed the faces of the crowd. On his far left—on the opposite side of the procession—he saw his
companion, Held, weighed down with a burden similar to his own. Between them, another walked—a
thin, haggard man wearing a plaited crown of thorns. A volunteer from the crowd walked in his wake,
bearing the third burden...
    The Via Doloroso, Reddinger thought. Only he wasn't Reddinger any more. He was Dysmas. And
Held—Held wasn't Held any more, either. He was Gestas.
    Dysmas and Gestas—the two thieves!
    The horror of his predicament was so enormous that for some time Dysmas-Reddinger could not
accept it. Then, when the procession reached the gate of the city and he saw the green hill rising gently
into the blue sky, the horror descended on him, heavier even than the cross he bore, and he knew that
whether Mary, Mother of Jesus, was present at the Crucifixion, or miles away in Galilee, neither he nor
Held would be around to collect any bets on the morrow—
    Or ever.

                                                   THE END