The Technicolor Time Machine

“I’m sure of it, but that was in the twentieth century. We’re now in the eleventh and in the middle of something called the Little Climactic Optimum. At least that’s what the Prof called it and if you want to know more ask him. The weather was—or is—warmer, that’s what it adds up to.”

“Hard to believe,” Dallas said, looking suspiciously up at the sun as though he expected it to go out.

The house looked the same as when they had seen it last, and one of the servants was sitting by the door sharpening a knife when they drove up. He looked up startled, dropped the whetstone and ran into the house. A moment later Ottar appeared, wiping his mouth on his forearm.

“Welcome,” he shouted as the jeep braked to a stop. “Very pleased see you again. Where is Jack Daniels?”

“The language lessons seem to have worked,” Dallas said, “but they did nothing for his thirst.”

“There’s plenty to drink,” Barney reassured him. “But I want to talk to Dr. Lyn first.”

“He’s out in back,” Ottar said, then raised his voice to a bellow. “Jens—kom hingat!”[11]

Jens Lyn tramped sluggishly around a comer of the house carrying a crude wooden bucket. His legs were bare and he was caked in mud as high as his waist. He wore an indifferent sort of sacklike garment, very ragged and caught about the middle with a length of hide, while his beard and hair were shoulder length and almost as impressive as Ottar’s. When he saw the jeep he stopped dead, his eyes widening, then shouted a harsh cry, raised the bucket over his head and ran toward them. Dallas jumped out of the jeep to face him.

“Hold it, Doc,” he said. “Put the pail down before someone gets hurt.”

The words or the stunt man’s waiting figure penetrated Lyn’s anger and he slowed to a halt, lowering the bucket. “What went wrong?” he asked loudly. “Where have you been?”

“Getting the production rolling, what else?” Barney said. “It’s only been a couple of days since I dropped you, for us that is, though I realize that for you it has been two months—”

“Two months!” Jens bellowed, “it’s been over a year! What went wrong?”

Barney shrugged. “I guess the Prof made a mistake. All those instruments, you know…”

Jens Lyn grated his teeth together so hard that the sound could clearly be heard across the intervening space. “A mistake… that’s all it is to you. While I’ve been stranded here with these louse-ridden barbarians, taking care of their filthy animals. Five minutes after you were gone Ottar hit me in the side of the head, took all my clothes and supplies and all the whiskey.”

“Why work for whiskey when it just there to take it,” Ottar said with simple Viking logic.

“What’s done is done,” Barney said. “You’ve served your year here, but I’ll see you don’t suffer for it. Your contract is still valid and you’ll get a full year’s pay. That’s not bad money for a couple of days’ work, and you still have your sabbatical coming up and a full year’s pay for that. You did your job and taught Ottar English…”

“His thirst did that. He was repellently drunk for almost a month and when he recovered he remembered about the English lessons. He made me teach him every day so he could get some whiskey if you ever returned.”

“Ottar speak pretty good, that’s right. Where’s whiskey?”

“We have plenty, Ottar, just relax,” Barney said, then turned back to Jens, thoughts of law suits dancing darkly in his head. “What do you say we call it even, Doc? A year’s salary for teaching Ottar English and you’re still working for us while we shoot the picture. I’m sure it’s been an interesting experience…”

“Aaaarh!”

“And one you won’t easily forget, plus the fact I bet you’ve learned a lot of Old Norse…”

“Far more than I ever wanted to know.”

“So let’s call it quits. How about it?”

Jens Lyn stood for a long moment, fists clenched, then he dropped the bucket and savagely kicked it to pieces.

“All right,” he said. “Not that I have much choice. But I don’t do one moment’s work until I have a shower, a delousing and a change of clothes.”

“Sure, Doc. Well drive you back to the company in a few minutes, we’re right around the headland…”

“I’ll find it myself if you don’t mind,” he said, stamping off down the beach.

“Whiskey,” Ottar said.

“Work,” Barney told him. “If you’re on a whiskey salary you’re going to earn it. This picture starts rolling tomorrow and I want some information from you first.”

“Sure. Come in house.”

“Not on your life,” Barney said, shying away. “I remember what happened to the last guy who did that.”

8

“Stand still,” Gino shouted. “All you got to do is stand still and you can’t even do that.”

“Need a drink,” Ottar grumbled, and petulantly shook the housecarl with the matted hair who was standing in for Slithey. The man bleated and almost collapsed.

Gino swore and turned away from the viewfinder of the camera. “Barney,” he pleaded, “talk to those Stone Age slobs. This is supposed to be a love scene and they’re moving around like some kind of wrestling match on the hill there. They’re the worse stand-ins I ever worked with.”