The Technicolor Time Machine

Dinner was almost through and most of the company wandered over to look at the rushes. Even the ones who had not been present had heard all about the Viking raid by this time, and there were murmurs and gasps when the attacking ship appeared on the screen, cut through by Ottar’s deep growl of rage. As the ship was beached and the fighting began there was only a horrified silence. The angle was good, the pictures sharp and clear, the detail almost unbearable to watch. Even Barney, who had been there at the time, felt the hackles rising on his neck when the blood-spattered Viking charged up the hill right into the camera, closer and closer.

Shouting a battle cry, Ottar leaped at the screen and crashed through it, rolling about in it and tearing at its fabric and metal embrace. Everyone else was shouting a good deal too, and one of the grips brought out a baby spot and plugged it in for light while Lyn managed to calm the Viking down and helping hands detached him from the ruined screen. While this was going on headlights appeared, moving through the camp, and a minute later a white ambulance with LOS ANGELES COUNTY HOSPITAL on its side pulled up in the pool of light from the spot.

“What a job finding anyone,” the driver said. “You movie people sure have some big sets. I never woulda thought all this could have fitted into one sound stage.”

Barney said, “What do you want?”

“Got a call. Pick up a broken leg case, party name of Hawk.”

Barney looked around the silent audience until he saw his secretary. “Show these people the way to Ruf’s trailer, will you, Betty? And give him my best, tell him I hope he gets well quick, that kind of thing.”

Betty tried to say something, but could not find the words. She turned away quickly, raising her handkerchief to her face, and climbed into the ambulance. The silence extended, and a number of people were having trouble meeting Barney’s eye. He smiled a broad, secret smile to himself, and waved his hand cheerfully.

“On with the show,” he ordered. “Get another screen up and let’s see the rest of the rushes.”

When the last foot of film had flicked through the projector, Barney stood in front of the screen in the glare of light, shielding his eyes against it with one hand. “I can’t see who’s out there—Gino are you here? And Amory?” There were sounds of assent from the crowd. “Good, let’s set up for a screen test. Get some grips and some lights out here—”

“It’s nighttime, Mr. Hendrickson,” a voice said from the darkness.

“I’m not that blind—and I get the message. Overtime rates then, but I want to shoot that test now. As you probably all know, since rumor doth fly on pretty damn rapid wings around here, Ruf Hawk has broken his leg and is out of the shooting. Which leaves us without a male lead. Which may sound bad, but it isn’t, because we don’t have that much film with him in it that we’ll have to scrap. But we need a new lead and that’s what we’re settling tonight, so I’m going to make a test on a guy you all know well, our local friend, Ottar…”

There were some shocked gasps, a lot of whispers and a couple of laughs. The laughs were what got to Barney.

“I issue the orders, and I’m in charge here, and I want a screen test and that is that!” He stopped to catch his breath and realized that he was in charge, more in charge than he had ever been before. A thousand years away from the front office, with no phone connections in between. No L.M. to bother him, even if L.M. hadn’t been shut away with his phony heart attack, with the books under his mattress. The whole load was on his shoulders, and his alone, and the picture depended on what he did next. More than the picture, the existence of the studio depended on it and the jobs of everyone here—not to mention his own.

Normally this was the sort of situation that gave him peptic twinges and sleepless nights, and left him wandering in a black hill of indecision. Not this time though. Something of the Viking spirit must have rubbed off, the awareness that every man is alone against the world and in luck if there is someone else there to help, but the help was not to be expected.

“We’re doing that test now. Ottar looks the part, no one can argue with that. And if he has got a bit of an accent—well so did Boyer and Von Stroheim, and look what they did. Now let’s see if he can act, at least as well as Ruf.”

“Five bucks says he’s better,” someone called out.

“No takers,” another voice answered, and a ripple of laughter ran across the crowd.

Just like that, they were with him, Barney could feel it. Perhaps the Viking madness was rubbing off on all of them. Whatever was causing it, they were on his side.

Barney slumped back in the chair and gave a few directions and sipped at the Jack Daniels while the lights and camera were set up. Only when the arrangements were completed did he stand and pull the bottle away from the nodding Ottar.

“Give it back,” Ottar rumbled.

“In a minute. But I want you to sing me that saga about Ragnar again.”

“Don’t want to sing.”