CHAPTER III of The Riddle of Tanye



HOFFMAN'S EYES, almost against his will, forced themselves open. He lay on a 
couch in a small room; the walls rose around him, translucent and glowing. He 
rose, and crossed to the window of the room. He saw that he was in a very high 
building and that all around him rose other high buildings. Overhead, aeroplanes 
made transit. Hoffman turned, and passed through the door. In the passage 
outside, people were crowding into an elevator. He joined them, and was borne 
downward at a terrific rate. Then he found himself standing alone, while all the 
other people rushed headlong in one direction. More leisurely he followed, but 
once outside the building he found himself being borne along in a great throng 
of people. At last he succeeded in forcing his way out of the crush, to stare at 
a great dancing sign on a wall. In great red letters the flickering sign 
shouted: "Telenews. Danger! Danger! Buy the Telenews! Enemy's new electric 
death-ray! Buy the Telenews!"
Instantly the letters shouted danger, repeated the news over and over again like 
a mad refrain. At the other side of the road, a man had climbed on to a low roof 
and was standing staring down on the throng. His hands were crossed on breast 
but his eyes flashed fire. "Mad city!" he screamed suddenly at the top of his 
voice. "Repent! Repent! The Kingdom is at hand!"
What kingdom he meant Hoffman never knew, for at that moment some men in uniform 
ran on to the roof, and the man, still gesticulating wildly, disappeared from 
view. So Hoffman turned, followed the throng into a large building close by. The 
room they entered was a bedlam of noise, for a thousand bells seemed to be 
ringing. On a dais in the center stood a man, loudly reciting what to Hoffman 
was a meaningless string of figures. He was dressed in a loose robe and the 
sweat dripped continuously from his face. He never paused to wipe it off, but 
recited, rapidly: "War Loans 496 . . 496 . . Death Ray Trust 795 . . 795 . . 
Electric Ray Co. 697 . . 697 . . Amalgamated Chemicals 777 . . 777 . ."
And on the wall behind him, making his crying seem useless, a large screen was 
portraying every figure he cried, flashing them across, one after the other. The 
people were as if intoxicated, drinking in the figures which apparently meant 
either ruin or triumph for them; head aching with the noise, Hoffman staggered 
out into the street. Tranquil a moment, he breathed deeply. The sign was still 
active: "Battle of death-rays! Buy the Telenews! Our rays checking the enemy's!"
Abruptly it flickered out, and the one word rose in enormous letters of red: 
"Danger!" As that happened, there came the sound of a hundred sirens, shrilly 
rending the air to atoms, breaking the peace that had held it. The voice of the 
sirens screamed "Danger!"
Pell-mell, people began pouring out of the building from which Hoffman had just 
emerged. Their faces were drawn and haggard, as if at one moment everything was 
lost. Panic seized them; they rushed headlong, as if aware of some destination 
that promised safety. And then there came, seemingly from far away, a long-drawn 
out screaming. Louder it roared, then was within the city. With its coming, came 
a wave of intense heat. In the distance the buildings seemed to sway, melt, and 
fall. Onward the destruction raced, lapping everything in its path. . . Again 
nothingness claimed Hoffman . . .
GRADUALLY the blackness turned to grey, then that too dissolved. Hoffman found 
himself lying on a stone slab. In direct contrast to the roar of noise that had 
last held his ears, everything was still and silent. He slid from the slab to 
the ground and stared about him. Around rose great stone arches, or rather great 
upright stones that had other stones laid across the top of them. The scene was 
crude, yet imposing; a certain rugged grandeur was suggested. A cold wind was 
driving between them, bringing with it sleet and rain. Hoffman felt miserable, 
wished himself far from the ill-chosen place. He was about to set out across the 
moor which stretched in every direction when he observed a group of men 
approaching. Quickly he concealed himself behind one of the great stones and 
watched as a row of men in long white robes marched slowly to the center where 
the great slab stood on which he had first found himself. They bore with them a 
bound captive whom they placed on the slab. Curious, Hoffman went nearer. A 
knife was brandished by one of the men, one who seemed to be the leader. Hoffman 
stood rooted in horror. And as he stood there, it seemed that the man assumed 
the features of the inventor, Tate--his friend--and the knife became a syringe. 
The robe he wore became a long white coat. The rough stone arches around him 
fell away; the walls of the laboratory came into being and hardened beneath the 
glare of electric lights. In the center of the room stood the glass case, with 
the side open. The slab was no longer there. Hoffman leaned forward and saw that 
his own form lay there.
"Stop!" he cried, as Tate prepared to thrust the syringe in. Incontinently, he 
leaped and fell heavily across himself, his arms outstretched to protect 
himself. "Stop!" he cried again. Then he felt the stab of the thing in Tate's 
hand and knew no more.
HOFFMAN DRANK the whisky-and-soda at one gulp. His friend stared at him over the 
glasses.
"Well, did you enjoy yourself?"
Hoffman nodded. "An interesting experience. And all in four hours!"
"Three and a half, to be precise," returned the other.
"The time was not evened out, was it?"
"How do you mean?"
"As far as I see, there were four periods. They were quite distinct from each 
other, and they did not occupy the same length of time. I suppose you were 
responsible for that?"
"Yes, I must confess that that was my work. They were not even, as you surmise. 
The first period ran from eight o'clock until ten o'clock, the second from ten 
o'clock until 11:05, the third from 11:05 until 11:20, and the last from 11:20 
to 11:30."
"What was your reason for doing that?"
"It depended upon the effects. In the first and second period, I had better 
effects to use."
"Could you tell me what you represented?"
"Yes. But first let me hear your adventures."
Hoffman recounted to him all that had happened. "And the next time," he said, "I 
want to go back to the second life. I want to see what the outcome of that life 
is."
Tate was strangely excited. "I wonder? Is it not strange that such a working of 
mind should be created? Could you almost believe in the existence of those 
worlds you dreamed, even now?"
"They are the clearest dreams I ever had," Hoffman confessed, frankly. "So much 
so that I can hardly believe they are dreams but fragments of some other lives."
"And you would like to return to them?"
"To the second," his friend corrected. "For after all that was the most 
interesting life. It was full of the promise of things to come, too. The first 
one was not, nor was the third and fourth."
"I will now tell you what I did to cause you to have such dreams," Tate said. I 
put you into a trance-like state through the use of Ni-gas."
"Ni-gas?"
"Yes, I have called it 'Ni-gas' for want of a better name. lt is somewhat 
similar to chloroform in that it creates strange fancies . . . I put you in that 
state, and then you were ready. In the first dream I forced upon you the 
conception of life on Mars."
"So that's why there were two moons?"
"Yes," retorted his friend, laughing. "I concentrated on what I knew of Mars, 
which was not really much. The idea of lashing tides of Mars is entirely my own 
idea. I do not know whether it is a false theory or not. If the Martian moons 
have as much effect on the Martian seas as Earth's moon has upon ours, there is 
bound to be a stormy sea, because of the different position of the moons. The 
rest you yourself were responsible for."
". . . . you concentrated on what knew of Mars. Yes, but how did you communicate 
that to me?"
"Your ears are wide open even while you are unconscious. Through them I sent 
what noises I made. On that bench is a microphone. It is connected to 
your--er--coffin. Through that microphone I sent the sound which you interpreted 
as the tides of Mars."
"Yes," Hoffman persisted, "but that does not explain your transmission of 
thought."
"That was not difficult. Telepathy. You know that telepathic communication is 
possible between two people who are awake. When one lies under the influence of 
Ni-gas and the other is aware of that, the thing is easy. . . From the bounds of 
impracticability it becomes a thing of normality; sensible, easy; and lo! the 
thing was done . ."
"BUT THE SECOND dream?" Hoffman interrupted, breathlessly.
"Venus. I have always imagined a cloud-wrapped planet, although I have never 
studied astronomy. Also abundant plant life. Get that?"
Hoffman nodded. "In plenty. Animals, too. No, Tate, it won't do; that world was 
not a dream."
Tate shook his head. "It was only a dream, Hoffman."
Hoffman insisted, "I know there is such a place as entered into the second 
dream."
"If you allow the truth of the second dream, then you must be prepared to allow 
the truth of them all."
"Then I am."
Tate sighed. "Have it your own way. I have just told you that they were created 
artificially. If you cannot believe that, I cannot compel you to do so."
"But, Tate," Hoffman interrupted, trying to explain his point of view, "I am not 
denying that you compelled the effects. I will agree that you did. But still 
those worlds were true."
"How could they be?"
"Don't you see? You propelled me into some other world. That is what you tried 
to do, and that is what you succeeded in doing."
"You mean to say that there are real substantial worlds in these dream worlds we 
know?"
"That is right. It is not substantial, to our ideas; that I will not for a 
moment presume to say, but that it is substantial in its own way I know. I mean, 
you know very well that when you are dreaming that dream is very lifelike. Is 
that not so? Yes. That dream, if it is not lifelike, is very real. You know 
nothing of your real life in it; you live in it just as fully as you do in real 
life. Or such is my experience, at any rate."
"I begin to follow your argument."
"Good. I maintain that there are other worlds--call them shadow worlds if you 
wish--but they are just as real as this is, and they are just as ephemeral as 
this is."
"I understand what you mean."
"I am glad . . .What of the third and fourth dreams?"
"The third dream was an attempt to send you into the future. Hell! What if you 
have really been there?"
"Maybe. I can imagine the end of the world coming via man's own folly."
"The last dream was an attempt to send you into the past. It was short because I 
did not like the way you were breathing. Very heavily."
"I did not want to go back into the past again. It was dreadful. Let me live in 
the present in the world of Tanye."
"I will admit that the second dream had the greatest effect upon me of the 
four," Tate said. "I received from you some thought of the world; towards the 
latter end I was almost with you. But for the alarm going I might have been."
"The alarm?"
"Yes. Because I had no alarm the first dream overran its proper boundary. So I 
fixed an alarm for the second dream."
Hoffman yawned.
"Yes," said Tate, rising, "I think we will get some rest. We could both do with 
some."
"I may even dream of the world without your help," laughed Hoffman.
"I don't think you will. At least, not without the help of Ni-gas."



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