Mists of Dawn Read Online Free PDF Page B

light looked at him, laughed at him, pulled him down. Mark gasped breathlessly and tried to arch his body back away from it. It was no use. With a shudder he sank down against the control panel—and felt a knife switch click shut under his body.
    Mark screamed once and tried to claw his way up again. It was too late. Horrified, his mind reeling with shock, he saw the green light wink off. The circular lead door of the space-time machine hissed into place, sealing him in. The red light in the control panel flicked on and a vast humming vibration filled the sphere.
    The machine, his mind whispered. It’s started—I’m trapped . . .
    Mark couldn’t get up and he dimly realized that he could do nothing even if he could get to the controls. Once the space-time machine got underway, it could not be tampered with. He was alone—going backward into time! Backward to—where?
    Where was the machine set for? When Doctor Nye had spun the dial, where had it come to rest? Where was he going?
    Desperately, Mark made a final effort to regain his footing. He pulled himself to his knees and felt the blood rushing and pounding in his brain. He gasped with shock and fought to get up. The pounding in his head became a roar—a roaring torrent of darkness that swirled and eddied and wrapped itself around him, pulling him down, down into the cool depths, down.
    With a low moan Mark lost consciousness and slumped to the floor of the space-time machine.
    As in a dream, sounds and faces swam before him. Fang dashed down a dusty road, barking excitedly. The two Apaches marched by under the gathering storm. The bust of Caesar stared at him with eyes of flame. His uncle shook his head, and his voice drifted up out of nothingness: “It would be sheer and utter folly to attempt to journey into a time that we knew nothing about . .
    Mark Nye came to with a start and looked around him. Panic raced through his body, but he fought it down. This was no dream—that was certain. He was in the lead sphere, and the humming vibrations still buzzed in his ears. A gray atmosphere seemed to fill the space-time machine, and there was the feel of electricity in the air. The red light in the control panel was still on, and its flickering rays pushed out with a pinkish glow into the grayness.
    Though sick and dizzy with shock, Mark found that he could move without pain. No bones broken then, he thought gratefully. By a great effort of will, he managed not to think about the terrible situation he was in. He had to keep cool, he knew that. If he gave up to fear and hysteria, he was lost and nothing could save him. He determined to conduct himself in such a way that his uncle would be proud of him.
    His uncle. Would he ever see him again?
    Mark pushed the thought away and struggled to his feet. He closed his eyes a moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass. He had no watch, and no way of telling how long he had been unconscious or what time it was. He smiled without humor. That, he realized, was a question that would take some tall answering. What time was it? Not in terms of minutes or hours, or the time of day. But what year, what century, what era? What time was it?
    He opened his eyes. The red eye in the control panel looked at him, mocking him. Mark took a deep breath and examined the time dial. He started, unable to believe his own eyes. He looked again.
    Mark heard laughter in the sphere, and he looked around sharply to see where it was coming from. There was nothing there. The machine was empty and he was alone. The laughter was his own.
    He clamped an iron vise on his mind. The laughter stopped. He had to keep himself under control, no matter what happened. If his mind once snapped . . .
    But it wasn’t easy. The time dial that his uncle had spun was no longer set for 46 b.c . Nor was it set for 460 b.c . Nor was it even set for 4,600 b.c… .
    The time dial now was set for the year 50,000 b.c.!
    Mark shuddered. He was going back in time fifty thousand years