Doug Beason
When the train crashed, Albert Einstein was thinking how glorious it was to be twenty-one and finished with school.
His memories of Zurich’s Eidgenössiche Technische Hochschule were shattered by a shrill train whistle, screams from outside his compartment, and the sickening, high-pitched sound of the train’s locked wheels as they screeched to a halt.
Albert shoved out his hand to stop himself from being thrown across the rich leather-clad compartment. But in the same instant that he tried to save himself, he knew that he could not stop his body’s momentum, for his thin-boned arm would snap like a piece of chalk, ramrodded by his sixty-kilogram body mass.
The calculation came quickly to Albert: With his body traveling at a hundred kilometers an hour, his arm would be broken by over twenty thousand joules of stopping energy.
Time passed slowly during the collision. Where most people might have experienced their past flashing in front of their eyes, Albert imagined a thought experiment, a Gedanken that he so often used to gain deep understanding of a subtle point.
The train compartment was tiny, just enough room for two people to sit comfortably. If his traveling companion, Marcel Grossmann, had not gone to the water closet, then the train crash would have been more than an experiment for Albert. It would have included the impact of the two young men, along with the sound of bones snapping, heads crushing, yelling, and the cursing that came with the impact.
But as it was, he watched as two frames of reference hurtled toward each other: himself and the opposite wall.
Albert realized that he could consider himself to be in either of the two frames. It wasn’t only that he was being thrown against the stationary wall; rather, an equally valid frame of reference was that he was stationary and the wall was moving toward him.
He pulled in his arm and balled himself up, attempting to absorb the impact of the crash. The passenger car started to roll to the side. Blue curtains on the window hid the ground from him as he fell. His latest copies of Annalen der Physik flew with him to the opposite wall.
Did it make a difference that the wall was accelerating toward me, or that the journals and I were accelerating toward the wall? he thought. It shouldn’t make any difference, for the two frames of reference should be identical . . . .
But even as he hit he realized his mistake: The wall had undergone a negative acceleration, suddenly stopping after moving one hundred kilometers an hour. And that was the difference between the two frames of reference: He was still moving and had not yet stopped.
And of course, he suffered the consequence of being in the unaccelerated frame as he hit the opposite wall.
* * *
“Albert. Albert—are you all right?”
Albert Einstein tried to open his eyes. It was difficult, and he felt as though he had been sleeping for a long time. A blurry shape moved in and out of focus as he forced his eyes open. He was lying on forest ground, evergreen trees towered above him. Among the scent of pine and fresh air, he smelled wood burning and heard moans from injured people.
Somewhere next to him a young boy cried out for his mother. What happened? thought Albert.
The round, dark features of Marcel Grossmann moved into his line of sight. His friend nervously wet his lips and spoke in a low voice. “So, once again the mathematician comes to the physicist’s rescue. Another triumph of theory over the experiment! For the past four years I’ve pulled you out of trouble at Eidgenössiche Technische Hochschule, and even now you need me to help you.”
Albert pushed up on one elbow. His friend’s attempt at humor sounded weak. Albert tried to speak, but his mouth felt cottony, dry. He felt a stiff soreness as he sat up; he remembered colliding with the wall, and discovering the difference between accelerated reference frames . . . .
He lay just inside the tree line, a good hundred meters from the train. Smoke roiled up from the passenger cars. They lay in a crumpled jumble, smashed on the track. Burned spots dotted the grass around the train like oversized polka dots. People lay throughout the woods around him, some unconscious. Other people walked quietly among the wounded, kneeling down to speak a word, or tend to a request. It almost looked as if they were in hiding . . . .
Marcel turned and brought a wet cloth up to Albert’s mouth. Albert eagerly sucked on the cloth, feeling the cool wetness against his tongue.
Albert coughed, then sucked out some more water before speaking. “You are all right?”
“Of course,” Marcel said.
“How did you escape the accident?”
Again Marcel wet his lips as he squatted beside Albert. He looked around and spoke quietly. “The foresight of being in the water closet. I was wedged against the wall. Most of the injuries came from people being thrown across their compartments, and those of us who weren’t injured were lucky to escape. We are all fortunate the train wasn’t traveling fast.”
Albert continued to suck on the wet cloth. He surveyed the accident through the woods and saw that there were two additional trains lying in a wreck in front of their own train. The other trains had long since burned away.
The train they had been on was resting on its side with fire licking at the cars. “This doesn’t make sense,” Albert said. “What happened? What caused all these accidents?”
Marcel’s face tightened. “You heard of the reports coming out of London?”
Albert blinked. He took one last suck of water and put the cloth down. Of course, who had not read the headlines? he thought. “The Martian attack? Marcel, surely you do not believe those stories! That damn British humor is tiring—”
Marcel turned while still squatting and nodded toward the train. Smoke boiled up from the passenger cars, burning as though someone had taken a fire-wand and swept it up and down the train. The last train car was a flatbed that held dozens of barrels of petrol and oil; for now, the fire was far away from the car holding the fuel.
Albert’s eyes widened as he noticed for the first time that the burned spots on the ground were actually charred bodies. It looked as if they had been engulfed in flames on the spot. Two or three of the bodies were still alive.
“If the Martians didn’t do this, then why is the train burning?” said Marcel.
“The collision caused the engine to erupt, of course—”
Marcel swept an arm across the damage. “Do you see anything that could have set the train on fire, Biedermeier?”
Honest John. Albert felt stung. Marcel had not used that nickname for a long time. And the message was clear: Don’t dismiss his Martian explanation lightly.
But there had to be a physical explanation!
Albert pushed against a tree and was dizzy as he struggled to his feet. This didn’t make any sense to him, and thus was a mystery to be solved, a puzzle whose pieces needed to be found, then placed together to provide the correct answer.
“Trains just don’t burst into flames by themselves,” Albert said. “Things happen because of a reason. Cause and effect.”
“I have given a reason,” Marcel said simply.
Albert snorted. He pulled out his watch—it had only been a few hours since they had left Zurich. He pocketed the watch, straightened his tie, pulled down his vest, and started walking stiffly out of the wood and toward the train.
Marcel quickly caught up with him and grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t go out of the trees.”
Albert tried to shake off his arm. “What are you talking about?”
Marcel tightened his grip on Albert’s arm and pointed to the hills beyond the track. Crisp snowcapped mountaintops of the Italian Alps were visible in the distance. At first Albert saw nothing unusual, but when Marcel’s grip remained firm, he scanned the tree-lined foothills again.
Just around the bend where the train tracks disappeared, he spotted a glint of silver high up in the trees. It was as if something was set against the foothills . . . waiting.
Albert took a step forward. Squinting, he stared at the spot until he made out a flat piece of metal that looked like a flattened barrel. It was supported by three metallic appendages that stood in the trees. His eyes widened.
“How for away is it?” whispered Albert.
Marcel shrugged. “Five kilometers? That is what the others think.”
Albert performed a quick calculation in his head; the answer came slowly because he went through the trigonometry twice. “Then it is more than thirty-five meters high! I came this way to Milan only six months ago, and surely I would have noticed them building such a structure.” He tried to think of a rational reason why the metal structure was present. “Is it a water tower?”
Marcel snorted.
Someone screamed as the young boy who had been crying beside them darted out of the wood and ran toward the burning train cars. The boy ran straight for a woman lying in the middle of a circle of burned grass. The woman slowly withered in agony.
As the boy approached the train, the grass behind him suddenly ignited and turned a churning black. Smoke immediately shot into the air. The boy ran a zigzag path toward the woman as the burning swatch of grass followed him.
Albert felt a tightness in his chest; he realized he was holding his breath as he watched the boy’s race. As he drew in a deep breath, he saw that the boy’s mother lay next to the car that carried barrels of petrol and oil. When the flames reached that car, there would be an explosion that might even kill the people hiding in the wood!
Albert caught motion out of the corner of his eye. The metallic leviathan in the hills moved forward, and now Albert could clearly see that a hatlike feature covered its mechanical head. A gigantic visor was where its eyes should have been.
The gargantuan head swiveled back and forth, like a hose spewing invisible liquid. Fire appeared on the ground, following the head’s movement. Fire burst around the boy as he approached the woman lying on the ground.
A man in the woods yelled, “Stop running, you young fool! Play dead or you will kill us all!”
The boy dropped in his tracks, five meters from his injured mother.
The fire-wand immediately stopped moving. Flames crawled out from the place where the wand passed by, but it was no longer directed by the horrible metallic creature.
Two of the train cars near the boy burst into flames. Smoke boiled up into the air. Albert held up a hand to shield the glare, feeling the heat even at a hundred meters away. He saw that the last car loaded with petrol and oil barrels was next in line and would soon ignite in a conflagration.
The boy raised his head and looked wildly around. “Somebody help me!”
“Keep down, you fool!” yelled the man once again.
Albert took a step forward. “Infrared beams!”
“What?” said Marcel. “The reports from London said they used heat-rays—”
“Heat is infrared,” interrupted Albert impatiently. He stepped to a tree and absently caressed the trunk. He was mesmerized by the sight of the metallic beast.
The boy inched forward on his elbows until he reached the woman. He rolled her over and examined her. Again someone shouted to the boy from the wood. “Your mother is dying, boy! Leave her alone or you will incite the monster!”
As if on cue, the Martian straightened, towering over the trees where it had been stationed. Smoke from the train periodically hid it from view. It seemed to have trouble focusing in on where to direct its infrared beam. It left its nesting place and started clumping toward the encampment. It took small, careful steps on its three long silvery legs to advance through the forest.
People started screaming. The crowd surged back farther into the wood. Several young men ran past Albert, away from the train, followed by older men, women, and children.
The boy tried to drag his mother out of the clearing, but she was too heavy for him to carry. She was limp, and Albert was afraid that the boy might even pull an arm off her burned body. The woman screamed in pain.
The boy looked back desperately to the wood. “Someone, please help me! I cannot leave her here!” Smoke roiled up from the burning train as fire licked at the last car loaded with barrels of petrol.
Marcel placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder. “Albert, we have to move back with the others.”
Albert shook off his friend’s hand as he watched the Martian. The beast seemed confused by the smoke and fire. It did not shoot its infrared beams. “We can help the boy,” Albert said. He stepped forward.
“What are you doing?”
Albert thought for a long moment. Then a simple solution popped into his head. But he would need rope. A lot of it. “Come on.” He started jogging toward the boy and left the sanctity of the wood.
“Albert, you’ll get us killed!”
But Albert didn’t heed his friend’s pleas and instead ran straight toward the last car filled with barrels of oil and petrol. He heard Marcel running behind him. The smoke rose in front of him, and he lost sight of the Martian, still nearly four kilometers away.
The young boy saw him coming and started screaming. “Over here! Please, you must help my mother!”
Albert motioned for Marcel to help the lad as he continued for the train. The heat grew from the burning train as he approached. Reaching the last car, he began to untie the long cords that bound the barrels of petrol and oil. He would need several hundred meters of the rope to do what he planned, but the heat was almost too unbearable for him to work.
Marcel ran up to him, panting. “Albert, we must leave—”
“Help the boy with his mother!”
“The others are helping. We must get back.”
Albert returned to his task. “Untie the rest of these barrels, then tip them on the side to let the oil run free. I need this rope.”
“But the oil will further feed the fire!”
Albert strained with the cap on the barrel. The lid gave with a jolt, and dark liquid sloshed from the top. “The smoke and heat will hide us from the Martian. It will provide a shield for people to escape.” Albert wrestled the barrel to the ground. Tipping it to its side, he gave it a push to send it rolling slowly down the track. Black oil oozed out, covering the ground in a thick, viscous liquid. The sharp smell of petrochemicals stung his nostrils.
Albert hopped up on the car and grabbed another barrel. His face felt smeared with black oil. “Hurry, we need to get as much oil as we can on the ground before we ignite it. The more the better.”
Marcel joined him, and soon the two were popping off the lids and pushing the barrels over the edge of the car. Albert looked over his shoulder. The Martian’s silvery head was closer as it moved swiftly toward the train. Spots of fire ignited all around as the Martian fired wildly, disoriented by the heat and boiling smoke.
A man with a bushy beard lumbered out to help the young boy. He knelt and scooped the boy’s mother into his arms. He turned back for the wood. A line of fire danced at his feet as he carried the injured woman inside the tree line. The Martian continued to clump toward them.
Albert spotted a gnarled stick burning from where the Martian’s heat-ray had swept over the ground. He coiled the long rope that bound the barrels together and tossed it to the ground, then jumped off the car and sprinted toward the burning stick.
Marcel shouted behind him. “Albert!”
Albert grabbed the burning stick and ran to the growing slick of oil. He stopped at the black lake of petrochemicals and held the fire down to the surface—the oil caught fire, and flames quickly spread across the surface. Thick black smoke instantly rolled into the air. Albert coughed and stepped back. The smoke moved down the track, further masking the train and the people in the wood from the Martian.
The heat-rays stopped immediately. Three men raced out from the wood into the clearing and picked up the burned people lying on the ground. Someone cheered from the trees, “That will show the bastard!” Others stepped cautiously from the wood, and the silence in the trees was shattered as people poured out to carry the injured to safety.
Marcel grabbed Albert by the arm. “Let’s get out of here!”
Albert turned and picked up the long coil of rope. Good, he had enough. The Martian was hidden for the moment by the thick black smoke. Albert coughed, and tears ran from his eyes from the pungent stench.
“Come on, Albert,” screamed Marcel. “We can hide in the wood!”
“You saw it waiting in the trees. It will hunt us down unless we stop it.”
Marcel looked wildly around. His hair was mussed, and he was covered with soot from fueling the fire that burned around them. “Stop it? Are you crazy in the head? How are we going to stop that thing?”
Albert scanned the area between the train and the approaching Martian. The Martian was moving fast, and had less than two kilometers to go before it reached them. Twenty meters away, on the other side of the fire, a creek paralleled the track. A tree towered over the creek, and some of its leaves had started to catch fire. The creek bank sloped down a good two meters to the water.
If he ran alongside the creek he could keep out of sight and get to the other side of the Martian’s path. If he moved fast.
Albert threw Marcel the end of the rope. “Anchor the rope to that tree by the creek—I don’t have time to explain. Just make sure it’s tied tight.”
Marcel moaned, but followed his friend as Albert sprinted for the creek bed.
Running down the bank, Albert played the rope out behind him, crouching low as he followed the creek. He couldn’t see the approaching behemoth, but he heard the crashing sound of its spindly legs and a high-pitched chirping coming from its massive head.
Albert splashed in the water as he crossed to the other side. Suddenly the noise stopped, and the grass on the opposite creek bank ignited with fire. It heard me, thought Albert. He froze, and the fan of fire ceased as well.
Moments passed, then the high-pitched chirping started again. Albert dropped to the ground and crawled up the side of the creek.
The smoke had thinned, and Albert could see the people in the wood behind him. As if the Martian realized that the smoke had cleared as well, it started striding toward the train.
He didn’t have much time. Looking wildly around, he spotted a clump of trees on top of a low hill. The Martian passed the hill and started for the creek bank. He had to move fast.
Still trailing the rope behind him, Albert waited until the behemoth passed by, then sprinted around behind it. The Martian stepped down the creek bank, stopped, and started fanning out fire with its infrared beam.
Albert quickly ran around the Martian, trailing the rope behind him. Within seconds he had passed underneath the towering creature and looped the rope around the Martian’s legs. Crouching low, he ran up the rise to the two thickest trees and started to pull. The rope tightened around the Martian’s spindly legs.
He heard shouting come from the other side of the train and the sounds of people clanging on metal. He saw Marcel and some of the other people trying to divert attention away from him. As the Martian’s heat-ray beamed out, it struck the train and more of the oil that Marcel had poured. Flames and boiling black smoke boiled up, once again hiding the train from view.
The Martian turned its head and started fanning its infrared beam across the ground toward Albert. The leaves on the tree exploded in fire. The Martian tried to pull one leg up and step over the rope, but it was captured by the rope noose.
The heat-ray beamed out, as if it were trying to find the rope and burn it, but the flames only weaved crazily out on the ground, as if directed by a drunkard. The Martian made one final attempt to lift a leg free, then tipped off balance and fell.
The fall seemed to last for minutes. The giant barrellike head twisted back and forth during the fall, high-pitched chirping shrilled from under its hood.
It crashed with a crushing metal sound, and the chirping changed to whimpering.
Exhausted, Albert walked up the rise and watched as the creature lay twitching on the ground. People from the train appeared around the edges of the smoke and fire. Smeared with blackened oil, and with the fire and smoke roiling into the air, Albert watched as the creature jerked sporadically, then stopped moving.
It had been less than a half an hour since he had awakened from the accident—and had stoutly dismissed the notion of an invasion from Mars.
* * *
Marcel stepped up beside Albert. Marcel was covered with black soot, and looked more like a chimney sweep than the mathematical genius professors at the Eidgenössiche Technische Hochschule had once lauded.
Albert and Marcel surveyed the fallen monster from afar, knowing that it was dead, but still unable to convince themselves that it wouldn’t rise up to attack them. In the distance Albert heard booms of artillery fire; the city of Milan must be under siege.
Marcel spoke in a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fallen beast. He nervously wet his lips and glanced all around him. “I don’t think we can count on anyone coming out here to rescue us. How far is it to Milan from here?”
Albert turned to look down the track. The wreckage of two trains that had come before them littered the tracks. Nothing had been able to stop the Martian. Until now.
“I don’t know. Maybe twenty kilometers?” Albert said. “I can hear artillery, so they’re probably under attack as well.”
“Then we’re safe,” Marcel said.
Albert shook his head. “Pavia is not far from Milan. My parents are there.” If they are still alive, he thought. What had happened to his mother and father? His sister Maja? Were they suffering? And what about Uncle Jakob, his mentor who had taught him the Pythagorean theorem . . . . ? Albert felt his anger growing toward the Martians.
Albert controlled his voice and said, “If we strike out on foot, it might take us another day to reach Pavia. No telling how bad things are in Milan, especially if the Martians had stationed a sentry to stop the incoming trains.”
“Why?” said Marcel. “Are they trying to keep food and supplies from entering Milan? If so, then people on horses, carriages, and those on foot might not have any chance at all. What can we do?”
“I don’t know.” Albert fingered his mustache, still scrawny after all these years of trying to grow it. But at least his Serbian classmate Mileva Marie had liked it—she was the one bright spot at school, besides Marcel, that he would always remember.
Marcel looked nervously around, as if another Martian would come stalking around the bend to menace the small band of people.
Albert stared at the fallen Martian. It did not look so formidable now that it had fallen. And it might give him a clue as to how it functioned. He started walking briskly toward the head.
Marcel sputtered, then trotted to keep up with him. “Albert, what are you doing? Did the fire give you a heat stroke? What if the Martian is still alive?”
Albert stepped up his pace to the Martian, more determined than ever to investigate the fallen leviathan up close. “This may give us a clue as to how to defeat them.”
Marcel moaned. “I think this is a bad idea!”
“Allowing these beasts to ravage my family is worse!”
They reached the metallic head. It was as big as a small house. The metal visor stuck out like an overhanging porch. A stench of chemicals drifted from the barrellike head. The legs extended out thirty meters and were as thick as an old tree.
Albert walked around the huge head, then scrambled up on the metallic body. A horrible smell drifted out from under the visor. Albert rubbed his mustache and wrinkled his nose; the smell reminded him of horse manure thrown in a fire. He tried not to gag as he looked inside.
“Be careful!” warned Marcel from behind him.
The interior was unlighted. Weird shadows clustered against the back of the head, and it took a moment for Albert’s eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Slowly, things came into focus, but Albert couldn’t make sense of anything he saw. Glowing rectangles and lighted buttons were set throughout the chamber. His mind could not comprehend the unearthly angles, the grainy material that made up the interior.
He reached inside to get a better grip and pull himself up higher—
Suddenly, the visor swung open. Albert yelped and held on to the top part of the visor as it opened wide like a gate. The visor swung him out over the metallic body, then over the grass. His feet dangled as he held on to the yawning flange.
Marcel screamed, “Albert—drop and run away!”
Sunshine poured into the interior as a gray, limp mass tumbled out of the chamber. The round, soft body of the Martian hit the metallic armor, bounced off, and rolled to the grass. Blue-green liquid oozed from wounds where it had hit.
A crowd of people who had approached gasped in a collective sound. They stepped back as Albert dangled above the ground. Grunting, he tried to swing the visor back to the main part of the head, but could not budge the gatelike structure.
Albert gingerly slid hand over hand down the visor to the main part of the head. He reached out with a foot and, grabbing a toehold, was able to steady himself. He ducked under the visor and pulled himself into the chamber.
The fresh air had cleared some of the stench, but the horse-manure odor still lingered. Marcel yelled from outside. “Albert! Get out of there!”
Albert stepped cautiously until he stood at the center of the chamber. Now that he was inside, he could feel the chamber pulsating with a low vibration.
Panels were set all around the chamber. They were placed on the curving wall about shoulder height.
Movement on the glowing panels caught his attention. Albert could make out tiny figures moving around on the front panel. Stepping closer, he saw that it was a tilted view from outside the metallic structure! He glanced around. The panels were like tiny windows, showing different views; but some of them were focused on scenes far away from the metallic head: streets filled with people running away in mobs, black smoke curling up from burning factories, and scenes of what looked like the Milan Cathedral, then the La Scala opera house, and the Church of Santa Maria delle Grazie—
Albert drew in a breath. The scenes were of Milan, but the city was at least twenty kilometers away from here! The images were bright and sharp, as though there were little people moving behind the panel.
Mesmerized, he stepped back. Something didn’t feel right. It was time to leave this place. He caught himself as he bumped against a row of glowing lights—
The outside visor swung shut. The motion startled him; the visor moved too quickly for him to try to escape. In an instant he was sealed in the Martian chamber.
Albert kept still. He dared not move close to the glowing lights again.
He stepped slowly to where the visor had closed. It was sealed solidly shut. He ran a hand over the chamber wall and inspected the place where the seams had been, but he couldn’t detect any joint at all. It was as if the entire chamber had been formed out of one solid metallic piece.
Albert backed away to the middle of the chamber. What about the air in here? The Martians obviously breathed air, but would there be enough in the chamber for him to survive? He felt suddenly cold, and found himself drawing in several rapid breaths.
A low pulsation. Something was happening in the chamber.
He turned to the panels that showed the outside world— everyone dashed madly about, as if time had been speeded up. From the outside view, the Martian structure appeared to have settled in the ground, as if the weight of the chamber had suddenly increased. And the images were all tinged light blue.
He saw Marcel scurry up to the Martian war machine, only to bounce against some invisible shield surrounding the chamber. Marcel frantically rapped on the metallic legs, a woodpecker in fast motion. His friend could not approach the metallic head.
Albert breathed faster. He scanned the panoramic view from inside of the machine. Everything had the same light blue tint, as if he were looking through a filter.
He saw a boy dash up into a tree. The young lad was not more than ten years old. The boy immediately jumped down from the branches. A crowd of people gathered around the tree. The tree was alive with people scrambling up to look at the Martian, then leaping back down. Up and down. Up and down. Faster and faster.
Two men ran toward the war machine. They held torches. The flames burned as if they were fueled by rapidly burning petrol.
Albert moved to the other panels. He saw images as if he were in another Martian’s control chamber, high above the streets of Milan. The monsters swept through the city. Striding along, swinging their views from side to side. Albert saw sheets of fire burst up from the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. The Martians were training their infrared beams on Milan!
A cloud of blue-tinged smoke oozed from yet another Martian. The cloud slithered down to envelop a crowd of people who had gathered outside of the plaza. With the fast-motion action, when the smoke cleared away, only a powdery dark residue remained . . . and legions of dead bodies. Women, children alongside the men.
Albert heard no sound from the outside world, only the dull throbbing inside the chamber from the hidden machinery. What is going on? The world just can’t have started moving faster.
He gaped at the scenes around him, a world gone mad. He remembered his teachings, the immutable rules for making sense of the unknown, but ordered universe. Determinism. Cause and effect—things happen for a reason, and not by magic.
This absolute didn’t change because he was somewhere else, locked up in a Martian war machine. It didn’t matter if he was sitting still, or if he had been moving. The physics should remain the same, both inside and outside the chamber.
He wasn’t moving now, but it was obvious that time itself had changed. What was different about this damned chamber he was in and the outside world? The laws of physics must be the same in unaccelerated frames.
His mind raced back to the morning. He remembered being slammed against the wall during the train crash. He remembered his conjecture about the equivalence of reference frames, but only if they were not accelerating . . . and he wasn’t accelerating now.
Was he?
He caught a movement on one of the panels showing another Martian’s view. The Martian was heading away from the center of Milan and toward the countryside. It marched three-legged along a set of railroad tracks.
The scene looked chillingly familiar. Albert recognized the countryside outside of Milan. He had ridden past this scenery many times on a train, back to Zurich. Long steel railroad tracks disappeared in the hills. He could see the Italian Alps in the distance. Was the Martian heading to where Albert was?
To help the fallen Martian that Albert had killed?
Albert reached out to the panel. The control chamber seemed to sink deeper into the ground, and the motion outside the chamber speeded up even faster. The panels turned a deep blue, and he could barely make out what was going on outside.
Rapid, jerky movements. The panel that showed the Martian’s view heading for the countryside wheeled crazily about. Albert spotted a battery of artillery set above the hills outside Milan. Smoke erupted from where they had shot their weapons at the Martian.
That panel blinked and went blank.
It happened almost too fast for Albert to comprehend. The Martian must have been hit.
Albert was safe for now.
The sun burned as a bright violet ball. The angle of the sun changed, and Albert realized that it was setting . . . darkness fell, and the ice-cold pinpoints of deep blue stars swung around the sky. Within minutes the sun appeared again and started crawling from one panel to another.
Albert watched, bewildered. Time was accelerating for him, and the days raced past. It made no sense.
Suddenly the panels from Milan started blinking. One panel flickered, then went blank. One after another blacked out. Something was happening to the Martians. Within minutes— half a day to the outside world—he lost all the scenes from Milan.
He lost track of how much time had passed outside of his little world. Could years go by? The implications staggered him. What would become of his parents? Uncle Jakob? Of his Serbian classmate, dark-eyed Mileva Marie?
He held out his hands to the lights, and the motion in the main panels slowed. The chamber rocked up from the ground.
He saw that down by the train track people worked to move the overturned train and to clear out the devastation. Workers had erected a tent for food, water, and medical care. Another train chugged in from the city, trailing smoke behind it. Everyone moved at a normal pace.
But what had happened to the Martians? He had seen no activity from them since the other panels had gone blank.
Now unafraid of the consequences, Albert moved to where the visor had sealed into the chamber. Getting on his hands and knees, he inspected the smooth wall. He still couldn’t find a seam.
He straightened. A row of lights blinked over a blank area on the opposite wall. It was the same area he had backed into when he first entered the chamber.
He slowly ran his hands over the lights and stepped back as the sound from the machinery changed pitch. With a sudden movement, the visor swung open. Fresh, clean air spilled inside.
Albert blinked at the unexpected light. The low hum of pulsating machinery sighed to a stop. For the first time since he had entered the chamber, Albert heard no sound. He stood at the entrance and stared out at the changes that had occurred around him since he had entered the chamber.
After a few minutes an excited chatter rose from the crowd. Someone shouted in the distance. “Albert!” It was Marcel’s voice, calling excitedly from the tent.
Albert reached out to the visor that extended from the chamber and slid hand over hand away from the monstrous head. Once clear of the metallic body, he let go and fell a good three meters to the ground. Landing in the grass, he rolled to the side.
The hills seemed greener, the clouds a more brilliant white, untinged with blue. He stood and blinked in the sunlight.
Marcel ran up to him; he was followed by a group of boys and men. A tall thin man with a white beard accompanied Marcel. Several other men carried rifles and stood warily back, as if they were unconvinced that Albert was not a threat.
“Albert!” His friend Marcel panted as he reached him. He threw his arms around Albert. “Thank God you are alive! The others had given you up for dead.”
The tall thin man with Marcel stepped up to Albert. “Are there any Martians inside?” He spoke with a Dutch accent.
Albert shook his head. “One fell out just as I entered. I . . . I was trapped inside.”
The man looked disappointed. “The Martian lived for only a short time. It did not have time to disable its machinery, like the others we’ve found. In fact, this is the only Martian war machine that still has power. We’ve been waiting a long time to find one that worked.” He stepped up on his tiptoes to try to peer inside the chamber.
Albert drew in a deep breath, and felt relieved not to smell any of the alien stench. He felt suddenly hungry. “How long have you waited?”
The man answered over his shoulder. “Two and a half weeks. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Albert wavered. Two and a half weeks! Then it wasn’t a dream. He hadn’t had any water, much less food, in the chamber.
Marcel stepped up to the two. “Albert, this is Dr. Lorentz. He was visiting in Milan when the Martians landed. He was commissioned by the minister of science to investigate the Martian technology. He’s a physicist like yourself—”
Albert’s eyes grew wide. Of course he knew of the eminent scholar; at ETH Professor Minkowski had often spoke of Lorentz’s work investigating Maxwell’s equations and the ether.
With shaky hands Albert pulled out his watch. It read five o’clock. Only seven hours had passed since he had entered the Martian . . . or two and a half weeks, if he could believe Dr. Lorentz.
“. . . . the Martians succumbed to a disease,” said Marcel, still talking. “So I decided to wait here.” He looked over to the group of men standing by the clump of trees; they had lowered their weapons, but they still looked ominous. “They were planning to use explosives on the war machine. We had given up all hope of you ever coming out.”
Dr. Lorentz dismissed Marcel’s comments. “This machine is much too important for me to have allowed that to happen, young man.” He looked eagerly at the Martian head. “The device seemed to have become quite massive while you were inside. We were unable to approach it until the visor swung open. Do you know how to work the equipment inside?”
Albert’s head was still reeling with the implications of difference in time. “Somewhat. But I think the power has gone off. At least everything fell silent when I opened the visor.”
Dr. Lorentz looked disappointed. “I’ll speak with you later then.” He turned for the metallic body.
“Over here,” said Marcel. He steered his friend away from the Martian war machine. “I’ll get you some hot tea.” He led him to the medical tent.
As Albert rested, he watched the men entering the chamber. The ground around the massive metallic head looked compressed, as if the chamber had once weighed much more than it did now.
“Here,” said Marcel, approaching from the canteen. He held out a cup of tea for his friend.
Albert took the drink and gulped it down. He stayed silent when Marcel queried him about his experience. It would be too difficult to explain the passage of time. Two and a half weeks. What could cause this to happen? he thought. Was he dreaming?
He absently touched his head. The wound from the train crash was still present. It should have healed after two and a half weeks.
Cause and effect.
Albert looked at the ground around the massive head. What if it had tremendously increased in weight? And what if whatever had kept the people away also prevented the chamber from sinking into the ground? Did the increase in weight affect the passage of time?
Reference frames . . . .
Maybe the Martians had built a rescue device into the chamber: In an emergency, the visor would seal tight, and with time passing quickly outside the chamber, it would serve as a “lifeboat” until help could come. Albert thought back to the Martian that had attempted to leave Milan. What would have happened if it had arrived, only to find him inside?
Albert’s thoughts were interrupted by Marcel, who was clearly agitated that his friend stayed mute. “I think, Biedermeier, that there is more to your adventure than you are willing to tell. Is that not so?”
Biedermeier. Honest John.
Dr. Lorentz had left the chamber and dropped to the ground. He now strode hurriedly to where they sat. No doubt he would be wanting to know how Albert had managed to live for two and a half weeks in the tiny chamber without leaving any crumbs of food, any water . . . or any sign of human waste.
Marcel said, “I telegraphed your parents that I would let them know how you were when the chamber opened. Tell me. Is there more to your story?”
Albert pulled on his mustache, still half immersed in deep thought. Dr. Lorentz looked grim, and he would be demanding an explanation. An explanation based on cause and effect, not magic.
Albert spoke softly as the eminent physicist approached. “It depends on how you look at it, my friend. It all depends.” He felt suddenly strengthened with the knowledge that his Gedanken experiments with reference frames had something to do with this.
Albert Einstein pushed up to greet Dr. Lorentz. “I’m not sure where this is heading, my friend, but I’m starting to think it’s all relative.”