A SOUND OF THUNDER
Ray Bradbury
The following is an edited and simplified version of Ray Bradbury's famous short story on the "Butterfly Effect," whereby a minute change in the natural world can change history. We'll discuss this story when we view a time travel film this week.
THE SIGN ON the wall read:Ray Bradbury
The following is an edited and simplified version of Ray Bradbury's famous short story on the "Butterfly Effect," whereby a minute change in the natural world can change history. We'll discuss this story when we view a time travel film this week.
TIME SAFARI, INC. SAFARIS TO ANY YEAR IN THE PAST.
NAME THE ANIMAL.
WE TAKE YOU THERE TO SHOOT IT.
NAME THE ANIMAL.
WE TAKE YOU THERE TO SHOOT IT.
Eckels smiled as he gave the man behind the desk ten thousand dollars.
"Does this safari guarantee I come back alive?"
"We guarantee nothing," said the official, "except the dinosaurs."
He turned.
"This is Mr. Travis, your Safari Guide in the Past. He'll tell you what and where to shoot. If you disobey instructions, there's a stiff penalty of another ten thousand dollars, plus legal penalties, on your return."
"Damn," Eckels breathed, the light of the Time Machine on his thin face. "A real Time Machine."
He shook his head.
"Makes you think. If the election had gone badly yesterday, I might be here now running away from the results. Thank God Smith won. He'll make a fine President of the United States."
"Yes," said the man behind the desk. "We're lucky. If Deutscher had won, we'd have a dictatorship."
"We're lucky," the official said. "Now just worry about—
"Shooting my dinosaur," Eckels finished the sentence.
"Tyrannosaurus Rex. The worst monster in history. Sign this release. Anything happens to you, we're not responsible. Those dinosaurs are hungry."
Eckels flushed angrily. "Trying to scare me!"
"Frankly, yes. Six safari leaders were killed last year, and a dozen hunters. We're here to give you the best thrill a hunter could ask for. Traveling back sixty million years to bag the biggest game in all Time."
They moved silently across the room, taking their guns with them, toward the Machine.
There were four other men in the Machine. Travis, the safari leader, his assistant, Lesperance, and the hunters, Billings and Kramer.
The Machine howled. Time ran backward. Suns fled and ten million moons fled after them.
The Machine slowed; its scream fell to a murmur. The Machine stopped.
The fog that had enveloped the Machine blew away and they were in an old time, a very old time indeed, three hunters and two Safari Heads with their blue metal guns across their knees.
"Christ isn't born yet," said Travis. "Moses has not gone to the mountain to talk with God. The Pyramids, Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler—none of them exists."
The men nodded.
"That," Mr. Travis pointed—"is the jungle of sixty million two thousand and fifty-five years before our new president."
He indicated a metal path that struck off into green wilderness, over swamp land.
"And that," he said, "is the Path, laid by Time Safari for your use. It's raised six inches above the earth. Doesn't touch even one grass blade, flower, or tree. Its purpose is to keep you from touching this world of the past in any way. Stay on the Path. Don't go off it. If you fall off, there's a penalty. And don't shoot any animal we don't okay."
"Why?" asked Eckels.
"We don't want to change the Future. A Time Machine is risky business. We might kill an important animal, a small bird, a roach, a flower even, thus destroying an important link in a growing species."
"That's not clear," said Eckels.
"All right," Travis continued, "say we accidentally kill one mouse here. That means all the future families of this one particular mouse are destroyed, right?"
"Right."
"And all the families of the families of that one mouse! With a stamp of your foot, you destroy first one, then a dozen, then a thousand, a million, a billion possible mice!"
"So what?" said Eckels.
"So what? What about the foxes that'll need those mice to survive? For want of ten mice, a fox dies. For want of ten foxes, a lion starves. For want of a lion, all manner of insects, vultures, billions of life forms die. Fifty-nine million years later, a cave man goes hunting wild boar or saber-tooth tiger for food. But you, friend, have stepped on all the tigers in that region. By stepping on one single mouse. So the cave man starves. And the cave man is not just a man! He is an entire future nation. From him would have sprung ten sons. From them a hundred sons, and thus a civilization. Destroy this one man, and you destroy a race, a people, an entire history of life. The stomp of your foot, on one mouse, could start an earthquake, the effects of which could shake our earth and destinies down through Time, to their very foundations. With the death of that one cave man, a billion others yet unborn die in the womb. Step on a mouse and you change everything. Queen Elizabeth might never be born, Washington might not cross the Delaware, there might never be a United States. So be careful. Stay on the Path. Never step off!'
"I see," said Eckels. "Not even touch the grass?"
"Correct. We wear these oxygen helmets so we can't introduce our bacteria into an ancient atmosphere."
"How do we know which animals to shoot?"
"They're marked with red paint," said Travis. "Today, before our journey, we sent Lesperance back with the Machine. He came to this particular era and followed certain animals."
"Studying them?"
"Right," said Lesperance. When I find one that's going to die when a tree falls on him, or one that drowns in a tar pit, I note the exact hour, minute, and second. I shoot a paint bomb. It leaves a red patch on
his hide. We can't miss it. Then I time our arrival in the Past so we meet the Monster not more than two minutes before he would have died anyway. This way, we kill only animals with no future, that are never going to mate again. See how careful we are?"
They were ready to leave the Machine.
Dinosaurs soared around them in the jungle with heavy gray wings. Eckels, on the narrow Path, aimed his rifle playfully.
"Stop that!" said Travis. "Not even for fun! If your gun goes off—"
Eckels flushed. "Where's our dinosaur?"
Lesperance checked his wrist watch. "Up ahead. Look for the red paint. Don't shoot till we give the word. Stay on the Path!"
They moved forward in the prehistoric morning.
"Strange," murmured Eckels. "Up ahead, sixty million years, Election Day over. Adams made President. Everyone celebrating. And here we are, a million years lost, and they don't exist."
"Safety catches off, everyone!" ordered Travis. "You shoot first, Eckels. Then Billings. Then Kramer."
"I've hunted tiger and elephant. But Jesus, this is it," said Eckels. "I'm shaking like a kid."
Travis raised his hand. "There he is. There's His Royal Majesty now."
The jungle was full of twitterings, rustlings, murmurs, and sighs. Suddenly it ceased, as if someone had shut a door. Silence. A sound of thunder.
Out of the mist, one hundred yards away, came Tyrannosaurus Rex. It towered thirty feet above the trees. Each thigh was a ton of meat, ivory, and steel mesh. From the great breathing cage of the upper body those two delicate arms dangled out front, arms with hands which might pick up and examine men like toys, while the snake neck coiled. Its mouth gaped, showing a fence of teeth like daggers.
"It sees us!"
"There's the red paint on its chest!"
The Thunder Lizard raised itself. Its armored flesh glittered
like a thousand green coins.
"Get me out of here," said Eckels, afraid. "This is too much for me."
"Eckels! Not that way!"
Eckels, not looking back, walked blindly to the edge of the Path, his gun limp in his arms, stepped off the Path, and walked, not knowing it, in the jungle. His feet sank into green moss.
The rifles cracked again. Like a stone idol, like a mountain, the dinosaur fell. A fount of blood spurted from its throat.
Another cracking sound. Overhead, a gigantic tree branch broke from its heavy mooring, fell. It crashed upon the dead beast with finality.
"There." Lesperance checked his watch. "Right on time. That's the tree that was scheduled to fall and kill this animal originally." He glanced at the two hunters. "You want the trophy picture?'
"What?"
"We can't take a trophy back to the Future. The body has to stay right here where it would have died originally, so the insects, birds, and bacteria can get at it, as they were intended to. Everything in balance. The body stays. But we can take a picture of you standing near it."
The two men tried to think, but gave up, shaking their heads.
They let themselves be led along the metal Path. They sank wearily into the Machine cushions.
A sound on the floor of the Time Machine stiffened them. Eckels sat there, shivering.
"I'm sorry," he said at last.
"Get up!" cried Travis.
Eckels got up.
"Go out on that Path alone," said Travis. He had his rifle pointed. "You're not coming back in the Machine. We're leaving you here!"
Lesperance seized Travis' arm. "Wait—"
"Stay out of this!" Travis shook his hand away. "This son of a bitch nearly killed us. But it isn't that so much. Look at his shoes! He ran off the Path. That ruins us! Christ knows how much we'll forfeit. Tens of thousands of dollars of insurance! We guarantee no one leaves the Path. He left it. Oh, the damn fool! I'll have to report to the government. They might revoke our license to travel. God knows what he's done to Time, to History!"
"Take it easy, all he did was kick up some dirt."
"How do we know?" cried Travis. "We don't know anything! It's all a mystery! Get out there, Eckels!"
Eckels fumbled his shirt. "I'll pay anything. A hundred thousand dollars!"
Travis glared at Eckels. "Go out there. The Monster's next to the Path. Stick your arms up to your elbows in his mouth. Then you can come back with us."
"That's unreasonable!"
"The Monster's dead, you coward. The bullets can't be left behind. They don't belong in the Past; they might change something. Here's my knife. Dig them out!"
Eckles returned five minutes later, his arms soaked and red to the elbows. He held out his hands. Each held a number of steel bullets. Then he fell. He lay where he fell, not moving. Travis nudged the still
body. "He'll live. Okay." He jerked his thumb wearily at Lesperance.
"Switch on. Let's go home.'"
1492. 1776. 1812.
They cleaned their hands and faces. They changed their soiled shirts and pants. Eckels was up and around again, not speaking. Travis glared at him for a full ten minutes.
"Don't look at me," cried Eckels. "I haven't done anything."
"Who can tell?"
"I just ran off the Path, that's all, a little mud on my shoes—what do you want me to do—get down and pray?'
"We might need it. I'm warning you, Eckels, I might kill you yet. I've got my gun ready."
"I'm innocent. I've done nothing!"
1999. 2000. 2055.
The Machine stopped.
"Get out," said Travis.
The room was there as they had left it. But not the same
as they had left it.
Travis looked around swiftly. "Everything okay here?" he
snapped.
"Fine. Welcome home!"
Travis did not relax. He seemed to be reviewing everything.
"Okay, Eckels, get out. Don't ever come back."
Eckels could not move.
"You heard me," said Travis. "What're you staring at?"
Eckels stood wondering. What sort of world it was now, there was
no telling.
But the immediate thing was the sign painted on the office
wall. The sign had changed:
TYME SEFARI, INC. SEFARIS TU ANY YEER EN THE PAST.
YU NAIM THE ANIMALL.
WEE TAEK YOU THAIR. YU SHOT ITT.
YU NAIM THE ANIMALL.
WEE TAEK YOU THAIR. YU SHOT ITT.
Eckels fell into a chair. He fumbled crazily at the thick slime on his boots. He held up a clod of dirt, trembling. "No, it can't be. Not a little thing like that. No!"
Embedded in the mud, glistening green and gold and black, was a butterfly, very beautiful, and very dead.
"Not a little thing like that! Not a butterfly!" cried Eckels.
It fell to the floor, a small thing. It couldn't change things. Killing one butterfly couldn't be that important! Could it?"
His face was cold. His mouth trembled, asking: "Who—who won the presidential election yesterday?'
The man behind the desk laughed. "You joking? You know damn well. Deutscher, of course! Who else? Not that weakling Smith. We got an iron man now, a man with guts, by God!" The official stopped. "What's wrong?"
Eckels moaned. He dropped to his knees. He scrabbled at the golden butterfly with shaking fingers. "Can't we," he pleaded to the world, to himself, to the officials, to the Machine, "can't we take it back, can't we make it alive again? Can't we start over? Can't we—"
He did not move. Eyes shut, he waited, shivering. He heard Travis breathe loud in the room; he heard Travis shift his rifle, click the safety catch, and raise the weapon.
There was a sound of thunder.
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