The end of eternity pdf free download

Software Images icon An illustration of two photographs. Images Donate icon An illustration of a heart shape Donate Ellipses icon An illustration of text ellipses. The end of eternity Item Preview. EMBED for wordpress. Want more? To concern oneself with the mystique of Time-travel, rather than with the simple fact of it, was the mark of the Cub and newcomer to Eternity.

He paused again at the infinitely thin curtain of non-Space and non-Time which separated him from Eternity in one way and from ordinary Time in another. This would be a completely new section of Eternity for him. He knew about it in a rough, way, of course, having checked upon it in the Temporal Handbook.

Still, there was no substitute for actual appearance and he steeled himself for the initial shock of adjustment. He stepped through the curtain and found himself squinting at the brilliance.

Automatically he threw up his hand to shield his eyes. Page 2 Only one man faced him. At first Harlan could see him only blurrily. I imagine you are Technician Harlan. The Handbook had mentioned them, but had said nothing of such an insane riot of light reflection.

Harlan felt his annoyance to be quite reasonable. The th Century was matter-oriented, as most Centuries were, so he had a right to expect a basic compatibility from the very beginning. To be sure, there was matter and matter. A member of an energy-oriented Century might not realize that. To him all matter might seem minor variations on the theme that was gross, heavy, and barbaric.

To matter-oriented Harlan, however, there was wood, metal subdivisions, heavy and light , plastic, silicates, concrete, leather, and so on. But matter consisting entirely of mirrors! That was his first impression of the th. Every surface reflected and glinted light. Everywhere was the illusion of complete smoothness; the effect of a molecular film. And in the ever-repeated reflection of himself, of Sociologist Voy, of everything he could see, in scraps and wholes, in all angles, there was confusion.

Garish confusion and nausea! You get used to it after a time. He reached to move a hair-contact indicator down a spiral scale to point of origin. The reflections died; extraneous light faded. Harlan felt his world settle. Harlan followed through empty corridors that, Harlan knew, must moments ago have been a riot of made light and reflection, up a ramp, through an anteroom, into an office. In all the short journey no human being had been visible.

Harlan was so used to that, took it so for granted, that he would have been surprised, almost shocked, if a glimpse of a human figure hurrying away had caught his eyes. No doubt the news had spread that a Technician was coming through. Harlan was faintly surprised at the touch of bitterness he felt at this.

He had thought the shell he had grown about his soul was thicker, more efficiently insensitive than that. If he was wrong, if his shell Page 3 had worn thinner, there could only be one reason for that. Sociologist Kantor Voy leaned forward toward the Technician in what seemed a friendly enough fashion, but Harlan noted automatically that they were seated on opposite sides of the long axis of a fairly large table.

Surely his real motives must be apparent, his guilt be spelled out in beads of sweat on his forehead. He removed from an inner pocket the foiled summary of the projected Reality Change. It was the very copy which had been sent to the Allwhen Council a month earlier. Through his relationship with Senior Computer Twissell the Twissell, himself Harlan had had little trouble in getting his hands on it.

Before unrolling the foil, letting it peel off onto the table top where it would be held by a soft paramagnetic field, Harlan paused a split moment.

The molecular film that covered the table was subdued but was not zero. The motion of his arm fixed his eye and for an instant the reflection of his own face seemed to stare somberly up at him from the table top.

He was thirty-two, but he looked older. He needed no one to tell him that. It might be partly his long face and dark eyebrows over darker eyes that gave him the lowering expression and cold glare associated with the caricature of the Technician in the minds of all Eternals.

It might be just his own realization that he was a Technician. But then he flicked the foil out across the table and turned to the matter at hand. When one begins by expressing lack of competence in a given field, it usually implies that a flat opinion in that field will follow almost immediately.

Just a request. Harlan kept one arm across the back of his chair, the other in his lap, He must let neither hand drum restless fingers.

He must not bite his lips. Ever since the whole orientation of his life had so changed itself, he had been watching the summaries of projected Reality Changes as they passed through the grinding administrative gears of the Allwhen Council.

He knew now a little of the nature of that Page 4 project. Harlan had had no assurance that he would ever find what he was looking for in a reasonable time. When he had first glanced over projected Reality Change , Serial Number V-5, he was half inclined to believe his reasoning powers were warped by wishing. For a full day he had checked and rechecked equations and relationships in a rattling uncertainty, mixed with growing excitement and a bitter gratitude that he had been taught at least elementary psychomathematics.

Now Voy went over those same puncture patterns with a half-puzzled, half-worried eye. He was still polite, but with an icy touch now. I have every certainty that those assigned to this project have given accurate data. Have you evidence to the contrary? I accept their data. It is the development of the data I question. Do you not have an alternate tensor-complex at this point, if the courtship data is taken properly into consideration?

There is a loop of small dimensions with no tributaries on either side. The alternate tensor-complex you refer to, or the forking of the road, as we might say, is nonsignificant. The forks join up again and it is a single road. There was not even any need to mention it in our recommendations. However, there is still the matter of the M.

There the Technician was master. A Sociologist might consider himself above criticism by lesser beings in anything involving the mathematical analysis of the infinite possible Realities in Time, but in matters of M. Mechanical computing would not do. The largest Computaplex ever built, manned by the cleverest and most experienced Senior Computer ever born, could do no better than to indicate the ranges in which the M.

It was then the Technician, glancing over the data, who decided on an exact point within that range. A good Technician was rarely wrong.

A top Technician was never wrong. Harlan was never wrong. His white, well-cared-for index nail made the faintest mark along one set of perforations. Voy considered matters with a painful but silent intensity. Voy looked up, his dark face struggling somewhere between chagrin and anger. As far as I know, the Allwhen Council does not know of this. At least, the projected Reality Change was passed over to me without comment. I felt I could correct it before damage was done.

I have done so. Why go any further? You have been a friend. He probably resents it. I have the data necessary here with me. I have also the data for a suggested Reality Change in the nd. I want to know the effect of the Change on the probability-pattern of a certain individual. Surely you have the facilities for doing this in your own Section? I want a confidential answer. You raised no objection to that. You follow me, I think? He held out his hand. The main hurdle had been passed.

Only once did the Sociologist speak. Too small, I think. No use running this past the point of safety. Voy stood up. You understand, though, that this is not to be taken as establishing a precedent. I trust you will honor us by conducting the M. The engineers had focused them already to the exact co-ordinates in Space and Time and then had left. Harlan and Voy were alone in the glittering room.

The molecular film arrangement was perceptible and even a bit more than perceptible, but Harlan was looking at the screens. Both views were motionless. They might have been scenes of the dead, since they pictured mathematical instants of Time.

One view was in sharp, natural color; the engine room of what Harlan knew to be an experimental space-ship. A door was closing, and a glistening shoe of a red, semi-transparent material was just visible through the space that remained.

It did not move. Nothing moved. If the picture could have been made sharp enough to picture the dust motes in the air, they would not have moved. In the current Reality, that is. He was putting on his gloves and already his quick eyes were memorizing the position of the critical container on its shelf, measuring the steps to it, estimating the best position into which to transfer it.

He cast one quick look at the other screen. It was a space-port. A deep blue sky, blue-tinged buildings of naked metal on blue-green ground.

A blue cylinder of odd design, bulge-bottomed, stood in the foreground. Two others like it were in the background. All three pointed cleft noses upward, the cleavage biting deeply into the vitals of the ship. Harlan frowned. No propellants, no nucleonics. A pity. Disapproval of courser Why not? He was the Technician. To be sure, it had been some Observer who had brought in the details of drug addiction.

It had been some Statistician who had demonstrated that recent Changes had increased the addiction rate until now it was the highest in all the current Reality of man. Some Sociologist, probably Voy himself, had interpreted that into the psychiatric profile of a society. Finally, some Computer had worked out the Reality Change necessary to decrease addiction to a safe level and found that, as a side effect, electro-gravitic space-travel must suffer.

A dozen, a hundred men of every rating in Eternity had had a hand in this. But then, at the end, a Technician such as himself must step in. Following the directions all the others had combined to give him, he must be the one to initiate the actual Reality Change.

And then, all the others would stare in haughty accusation at him. Their stares would say: You, not we, have destroyed Page 8 this beautiful thing. And for that, they would condemn and avoid him. They would shift their own guilt to his shoulders and scorn him. They were little puppets in clusters, these people: Their tiny arms and legs were in raised, artificial-looking positions, caught in the frozen instant of Time.

Voy shrugged. Harlan was adjusting the small field-generator about his left wrist. I want to get in touch with the Life-Plotter and find out how long his job for you will take.

I want to get that job done, too. Another characteristic of this Section of Eternity, thought Harlan--sound codes in clicks. Clever, but affected, like the molecular films. He stared a moment at the Sociologist and turned abruptly. If there was a flaw in Eternity, it involved women. From that moment it had been an easy path to this one, in which he stood false to his oath as an Eternal and to everything in which he had believed. For what? And he was not ashamed. It was that which really rocked him.

He was not ashamed. He felt no guilt for the crescendo of crimes he had committed, to which this latest addition of the unethical use of confidential Life-Plotting could rank only as a peccadillo. He would do worse than his worst if he had to. For the first time the specific and express thought came to him. And though he pushed it away in horror, he knew that, having once come, it would return.

Page 9 The thought was simply this: That he would ruin Eternity, if he had to. The worst of it was that he knew he had the power to do it. It had been very simple once. There were such things as ideals, or at least catchwords, to live by and for. First, there was the period of fifteen years in which he was not an Eternal at all, but only an inhabitant of Time.

Only a human being out of Time, a Timer, could become an Eternal; no one could be born into the position. At the age of fifteen he was chosen by a careful process of elimination and winnowing, the nature of which he had no conception of at the time. He was taken beyond the veil of Eternity after a last agonized farewell to his family.

Even then it was made clear to him that whatever else happened he would never return. The true reason for that he was not to learn till long afterward. Once within Eternity, he spent ten years in school as a Cub, and then graduated to enter his third period as observer. It was only after that that he became a Specialist and a true Eternal. He, Harlan, had gone through it all so neatly.

He might say, successfully. School done, Cubhood over, he was standing with the five who completed training with him, hands clasped in the small of his back, legs a trifle apart, eyes front, listening.

Educator Yarrow was at a desk talking to them. Harlan could remember Yarrow well: a small, intense man, with ruddy hair in disarray, freckled forearms, and a look of loss in his eyes. Cold, objective facts uncolored by your own opinions and likings, you understand. Facts accurate enough to be fed into Computing machines. Facts definite enough to make the social equations stand up. Facts honest enough to form a basis for Reality Changes.

Your period as Observer is not something to get through with as quickly and as unobtrusively as possible. It is as an Observer that you will make your mark. Not what you did in school, but what you will do as an Observer will determine your Specialty and how high you will rise in it. This will be your post-graduate course, Eternals, and failure in it, even small failure, will put you into Maintenance no matter how brilliant your potentialities now seem.

That is all. For the first time he would be working unsupervised, and knowledge of that fact robbed him of some of his self-assurance when he first reported to the Computer in charge of the Section. That was Assistant Computer Hobbe Finge, whose pursed, suspicious mouth and frowning eyes seemed ludicrous in such a face as his. He had a round button of a nose, two larger buttons of cheeks.

He needed only a touch of red and a fringe of white hair to be converted into the picture of the Primitive myth of St. Harlan knew all three names.

He doubted if one Eternal out of a hundred thousand had heard of anyone of them. Harlan took a secret, shamefaced pride in this sort of arcane knowledge.

From his earliest days in school he had ridden the hobbyhorse of Primitive history, and Educator Yarrow had encouraged it. Harlan had grown actually fond of those odd, perverted Centuries that lay, not only before the beginning of Eternity in the 27th, but even before the invention of the Temporal Field, itself, in the 24th.

He had used old books and periodicals in his studies. He had even traveled far downwhen to the earliest Centuries of Eternity, when he could get permission, to consult better sources. For over fifteen years he had managed to collect a remarkable library of his own, almost all in print-on-paper. There was a volume by a man called H. Wells, another by a man named W. Shakespeare, some tattered histories. Best of all there was a complete set of bound volumes of a Primitive news weekly that took up inordinate space but that he could not, out of sentiment, bear to reduce to micro-film.

Occasionally he would lose himself in a world where life was life and death, death; where a man made his decisions irrevocably; where evil could not be prevented, nor good promoted, and the Battle of Page 11 Waterloo, having been lost, was really lost for good and all. There was even a scrap of poetry he treasured which stated that a moving finger having once written could never be lured back to unwrite. And then it was difficult, almost a shock, to return his thoughts to Eternity, and to a universe where Reality was something flexible and evanescent, something men such as himself could hold in the palms of their hands and shake into better shape.

The illusion of St.. Nicholas shattered when Hobbe Finge spoke to him in a brisk, matter-of-fact way. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in The End of Eternity may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them. DMCA and Copyright : The book is not hosted on our servers, to remove the file please contact the source url. If you see a Google Drive link instead of source url, means that the file witch you will get after approval is just a summary of original book or the file has been already removed.

For decades, they have worked to heal their world and its survivors, but their resources are finite. This masterful science fiction saga has no equal in contemporary speculative fiction. A team of the world's greatest philosophers has been brought back to life and tasked with the seemingly impossible mission of destroying the gods themselves. But they cannot do it alone, and unsuspecting mortals are soon dragged into their war against the divine. Pete Machal is tricked into aiding the philosophers' plan and finds himself suddenly transformed into a god - only to be plunged into a dangerous battle for the survival of humanity.

In a race against time, Pete and his friends embark on an epic quest through hidden dimensions and the center of the Earth, beset on all sides by desperate gods, evil demons and betrayal from within. This is the fourth and final book in the End of Eternity series! No more cliffhangers. Surrendering herself to the monster that has destroyed her family, Carmen follows his commands while secretly hoping for a moment when she can gain the upper hand.

Having reached her final breaking point, she will take no more of watching her loved ones get hurt because of one depraved man's psychotic behavior. Carmen takes matters into her own hands, and lies in wait for the moment when she can make her move and end this.

And she will end this: once and for all. In the meantime, Owen is hurt and confused by Carmen's sudden rejection, and considers reconciling with his girlfriend Caroline and getting married to her. He realizes that things might have moved too quickly with Carmen, and that maybe he should rekindle the relationship he has had for several years, instead of diving headfirst into something new and being unsure of the outcome At the Pearl Harbor army base in , Robert E.

His indignation results in a transfer to an infantry unit whose commander is less interested in preparing for war than he is in boxing. An American classic now available with scenes and dialogue considered unfit for publication in the s, From Here to Eternity is a stirring picture of army life in the months leading up to the attack on Pearl Harbor.

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