Foreword

Elsewhere I have set down, for whatever interest they have in this, the 25th Century, my personal recollections of the 20th Century.

Elsewhere, I have written down my personal memories of the 20th Century, for whatever interest they hold in this 25th Century.

Now it occurs to me that my memoirs of the 25th Century may have an equal interest 500 years from now—particularly in view of that unique perspective from which I have seen the 25th Century, entering it as I did, in one leap across a gap of 492 years.

Now I realize that my memoirs of the 25th Century may be just as interesting 500 years from now. That may be especially true because of my unique perspective on the 25th Century. I entered it in a single leap across 492 years.

This statement requires elucidation. There are still many in the world who are not familiar with my unique experience. Five centuries from now there may be many more, especially if civilization is fated to endure any worse convulsions than those which have occurred between 1975 A.D. and the present time.

This statement needs an explanation. Many people in the world are still unfamiliar with my unique experience. Five centuries from now, there may be many more. This is especially likely if civilization is destined to suffer even worse upheavals than it has between 1975 A.D. and the present.

I should state therefore, that I, Anthony Rogers, am, so far as I know, the only man alive whose normal span of eighty-one years of life has been spread over a period of 573 years. To be precise, I lived the first twenty-nine years of my life between 1898 and 1927; the other fifty-two since 2419. The gap between these two, a period of nearly five hundred years, I spent in a state of suspended animation, free from the ravages of katabolic processes, and without any apparent effect on my physical or mental faculties.

So, as far as I know, I, Anthony Rogers, am the only man alive whose normal lifespan of eighty-one years has stretched across 573 years. To be precise, I lived the first twenty-nine years of my life between 1898 and 1927. I have lived the other fifty-two years since 2419. I spent the gap between these two periods, nearly five hundred years, in suspended animation. During that time, I was free from the damage caused by the body's breakdown processes. The gap had no apparent effect on my physical or mental abilities.

When I began my long sleep, man had just begun his real conquest of the air in a sudden series of transoceanic flights in airplanes driven by internal combustion motors. He had barely begun to speculate on the possibilities of harnessing sub-atomic forces, and had made no further practical penetration into the field of ethereal pulsations than the primitive radio and television of that day. The United States of America was the most powerful nation in the world, its political, financial, industrial and scientific influence being supreme; and in the arts also it was rapidly climbing into leadership.

When I began my long sleep, humanity had just begun its real conquest of the air. A sudden series of flights had crossed oceans in airplanes powered by internal combustion engines. People had barely begun to speculate about harnessing subatomic forces. Their only practical advances in using electromagnetic waves were the primitive radio and television of the day. The United States of America was the most powerful nation in the world. Its political, financial, industrial, and scientific influence was supreme. It was also rapidly becoming a leader in the arts.

I awoke to find the America I knew a total wreck—to find Americans a hunted race in their own land, hiding in the dense forests that covered the shattered and leveled ruins of their once magnificent cities, desperately preserving, and struggling to develop in their secret retreats, the remnants of their culture and science—and the undying flame of their sturdy independence.

I woke to find the America I knew completely ruined. Americans were hunted in their own land. They hid in dense forests that covered the shattered, leveled ruins of their once magnificent cities. In their secret hideouts, they desperately preserved and struggled to develop what remained of their culture and science. They also kept alive the undying flame of their fierce independence.

World domination was in the hands of Mongolians and the center of world power lay in inland China, with Americans one of the few races of mankind unsubdued—and it must be admitted in fairness to the truth, not worth the trouble of subduing in the eyes of the Han Airlords who ruled North America as titular tributaries of the Most Magnificent.

The Mongolians ruled the world, and the center of their power was in inland China. Americans were one of the few races of mankind that had not been subdued. But, in fairness to the truth, the Han Airlords did not think Americans were worth the trouble of subduing. The Han Airlords ruled North America as nominal tributaries of the Most Magnificent.

For they needed not the forests in which the Americans lived, nor the resources of the vast territories these forests covered. With the perfection to which they had reduced the synthetic production of necessities and luxuries, their remarkable development of scientific processes and mechanical accomplishment of work, they had no economic need for the forests, and no economic desire for the enslaved labor of an unruly race.

For they needed neither the forests where the Americans lived nor the resources of the vast territories those forests covered. They had perfected the synthetic production of necessities and luxuries. Their scientific processes and machines for doing work were also remarkably advanced. So they had no economic need for the forests and no economic desire for the slave labor of an unruly race.

They had all they needed for their magnificently luxurious and degraded scheme of civilization, within the walls of the fifteen cities of sparkling glass they had flung skyward on the sites of ancient American centers, into the bowels of the earth underneath them, and with relatively small surrounding areas of agriculture.

They had all they needed for their magnificently luxurious and degraded civilization within the walls of fifteen sparkling glass cities. They had built these cities high into the sky on the sites of ancient American centers. They also had land deep beneath the cities and relatively small areas of farmland surrounding them.

Complete domination of the air rendered communication between these centers a matter of ease and safety. Occasional destructive raids on the waste lands were considered all that was necessary to keep the "wild" Americans on the run within the shelter of their forests, and prevent their becoming a menace to the Han civilization.

Complete control of the air made communication between these centers easy and safe. Occasional destructive raids on the wastelands were thought to be all that was necessary. They kept the "wild" Americans on the run within the shelter of their forests and prevented them from threatening Han civilization.

But nearly three hundred years of easily maintained security, the last century of which had been nearly sterile in scientific, social and economic progress, had softened and devitalized the Hans.

But the Hans had lived in easily maintained security for nearly three hundred years. During the last century, there had been almost no scientific, social, or economic progress. Those years had made the Hans soft and drained their vitality.

It had likewise developed, beneath the protecting foliage of the forest, the growth of a vigorous new American civilization, remarkable in the mobility and flexibility of its organization, in its conquest of almost insuperable obstacles, in the development and guarding of its industrial and scientific resources, all in anticipation of that "Day of Hope" to which it had been looking forward for generations, when it would be strong enough to burst from the green chrysalis of the forests, soar into the upper air lanes and destroy the yellow incubus.

It had also fostered a vigorous new American civilization beneath the forest’s protective foliage. This civilization was remarkable for its mobile, flexible organization and its conquest of nearly impossible obstacles. It had also developed and protected its industrial and scientific resources. All this was in anticipation of the "Day of Hope," which it had awaited for generations. On that day, it would be strong enough to burst from the green chrysalis of the forests, soar into the upper air lanes, and destroy the yellow incubus.

At the time I awoke, the "Day of Hope" was almost at hand. I shall not attempt to set forth a detailed history of the Second War of Independence, for that has been recorded already by better historians than I am. Instead I shall confine myself largely to the part I was fortunate enough to play in this struggle and in the events leading up to it.

When I awoke, the "Day of Hope" was almost here. I will not try to give a detailed history of the Second War of Independence. Better historians than I have already recorded it. Instead, I will focus mainly on the part I was fortunate enough to play in the struggle and the events leading up to it.

It all resulted from my interest in radioactive gases. During the latter part of 1927 my company, the American Radioactive Gas Corporation, had been keeping me busy investigating reports of unusual phenomena observed in certain abandoned coal mines near the Wyoming Valley, in Pennsylvania.

It all resulted from my interest in radioactive gases. In late 1927, my company, the American Radioactive Gas Corporation, kept me busy investigating reports of unusual phenomena. These had been observed in abandoned coal mines near the Wyoming Valley in Pennsylvania.

With two assistants and a complete equipment of scientific instruments, I began the exploration of a deserted working in a mountainous district, where several weeks before, a number of mining engineers had reported traces of carnotite¹ and what they believed to be radioactive gases. Their report was not without foundation, it was apparent from the outset, for in our examination of the upper levels of the mine, our instruments indicated a vigorous radioactivity.

With two assistants and a full set of scientific instruments, I began exploring an abandoned mine in a mountainous district. Several weeks earlier, mining engineers had reported traces of carnotite¹ there, along with what they believed were radioactive gases. It was clear from the start that their report had some basis. As we examined the upper levels of the mine, our instruments showed strong radioactivity.

On the morning of December 15th, we descended to one of the lowest levels. To our surprise, we found no water there. Obviously it had drained off through some break in the strata. We noticed too that the rock in the side walls of the shaft was soft, evidently due to the radioactivity, and pieces crumbled under foot rather easily. We made our way cautiously down the shaft, when suddenly the rotted timbers above us gave way.

On the morning of December 15, we went down to one of the lowest levels. To our surprise, we found no water there. It had obviously drained away through a break in the rock layers. We also noticed that the rock in the shaft walls was soft, apparently because of the radioactivity. Pieces of rock crumbled easily underfoot. We made our way cautiously down the shaft, when suddenly the rotted timbers above us gave way.

I jumped ahead, barely escaping the avalanche of coal and soft rock, but my companions, who were several paces behind me, were buried under it, and undoubtedly met instant death.

I jumped ahead, barely escaping the avalanche of coal and soft rock. But my companions were several steps behind me. They were buried under it and undoubtedly died instantly.

I was trapped. Return was impossible. With my electric torch I explored the shaft to its end, but could find no other way out. The air became increasingly difficult to breathe, probably from the rapid accumulation of the radioactive gas. In a little while my senses reeled and I lost consciousness.

I was trapped. I couldn’t go back. Using my flashlight, I explored the shaft to the end, but found no other way out. The air became harder to breathe, probably because radioactive gas was building up quickly. Soon I felt dizzy and lost consciousness.

When I awoke, there was a cool and refreshing circulation of air in the shaft. I had no thought that I had been unconscious more than a few hours, although it seems that the radioactive gas had kept me in a state of suspended animation for something like 500 years. My awakening, I figured out later, had been due to some shifting of the strata which reopened the shaft and cleared the atmosphere in the working. This must have been the case, for I was able to struggle back up the shaft over a pile of debris, and stagger up the long incline to the mouth of the mine, where an entirely different world, overgrown with a vast forest and no visible sign of human habitation, met my eyes.

When I woke, cool, refreshing air was flowing through the shaft. I thought I had been unconscious for only a few hours. But it seems the radioactive gas had kept me in suspended animation for about 500 years. Later, I figured out that a shift in the rock layers had reopened the shaft and cleared the air inside the mine. That must have been what happened. I was able to struggle back up the shaft over a pile of debris. Then I staggered up the long slope to the mine entrance. There, I saw an entirely different world, overgrown with a vast forest, with no visible signs of human habitation.

I shall pass over the days of mental agony that followed in my attempt to grasp the meaning of it all. There were times when I felt that I was on the verge of insanity. I roamed the unfamiliar forest like a lost soul. Had it not been for the necessity of improvising traps and crude clubs with which to slay my food, I believe I should have gone mad.

I will skip over the days of mental agony that followed as I tried to understand what it all meant. At times, I felt close to losing my mind. I wandered through the unfamiliar forest like a lost soul. If I had not needed to make traps and crude clubs to kill animals for food, I believe I would have gone mad.

Suffice it to say, however, that I survived this psychic crisis. I shall begin my narrative proper with my first contact with Americans of the year 2419 A.D.

It is enough to say, however, that I survived this mental crisis. I will begin my story with my first contact with Americans in the year 2419 A.D.