Adventures in time and space told in future tense.
Dimension!
Can you predict the future?
Can you tell what will come in 100 years?
Or in 10?
Or in the next minute?
Tonight we present two ventures into the unknown.
Two fantasies of a future,
chosen from the works of one of our most brilliant young science fiction writers,
Ray Bradbury.
First, his story entitled,
There Will Come Soft Rains.
The house was a good house,
planned and built to be lived in in the year 1980.
The real estate agent had told them all about it.
Now this is the bedroom.
Of course it contains all the latest devices,
self-warming blankets,
and here's a brand new feature,
beds which make themselves.
Now if you just step this way through the library,
we can see the latest in talking book recorders,
self-building fireplace,
self-cleaning robot dust disposal,
all these little mouse-like things come out of the wall,
take away all the dirt.
Now over this way,
there's a complete robot kitchen of course,
just set the menu for the week and the stove does the rest.
Then there's the automatic hydroponic garden,
self-sprinkling fire protection.
See the house is fully automatic,
why you could go away for a year and it would run itself.
And so the family took the house,
the man and the woman and the two children,
a boy and a girl,
and they lived contentedly,
enjoying music and poetry and the rich, warm things in life.
And the house fed them and slept them and entertained them.
It made a good life for them.
It was a good place to live.
It made a good life for them.
Until one day...
There were 10,000 explosions
and the world shook and red fire and ashes
and radioactivity fell from the sky.
The happy time was over.
Tick tock, seven o'clock.
Time to rise, open your eyes.
Tick tock, seven o'clock.
Time to rise, open your eyes.
But the house lay empty.
The clock talked to the empty morning.
In the kitchen, the stove sighed
and ejected from its warm interior
eight eggs, sunny side up,
12 bacon slices, two coffees,
and two cups of hot cocoa.
Seven, nine, breakfast time.
Come and dine. Seven, nine.
Today is April 28th, 1985.
Today, remember, is Mr. Featherstone's birthday.
Insurance, gas, atom heat, and electricity bills are due.
In the walls, relays clicked.
Memory tapes glided under electric eyes.
Recorded voices moved beneath steel needles.
Eight, one, run, run.
Off to school, off to work.
Run, run, tick tock.
Eight o'clock, eight o'clock.
But no doors slammed.
No carpets took the quick tread of rubber heels.
At eight-thirty, the eggs began to shrivel.
An aluminum wedge scraped them into the sink.
Nine-fifteen, time to clean.
Out of the wall, hundreds of tiny mechanical mice started.
The rooms were a crawl with small,
freeming animals, all rubber and metal.
They sucked up the hidden dust and dirt
and popped back into their burrows.
At ten o'clock, the sun came out from behind the rain.
The house stood alone on a street
where all the other houses were rubble and ashes.
At night, the ruined town gave off a radioactive glow
which could be seen for miles.
At ten-fifteen, the garden sprinkler
filled the soft morning air with golden fountains.
The water tinkled over the charred west side of the house,
the side which had been facing the blast.
It was black, except in five places.
One of the five places was a silhouette
of a man mowing a lawn.
Just as he'd been the instant the radioactivity
burned his image into the side of the house.
Over there, a woman bent to pick flowers.
Still further over, their images burned into the wood
where a small boy, hands flung into the air,
higher up the image of a thrown ball
and opposite, a girl, her hands raised to catch a ball
which never came down.
Five people, five spots of paint.
On the front porch, the dog whined and shivered.
The front door recognized the dog's voice and opened.
The dog padded in wearily, thin to the bone,
covered with sores.
It ran to the kitchen and pawed the kitchen door wildly.
Behind the door, the stove was making pancakes
which filled the house with their odor,
as prescribed by the automatic preset menu selector.
The dog frogged, ran insanely,
spun in a circle, biting its tail, and died.
One o'clock, one o'clock.
Delicately sensing decay,
the regiments of mice hummed out of the walls,
soft as blown leaves, their electric eyes glowing.
One fifteen.
The dog was gone.
Two fifteen.
Bridge tables unfolded from the walls of the patio.
Playing cards fluttered onto pads.
Martinis appeared on an open bench.
But the tables were silent.
The cards untouched.
Five o'clock, six o'clock, seven o'clock, eight o'clock.
Eight o'clock, nine o'clock.
Dinner was made, ignored, flushed away.
Dishes were washed.
In the study, the tobacco stand produced a cigar
with half an inch of gray ash upon it,
smoking, waiting, waiting.
The heart fire bloomed out of nothing.
Nine o'clock, nine o'clock.
The beds began to warm their hidden circuits,
and the phonograph spoke from beside the fireplace.
Mrs. McClelland, what poem would you like to hear this evening?
Mr. McClelland?
Since you express no preference,
I shall select at random from among your favorites.
Sarah Teasdale.
There will come soft rains.
There will come soft rains, and the smell of the ground,
and swallows circling with their shimmering sound,
and frogs in the pools singing at night,
and wild plum trees in tremulous white.
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
whistling their whims on a low fence wire,
and not one will know of war.
Not one will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
if mankind perished utterly.
And spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
would scarcely know that we were gone.
The phonograph finished the poem.
The empty chairs faced each other between the silent walls.
At ten o'clock that evening, the house began to die.
The wind blew the bow of a falling tree
into the kitchen window, smashing it.
A bottle of cleaning fluid crashed on the stove.
Water pumps shot down from the ceiling,
but the solvent spread under the doors,
making fire as it went, other voices in other rooms
taking up the alarm.
The windows broke with the heat,
and the wind blew in to help the fire.
The fire crackled upstairs,
and paintings lay hungrily on the beds,
devoured the rooms.
The house began to shudder.
The bared skeleton began to cringe in the heat.
The wires revealed as if a surgeon had torn the skin off.
Voices screamed in every room.
Windows snapped open and shut like undecided mouths.
One time and now ten times.
A thousand things were happening at once,
like the interior of a clock shop at midnight.
All the clocks were striking,
making a merry-go-round of squeaking,
whispering, and rushing.
In the kitchen, the stove hissing hysterically
was making breakfasts at a psychopathic rate.
Ten dozen pancakes, six dozen loads of toast,
and ten dozen loads of toast.
Then there was silence.
The film spools were burned out.
The wires withered and the circuits cracked.
Then the house began to breathe its last.
The beams began to give at the foundations.
Long cracks appeared in the concrete.
The seams were burst from the heat.
And finally, with a huge rumble,
the house crashed into dust and rubble.
Dawn shone faintly in the east.
In the ruins of the house, only one wall remained standing.
And within the wall,
even as the sun rose to shine upon the burning rubble,
a voice spoke again and again and again.
No one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
if mankind perished utterly.
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
would scarcely know that we were gone.
That we were gone.
Today is April 29, 1985.
Today is April 29, 1995.
Strange are the uses of Providence.
Is this how the end will come for mankind,
with 10,000 explosions and a flash of radioactive gas, or...
Will destruction come more subtly,
extended to us gently and innocently in,
oh, let's say, the hand of a child,
who knows in what manner zero hour may arrest the world we know?
It was a perfect summer day in the year 1985.
The streets were lined with green, peaceful trees.
Businessmen sat in their quiet offices,
taping their voices or watching televises.
Rockets hovered like darning needles in the blue sky.
There was the universal quiet conceit and easiness of men,
accustomed to peace,
quite certain that there would never be war or trouble again.
There were no traitors among men,
no unhappy ones, no disgruntled ones.
The world was upon stable ground.
Sunlight illumined the suburbs,
and the town drowsed on a tide of warm, sunlit air.
On the lawns, the children played,
catapulting this way and that across the green grass,
shouting at each other, holding hands,
flying in circles, climbing trees and laughing.
And in the homes, busy mothers prepared
for the evening arrival of their husbands.
Excuse me, Mom.
Good heavens, Meg. What's all the excitement?
We're playing a game, Mommy.
The most exciting game ever.
What are you doing in that cabinet?
I need some tools from Daddy's kit.
Your father may not like it.
I'll take good care of them, Mom. I promise.
Very well. Don't you lose anything.
Oh, thank you, Mom.
You want a glass of milk?
Can't stop now, Mom.
What's the name of the game, Meg?
Invasion!
Invasion. What will they think of next?
Now this and this and this and this.
Now put that there and bring that over here.
Oh, no, you ninny.
Now get back while I fix this.
There, they want it this way, see?
Here, just let me fix it.
Hey, Mink.
Oh, Mink, it's that smartypants Joseph Connors.
Don't let him play. He's 12 years old.
Don't worry, I won't.
What you playing, Mink?
None of your business, smartypants.
I want to play.
Can't.
Why not?
You're too old.
Just because you're only eight.
No. You'd only laugh at us and spoil the invasion.
Make him go away, Mink.
Go away? This is my backyard.
Who wants to play with you and your old fairies anyway?
They aren't fairies.
Enough to you. I don't want to play anyway.
Good riddance.
I'm glad you didn't let him play, Mink.
He'd only laugh.
Now we'd better talk to Drill and get some more instructions, all right?
Now here's your pad and pencil.
Where is Drill?
Drill? Hey, Drill. Drill?
Well, he's in the rosebush, I think.
I'll talk to him myself and you write it down in the pad.
Okay. Drill? Drill?
Okay. Drill wants you to write down triangle.
What's a triangle?
Never mind. Drill will tell us when he wants us to know.
It helps the invasion.
How do you spell it?
Well, that's Drill. Drill, how do you spell it?
Mink, here's your mother looking out the window.
Mink?
Yes, Mother?
Who are you talking to?
The rosebush, Mom.
Only it's not really a rosebush. That's Drill.
Who's Drill?
He's planning the invasion.
Oh, I see. Well, you'd better come in and clean up for supper.
Your daddy will be home soon.
In just a second, Mom.
You got that R?
See, now what?
Four, nine, seven, and A, and B, and X, and a fork, and some string,
and a hexagonal, hexagonal, droopy.
Come on, Mink. Supper's in ten minutes.
Okay, Mom, just a minute. I have to tell Drill.
I wish we didn't have to eat, though. It holds up the invasion.
Mink, for heaven's sake, slow down. You'll choke on that soup.
I can't. It's a matter of life and death.
What's a matter of life and death?
The invasion.
What invasion is that?
Oh, just some silly game the children have been playing.
Well, whatever it is, Mink, it'll wait until you've finished your supper, I'm sure.
I don't want any more.
You've barely touched anything.
Oh, but Drill is waiting for me, Daddy.
Drill? Who's Drill?
He lives in a rosebush in our backyard. Imagination, Henry.
Oh, such nonsense.
I've got to run now.
You'll sit through dessert, young lady.
Oh, gee, Daddy.
And while you're at it, tell me more about this new game.
It's Martians invading Earth, Daddy.
What?
Well, well, not exactly Martians, Daddy. They're from...
Well, gee, I don't know, from up...
And from inside that little head of yours.
You're laughing at me.
Drill said you would. You'll kill Drill and... and everybody.
What? I didn't know you could kill a Martian.
But it's not really a Martian, Mom.
Maybe it's from Jupiter or Venus even.
Imagine.
They couldn't figure out a way to attack the Earth.
We are impregnable.
Impregnable, dear?
Well, that's the word Drill said. Impreg...
Well, anyway, that was the word, Mom, the same word.
Anyway, so we're helping them.
Now, who's helping who?
Well, the kids are helping the Martians.
Oh, a fifth column, eh?
Well, Drill says in order to make a good fight,
you've got to have a new way of surprising the people.
That way you win.
And he says also you've got to have help from your enemy.
Pretty slick, those Martians,
using the kids for a fifth column, eh, Mary?
Hiding under rose bushes, too, Henry. Don't forget that.
That's because grown-ups never look under rose bushes.
Only kids.
Oh, I see.
Well, finish your fruit, darling.
You can play for an hour afterward.
Mary.
Oh, it's so nice out, Henry.
And there's no school tomorrow.
Very well. Till eight o'clock.
Drill says after the infation,
we can stamp as late as we want.
No more bets either.
Oh, is that so?
We can watch all the grown-up televisor shows.
I don't wonder.
This invasion has caught on among the kids.
Well, some of the kids are giving us trouble,
like Dale Britz and Petey Cherik.
They're growing up, so they won't believe in the invasion.
They make fun. Worse than parents, even.
I hate them worst.
We'll kill them first.
I hope you're saving your father and me for last.
But Drill says you're dangerous.
What?
But I... I think they'll let me keep you
because I'm helping so much.
I'll talk to Drill.
Maybe we won't have to kill you.
Mary, I think this nonsense has gone far enough.
Can I go out now, please?
Well, run along, dear.
Don't worry, Dad. I won't let them hurt you.
Mary, I think the child's taking this game
entirely too seriously. Invasion.
Now, Henry, you know how mink is.
Besides, all children have their aggressions.
Better to get them out in the open, I suppose.
Maybe you're right.
Um, I was wondering about Bridge
with the Jacksons tonight, Mary.
All right.
You look tired, dear.
Why don't you sit in the relaxer for a while
and get a massage?
I'll sew for a while until it's time to...
Oh, I wanted to call my sister Helen.
Oh, good. Find out when her husband's going
to return my golf clubs.
Televisor.
Would you please connect me with Mrs. Helen Rogerson
on channel 7, 2Z, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
What is your channel, please?
817X, New Rochelle, New York.
Thank you.
Just a moment.
Go ahead. You can see your party now.
Hello, Mary. How are things in New York?
Fine, Helen. How are things in Pittsburgh?
You look tired.
Oh, I've been having a terrible time with the children.
See?
No, just underfoot.
They've got a new game that's got me just about crazy.
It's called Invasion.
Did you say Invasion?
That's right.
Well, isn't that strange?
My mink is playing it, too.
My boy Tim is all involved with some imaginary fellow
named Drill who's running the Invasion.
Must be a new password.
Mink likes him, too.
How do you suppose these games start?
My backyard looks like a scrap drive.
They've got every conceivable kind of
mechanical gadget arranged out there.
I talked to Josephine Schiller in Boston,
and she says her kids are wild about it, too.
It's sweeping the country.
Remember when it was the Roomba?
Please, dear. I'm not that old.
Mommy!
Oh, please, Minky. I'm on the televisor.
Come on, see your Aunt Helen.
Hello, Mink.
Hi, Aunt Helen. Look what I've got.
What is it, honey?
Well, it's the yo-yo.
Look when I enroll it.
See?
Well, Helen, look. It vanished.
Where did it go?
Into another dim...
dim... dim...
She means dimension.
Aren't they the darndest things?
My Timmy brought one home, too.
I can't figure out how they work.
Make it reappear, honey.
There. That's easy.
Where'd you get it, dear?
Joe gave it to me, Mom.
Mink?
Bye, Aunt Helen. Gotta run now.
Mink, you come back here. I want to talk to you.
Can't, Mom. Zero hours. Five o'clock.
Mink!
Bye!
Oh, I can't understand it.
The child's never been so unruly.
Helen, do you suppose that...
What?
Nothing. Just a wild thought that...
Say, the reason I called,
I want to get that black and white cake recipe,
and Henry wants his golf clubs.
I don't know what he'll do...
What was that?
I don't know.
One of the children must have been hurt.
I'll have to run and see.
Call me back tonight, will you?
All right, Mary. Bye.
Mink, come here.
Yes, Mom.
What is it? Who screamed?
Peggy Erin.
All right. What happened?
Well, she got scared and went home.
Did you hit her?
No, she just got scared.
She's a scared baby anyway.
We won't let her play anymore.
She's getting too old.
Now, Mink, tell me why she cried.
No, I can't.
Mink, you'll answer me this instant or come inside.
I've had enough of this nonsense.
Gee, I can't quit now, Mom. It's almost zero hour.
Then tell me what frightened Peggy Anne.
Okay, she saw a drill.
Drill?
He almost came through. He was just testing.
Through what?
Those pipes and things we set up.
She looked into one of the pipes and screamed.
I guess she saw a drill.
And no one hit her?
No.
Very well, Mink.
I'll call Peggy Anne's mother and see how she is.
And I'll call you for your bath in half an hour.
Your father and I want to go out tonight.
You won't be able to go out, Mom.
Why not?
Zero hours, five o'clock, Mom.
Hello, dear.
You home already, Henry?
Yes, I thought I'd relax a little before we went to theater.
Where's the little one?
Out back.
Same game.
They've got a stack of pipes and hammers and spoons a mile high out there.
Children, children. Why do we have them?
They're strange little creatures, aren't they?
Even Mink, Henry.
She's a part of us, and yet what do we really know about how she thinks and feels?
I didn't mean to start a philosophic discussion.
Kids are such a queer mixture of love and hate, though.
Even normal, healthy kids.
They need you and they're dependent on you, and yet they resent that dependence.
You sound like a child psychology course I want you to.
I wonder if they ever really forgive the whippings and the commands we have to give them sometimes.
I wonder if we ever forgot them when we were children.
Look, I'd like to discuss this with you, dear, but we do have a theater date, and it's almost five o'clock now.
What's happened to the kids? They're so quiet.
When children are quiet, you know there's some mischief.
What's that sound?
I don't know.
Those kids aren't playing with anything electrical, are they?
I'm sure they are.
At least I don't...
Just the same. I'd better go out.
Henry, tell them to put off the invasion.
What? Mary, don't get upset. It's just a game.
Good Lord, what's that? Look out the window, Mary.
What is it? Where are the children? Mary, why are you shaking? What did you see?
Henry, quick, up to the attic.
They are in the attic?
Yes, yes, the attic. Quick.
Mary, come back here. Mary! Mary, don't go up. They aren't up there.
Mary, you're out of your mind. There's no one up here.
Quick, shut the door. Lock it. Lock it.
There's nothing up here. What is wrong with you? Mary, come to your senses.
Henry, I'm going to go to the attic.
What are you talking about?
I saw it through the window, Henry. It was horrible.
What?
It is an invasion.
For heaven's sake, let's get down out of this attic and talk this over sensibly. I want to find out if Mink is all right.
She's all right. I saw her. She was leading them around the corner of the house.
Leading who? The kids?
Shh! Listen!
There's nothing.
Listen. Listen.
The front door.
They're coming!
Good Lord, those kids sound like 50 men with boots on.
Oh, no, not men. Oh, please God, don't let them find us. Don't let them find us.
I don't understand. Who's there?
Shh! Don't shout, Billy.
Who's down there? I demand that you answer me.
They're coming. The whole house is shaking.
Who? Who's there?
Shh! Please be quiet, Henry. They might go away.
Henry? Henry?
Mom? Dad? Are you in the attic?
Henry, listen.
It's Mink. Mink. We've got to save her.
Henry, you don't understand. She's leading them.
What?
She's leading them. She's on their side. Oh, please God, forgive them.
The children on their side?
She told us, but we wouldn't believe her.
Henry, they're coming!
Mom? Dad, we know you're in there.
Well, I guess you'd better melt the lock, Tia.
Henry, the lock! It's melting!
The door! Oh, dear God!
Mom? Dad?
Oh, I see you now. Pick a ball!
You have just heard another adventure into the unknown.
World of the future. The world of...
Dimension!
Next week, Destination Moon.
A preview of the movie which is soon to have its world premiere in New York.
Telling the Robert Heinlein story of man's first trip to the moon.
Tonight's adventures in Dimension X.
There will come soft rains and Zero Hour were written by Ray Bradbury and adapted for radio by George Lefferts.
Featured in the first story as narrator was your host Norman Rose.
The leading players in Zero Hour were Denise Alexander as Mink and Rita Lynn as the mother of the
Roger DeKoven as the father. Music by Albert Berman, engineer Don Abbott.
Dimension X is produced by Van Woodward and directed by Edward King. Robert Warren speaking.
Programs! Get your programs here! For a new thrill in detective listening,
join the Saint tomorrow as he reaps a harvest of criminals in a thrilling adventure with the underworld.
Make the Saint a Sunday listening habit and keep tuned thereafter for adventures
of the greatest detective of them all, Sam Spade.
Tomorrow hear I adventure and give you a little
lesson in the subject.
adventure with the underworld. Make the saint a Sunday listening habit and keep tuned thereafter
for adventures of the greatest detective of them all, Sam Spade. Tomorrow here I adventure,
Truth or Consequences on NBC.