The Technicolor Time Machine

Lyn’s nostrils flared. “May I remind you that, since the discovery of the Vinland Map, there has been little doubt that the Norse did explore and settle in North America. It is recorded that in 1121 Bishop Eirik Gnuppsson went on a mission to Vinland. The sagas describe the many journeys there and the settlements that were made. Only the exact location of the settlements is still in doubt, and discovering the location was the purpose of our recent explorations. In theory we had thousands of miles of coast to explore, since the authorities differ widely as to the locations of Helluland and Markland mentioned in the sagas. Gathorne-Hardy identifies the Straumsfjord as Long Island Sound, and places Hóp in the estuary of the Hudson River. But other authorities think the landings took place farther north, Storm and Babcock think favorable of Labrador and Newfoundland, and Mowat has actually pinpointed the location of Hóp—”

“Stop,” Barney said. “I do not care about the theories. Did you or did you not just get through telling me that you had found no settlements or evidence of any kind?”

“I did, but…”

“Then all of the authorities are completely wrong?”

“Well… yes,” Lyn said, sitting down and looking very unhappy.

“Don’t let it bother you, Doc,” Barney said, holding his cup out so the waitress could pour more coffee into it. “You can write a book about it, then you’ll be the new authority. What is more important is—where do we go from here? May I remind those of you who have not read the script lately that it is titled Viking Columbus and is the saga of the discovery of North America and the founding of the first settlement there. So what do we do? We had planned to move the company over to the Viking settlements and shoot the last part of the picture there. But no settlements. What comes next?”

Jens Lyn chewed his knuckles a moment, then looked up. “We could go to the west coast of Norway. There are Norse settlements there, and it looks not unlike the Newfoundland coast at places.”

“Do they have many Indians we can hire for the big battle scenes?” Barney asked.

“None at all.”

“Then that’s out. Maybe we better ask our local man.” He looked around the tent and spotted Ottar working his way through a steaming heap of trilobites in the far comer. “Go over and disturb his lunch, Jens, tell him he can have seconds and thirds later.”

“You want Ottar?” the Viking asked, stamping over and dropping onto the bench.

“What do you know about Vinland?” Barney said to him.

“Nothing.”

“You mean you’ve never heard of it?”

“Sure I heard the skald make poems about it, and I talked to Leif Eriksson about his trip. I’ve never seen it, don’t know anything. One year I go to Iceland then go to Vinland, get very rich.”

“With what? Gold? Silver?”

“Wood,” Ottar said, with contempt for anyone who did not know such an obvious thing.

“For the Greenland settlements,” Jens Lyn explained. “They are always terribly short of wood of any kind, and in particular the hardwoods needed for shipbuilding. A load of hardwood delivered in Greenland would be worth a fortune.”

“Well, there’s your answer,” Barney said, rising. “As soon as we finish shooting here we pay off Ottar and he sails to Vinland. We jump ahead in time and meet him. We film the departure, some ocean shots to do for the trip, then his arrival. They throw up a few shacks for a settlement, we pay some wampum to the local tribe to bum them down and the picture is finished.”

“Good idea. Plenty wood in Vinland,” Ottar said.

Jens Lyn started to protest, then shrugged. “Who am I to complain. If he is fool enough to do it, to enable you to make a picture—who am I to quibble. There is no known saga about a visit of someone named Ottar to Vinland, but since there seems to be no evidence as to the veracity of the other sagas I do not think I can complain.”

“Finish lunch now,” Ottar said.

Barney went out and found his secretary waiting for him with an armful of folders.

“I didn’t want to bother you while you were eating,” she said.

“Why not? After what I just ate my digestion will never be the same again. Do you know what tribolites are?”

“Sure. Big squiggly things that we net on Old Catalina. It’s a lot of fun. You catch them at night with a flashlight then have a barbecue with beer. You should—”

“No I shouldn’t. What did you want to see me about?”

“It’s the time cards and the records, the weekends in particular. You see everyone here has been taking their weekend time, what would be their Saturdays and their Sundays, on Old Catalina—everyone except you, that is. You haven’t had a day off in the five weeks we’ve been here.”

“Don’t suffer for me, Betty darling. I’m not going to relax until this picture is in the can. What’s the problem?”