Harl Swanson and Bill Kressman leave Denver in their flying time machine, aiming to travel
five millennia, but they end up some five million years later in a desolate world ruled by
the evil and cruel brain Golan-Kirt.
I read this in Asimov’s anthology Before the
Golden Age, which was the first SFBC book to arrive in my mailbox after going to college
in Pullman in the fall of ’74.
The twentieth century. It had a remote sound, an unreal significance. In this age, with
the sun a brick red ball and the city of Denver a mass of ruins, the twentieth century
was a forgotten second in the great march of time, it was as remote as the age when man
emerged from the beast.