Nine Men in Time — Reading Notes

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In Category - Space Future

Authors: Loomis, Noel M., 1905-1969 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2010 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Science fiction; Short stories; Time travel -- Fiction; Printers -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 9,245

Reading time 41 min

Text sections 1

This digital edition of Nine Men in Time — Reading Notes is described by source-level measurements including 9,245 words, 41 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.

The text analysis averages about 15.3 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Science fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #33872

In Noel Loomis's 1953 story, a printing plant manager under threat of closure hires a time-extending engineer, only to find a duplicated employee causing chaos. The narrative moves between office confrontations, shop-floor comedy, and a desperate deadline, using the printing trade's concrete details to ground its speculative premise.

Editorial Edition Score 4.4/5

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Title & short description10 pts
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Text length15 pts
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File: pg33872

Read the Text

Hudson was the result. I did not label him efficiency-expert, for printers have always been notoriously allergic to that title. I called him production-engineer.

He was a small, thin-faced man with a face that seemed to all flow into a point where his nose should have been, and he started talking things over with me before he got his coat off.

"Printing," he said, "is really _the_ backward industry. There has been no basic advance since the invention of the linecasting machine around 1890, and possibly the development of offset printing."

"That," I said, "is why you are here--to bring out something startling."

"Well," he said, "you've heard the old one about the man who had something to do with each hand, and if you'd give him a broom he could sweep out the shop, too?" He leaned forward, his nose jutting at me, and said impressively, "Mr. Shane, we shall make that come literally true; we'll have men working in two places at once before we're through."

"In the meantime, there are certain old-fashioned fundamental principles on which we shall start. I shall be here at seven-thirty in the morning."

I should have known. Man, being mass, possesses inertia, mentally as well as physically, and therefore offers a certain amount of resistance to being kicked around. That applies to printers as well as to people. But at that time I was too worried. I gave Dr. Hudson full authority.

He was there at seven-thirty the next morning, as he had said. At eight, the printers were standing around the time-clock, waiting for it to click the hour. It clicked, but the man nearest it was smoking a cigarette. He punched his card and then stood there, finishing the cigarette.

Dr. Hudson stepped up. "Gentlemen," he said, "it is now four minutes past eight. Starting-time is eight o'clock." He looked at his watch and compared it with the clock. "Please do your visiting and your smoking on your own time," he said coldly.

Well, it bothered me a little. I'd never handled them that way--and anyway, who cared about five minutes? The men would set just so much type, or do so much work. If they lost five minutes in one place, they generally made it up somewhere else. But this was Dr. Hudson's job.

It was nice that there had been no insolence--only a couple of raised eyebrows. Dr. Hudson's gesture had had its effect. They knew now who was boss.

For the next few days they kept their heads up. Production did not improve much, but I personally had not expected it to do that. I think Dr. Hudson had not expected it, either.

It was about three days after Dr. Hudson arrived, that a big job came in from the Legal Publishing Company--a three-volume, four-thousand-page record for the U. S. circuit court. They could not handle the typesetting, so they farmed that part out to us.

It had to be delivered exactly one week before the deadline that had been set by the receivers for closing the plant. I very nearly turned it down, but Dr. Hudson's eyes glittered when he saw it. "Just what we need," he said.

"That's almost two thousand galleys of type," I reminded him, "besides our regular stuff." I was very dubious.

But Dr. Hudson was enthusiastic. "We'll make history," he promised.

Well, we did. Union or not, the men would have to learn to do things the modern way. That is what I told the chairman when he protested against having the men go back in time to set a job over. That had been my first idea, executed by Dr. Hudson.

As I said, Dr. Hudson was an experimental physicist. He was, you might say, a super-physicist, because he had specialized in finding ways to do all the things which traditionally were impossible, like traveling in time.

So when the Monotype casterman set a job in Caslon that should have been set in Century, I turned him over to Dr. Hudson. The doctor took him into the laboratory and sent him back two days in time and had him do the job over--but right. The casterman didn't like it, but he didn't know what to do about it.

There was plenty of buzzing that afternoon among the men, especially when the job, re-set in the correct face--or rather, set in the correct face, because this now was the first time it had been set--was put on the dump. I gave the boys five minutes to crowd around and look at the proof and then I broke it up. I was exultant. It didn't occur to me then that a man could be _too_ ambitious.

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The story opens not with a time machine but with a balance sheet. Narrator Shane, manager of the Imperial Printing Company, faces two lawyers who hint at liquidation. The conflict is immediately grounded in the specifics of the printing trade—galleys, proof-presses, type-dump—and in the pressure of a deadline for the Legal Printing Company job. Loomis uses the shop floor as both setting and source of tension, where the fantastic invention (Dr. Hudson's 'extender') collides with the mundane realities of production schedules and employee morale.

A Production Manager's Nightmare

The story's structure mirrors a production manager's workflow: problem, attempted solution, escalating complications. Shane's first-person narration keeps the focus on practical concerns—profit margins, attorney fees, the risk of a 'black eye' on his career. The time-duplication device is introduced not as a marvel but as a desperate measure: 'I dug this idea up out of the back of my head where it had been for some time.' The resulting nine copies of the pressman High-Pockets are treated as a logistical problem, not a philosophical one. Loomis sustains this tone by describing the duplicates in terms of output and disruption: 'Our production went up a little, but the Legal Printing Company job was hardly touched.' The narrative rhythm alternates between Shane's office (where he negotiates with lawyers and Dr. Hudson) and the shop floor (where the High-Pocketses cause a 'circus'). This back-and-forth reinforces the central tension between managerial control and chaotic reality.

Recurring Images: The Calendar and the Deadline

Time is measured not in abstract years but in calendar dates and filing deadlines. The story opens with a three-month ultimatum; later, Shane notes 'this was the thirty-first'—the day the receivers will decide the plant's fate. The Legal Printing Company job is repeatedly described as needing to be delivered 'today' or 'by Friday.' These concrete markers create a countdown effect. The image of the calendar appears at a key turning point: 'On Friday morning, I looked at the calendar and it suddenly occurred to me that this was the thirty-first.' The deadline becomes a character in itself, driving Shane to drink and despair. Loomis also uses the physical objects of the printing trade—galleys, type-dump, proof-press—as recurring props. The final rush scene shows 'three High-Pocketses ... carrying galleys from the type-dump to the proof-press,' transforming the earlier chaos into frantic productivity.

Voice and Dialogue: The Language of the Shop

Shane's narration is colloquial and direct, peppered with printing jargon and bitter humor. He tells the lawyers, 'What you need is a used-car lot.' His internal monologue is pragmatic: 'I wanted that job; it was my chance to make a name for myself.' The dialogue between Shane and High-Pockets reveals a shift from antagonism to grudging respect. High-Pockets speaks in a 'booming voice from the ceiling' (a detail that suggests his duplicated presence fills the room). When Shane confesses his failure, High-Pockets replies, 'I feel kind of sorry for you,' and then offers a solution. Loomis avoids explaining the science; instead, the characters discuss the extender in terms of its effects: 'It just happens that we are the sacrifices in this deal.' The language remains rooted in the workplace, even as the plot veers into the fantastic.

Movement Between Scenes: From Office to Shop Floor

The story's physical movement is tightly confined to the printing plant, but within that space, Loomis creates a dynamic rhythm. Scenes shift from Shane's office (where he faces the lawyers or Dr. Hudson) to the back shop (where the High-Pocketses work or cause trouble). The office represents authority and anxiety; the shop floor represents labor and chaos. Early on, Shane observes the High-Pocketses from his desk: 'everybody was watching the High-Pocketses and waiting to see what would happen next.' Later, he physically moves to the shop floor to confront them: 'I went out and had a drink.' The climax occurs when Shane, having cleaned out his desk, walks to the back shop and finds the duplicates working: 'And there, I give you my word, three High-Pocketses were busy carrying galleys.' This movement from office to shop floor mirrors Shane's loss of control and eventual surrender to the very chaos he tried to manage.

Readers should pay attention to how Loomis uses the printing trade's concrete details—galleys, deadlines, type-dump—to ground a speculative premise. The story's effectiveness lies not in its time-duplication logic but in the tension between managerial ambition and shop-floor reality. The ending, though not fully shown in the excerpts, is prepared for by the steady accumulation of practical obstacles and the final image of duplicated labor.

I keep thinking about that printing plant in Noel Loomis’s story—how the frantic pressure of a deadline made people behave strangely, almost doubling themselves. It felt less like science fiction and more like a memory of any workplace under strain. That same quiet unease, the way ordinary spaces hold odd echoes, came back to me in By Earthlight — Themes and Context. Both books left me pondering the quiet cracks beneath routine.