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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58798 ***
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+                            The Gun Runners
+
+                           BY RALPH WILLIAMS
+
+              _George Dolan had four immediate problems:
+          the time-translator, a beautiful, out-of-this-world
+           girl named Moirta, the gun runners and his life.
+           A situation in which he finally triumphed.... But
+            what can you do with a victory that lies at the
+               other end of a bridge 10,000 years long?_
+
+           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
+             Worlds of If Science Fiction, December 1954.
+         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+The gun runners were professionals, and except for one minor detail the
+operation had been very well planned.
+
+The middle twentieth century was chosen as a source of supply after
+a careful survey of all factors pro and con. The gun runners did not
+want the mass weapons of their own day, they wanted selective weapons
+which could be used for private murder. In the mid-twentieth century,
+the level of technology was such that well-made and reliable weapons
+were available; and at the same time, social control was still sketchy
+enough to permit quiet procurement of such merchandise, if one knew
+how to go about it and was suitably financed.
+
+The gun runners, two men and a woman, knew how to go about it, and they
+were suitably financed. The profits in their business were commensurate
+with the risks--which were not small.
+
+In their world unauthorized time travel was highly illegal, because of
+certain possible undesirable effects on the total space-time continuum,
+and was severely punished. Moreover, it was personally uncomfortable
+and dangerous.
+
+They came from an old ingrowing world which had never reached the
+stars, where there were only men and their works, no blade of grass or
+micro-organism or sparrow which did not directly serve men. In their
+time, hereditary traits which had meant untimely and certain death in
+earlier times had persisted and multiplied. Immunities and instincts
+which had fitted men to live with tigers and streptococci, and seek
+their food in the wilderness, had atrophied.
+
+The twentieth century was a dangerous environment for these people,
+more so perhaps than the Eocene would have been for _homo sapiens_.
+In preparation for their venture, it had been necessary for them
+to undergo a drastic and painful series of tests, inoculations,
+conditionings and plastic surgery.
+
+Unfortunately, it had not occurred to them that their time machine
+might need similar protection. The equipment was basically electronic,
+and the power leads were encased in a new insulation, a synthetic
+protein which in very thin films afforded a near perfect dielectric. It
+was also, as it happened, an almost perfect culture medium for certain
+bacilli, non-existent in the sterile future, but healthy and thriving
+and full of appetite in the twentieth century.
+
+When the gun runners prepared to return to their own time with their
+cargo of contraband there were small flashes of fire, and smoke curled
+briefly from various parts of the equipment. Their temporal environment
+remained unchanged.
+
+The gun runners were not technicians, they were specialists in other
+fields. They pulled and prodded uncertainly here and there, pushed the
+buttons again.
+
+Nothing happened.
+
+The senior gun runner, a man who wore in this century the appearance of
+a quiet, gray-haired professional man, and who wore in any century the
+habit of command, came to a decision. He spoke in their own language, a
+language time had pruned to telegraphic brevity:
+
+"If tamper, make worse. Electronics technicians this era. Use."
+
+The second man raised an eyebrow. "Knowledge adequate? Time travel not
+simple."
+
+The older man shrugged. "Theory not simple, machine simple. Savages
+clever fingers. Adequate stimulus, can solve."
+
+"And after? Disposition?"
+
+"Displacement effect. Or--" the senior gun runner sketched a quick
+gesture of pulling a trigger.
+
+The younger man nodded slowly, still dubious--which was proper, it was
+his function to be suspicious and questioning, as it was the other's to
+command. "Stimulus?"
+
+"Profit. Curiosity. And ... Moirta."
+
+Both men turned and looked appraisingly at the woman, who had not yet
+entered the discussion. She was a very narrow specialist, within the
+wider specialty of gun running and murder. Now she moved her shoulders
+uneasily. "Displacement effect," she suggested, "near limit. If
+caught--" she made an unpleasantly suggestive spastic gesture.
+
+The chief gun runner shrugged again. "If caught," he repeated the
+gesture she had made, "in any case. No choice. Find technician now."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+George Dolan studied his visitors thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, actually," he said, "our work is design, not repair. I suppose
+I could send a man out to look over your job and recommend a firm to
+handle it. Is that what you want?"
+
+"Mr. Dolan," the gray-haired man said earnestly, "I am afraid you still
+misunderstand me. The work we wish done is small in scale, but very
+intricate and delicate, and highly confidential. We have investigated
+your qualifications, and you are the man we want to handle it, you
+personally. We do not want you to mention this work to any other
+person--not even your wife."
+
+"I don't have a wife," Dolan said. "That's no problem." He hesitated.
+"Do I need security clearance? That'll take time."
+
+"No security clearance. This is private work."
+
+Dolan frowned. Private work, money no object, very secret--there were
+implications to this offer which he did not like.
+
+On the other hand--
+
+His eye strayed to the young woman who sat quietly beside the man,
+silently exercising her specialty. The plastic surgeons of her era had
+done a beautiful and nearly perfect job on her body; but bone-deep,
+in ways an observant man could sense, she was still not a twentieth
+century woman. In a city full of women who made a profession of being
+young and handsome, she too was young and handsome, but different.
+
+Dolan was an observant man, and a curious one.
+
+He looked back at Brown. "If you could just give me some idea--" he
+said tentatively.
+
+"The equipment, as I have said, is very intricate, and we are not
+technicians. We prefer that you make your own diagnosis."
+
+Dolan pursed his lips uncertainly. He glanced again at the girl.
+
+"OK," he said at last, "I'll look at it. I can't promise anything."
+
+He punched a button on the desk intercom. "Betty, I'm going out to look
+at a job with Mr. Brown and Miss--uh--" he glanced at the girl.
+
+"Jones," the gray-haired man said. "Miss Jones."
+
+"Oh, yes, excuse me." Dolan smiled at the girl and drew a brief
+quirk of the lips in response. "--with Mr. Brown and Miss Jones," he
+continued. "Be back some time this afternoon."
+
+"OK," he said to his clients. "Let's go see this intricate and delicate
+problem."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+For reasons compatible with the profession of gun running and the
+nature of time travel, the time translator had been located outside of
+urban limits--the city was to be rather systematically bombed in the
+near future--on a secluded and stable granite dike, within the shell of
+a frame cottage. Dolan observed all this without comment.
+
+They were met outside the cottage by a man about Dolan's age.
+
+"This is my colleague, Mr. Smith," Brown introduced him.
+
+Mr. Smith offered his hand. As he turned to lead them inside, Dolan
+noticed that the light summer jacket Smith wore did not drape well
+over the right hip pocket. He filed this fact also for future reference.
+
+"And here," Brown said, "is the machine we wish repaired."
+
+In the center of the room was an orderly jumble of shiny black
+geometric solids, laced together with wires and bars of silver, the
+whole mounted on a polished ebony platform. It was handsome, in a
+bizarre sort of way; but certainly it did not look like any electronic
+gear Dolan had ever seen, and he had seen almost all there was, at one
+time or another.
+
+He studied it carefully, turning it this way and that in his mind,
+trying to find some familiar feature to grasp it by. There was none.
+
+"Well," he asked skeptically, "what is it? What does it do?"
+
+Brown shook his head. "The purpose of the machine must remain secret,"
+he said firmly. "We think the trouble may be superficial, some minor
+thing an expert could quickly repair; and we wish you to work on it
+from that viewpoint, without inquiring into its purpose."
+
+"I see," Dolan said noncommittally. The whole business was screwy. For
+two cents, he thought--
+
+He glanced at the girl. She sat quietly on a chair, hands folded
+demurely in her lap, watching him, practising her specialty. Well,
+maybe, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to look, as long as he was here
+anyway.
+
+He walked over to the equipment and bent to examine it. The silver
+conductors seemed to be uninsulated, although in places they were
+closely paired. He frowned and scratched tentatively at one with his
+fingernail. The metal showed bright. There was a slight tarnish, that
+was all, no insulation.
+
+He noticed something else. Back of the equipment, at an angle
+unnoticeable from the side he had first approached, were several cut
+and dangling wires, some of which had been partially replaced by quite
+ordinary high tension cable. Spread about on the floor were lengths and
+coils of wire.
+
+"You've been working on it yourselves?" he asked Brown.
+
+"No, no. As I told you, we are not technicians. Before we contacted
+you, we had already tried another man. He proved unsatisfactory. We,
+uh, paid him off and sought a better qualified person."
+
+"Unsatisfactory, eh? Umm, I see." Dolan's eyes moved thoughtfully to
+Smith, who lounged carelessly just inside the door. The coat now hung
+smoothly, it was only when Smith moved that the hint of a bulge showed.
+
+Dolan was a curious man, but also a prudent and thoughtful one. He
+decided he did not want this job, it was time to get out. "I'll have to
+go back for some equipment," he said casually. "Can you drive me in?"
+
+He knew immediately that it was not going over. Brown frowned and
+sucked thoughtfully at his lower lip.
+
+"If you could make a list," Brown offered, "I could get it for you. You
+could then be making a preliminary survey while I am gone. There is a
+question of time involved, we wish these repairs made as quickly as
+possible."
+
+"Well ... I'm not sure ..."
+
+"Miss Jones," Brown said persuasively, "is as well-versed as any of us
+in the operation of the equipment. She could answer any questions you
+might have."
+
+The girl smiled and nodded. Smith, lounging by the door, casually moved
+his hand to his belt, sweeping back his unbuttoned jacket slightly.
+Brown stood waiting.
+
+Dolan studied them silently for a moment. They couldn't force him to
+take the job, he could simply turn them down and walk out. Or could
+he? For some reason he did not quite understand, he was just a little
+reluctant to test the idea.
+
+"OK," he said shortly. He took his notebook and began to scribble a
+list of equipment on a blank page. A message, he wondered, like they
+do it in the movies? A request, maybe, for some outrageous piece of
+equipment that would tip off the boys in the shop? No good, they
+weren't that smart, and for that matter neither was he. Besides, what
+did he really know? Nothing, except that he just didn't want this job
+very much.
+
+He tore the page out of the notebook and handed it to Brown. Brown
+slipped it in his pocket and went out.
+
+Dolan turned to the girl. "OK, Miss Jones," he said. "Now let's see
+what we can figure out about this gear." He strolled completely around
+it, eyeing it from all sides.
+
+"Well ..." he said dubiously. "First, I guess, control. How do you
+start it up, make it go?"
+
+"We push these buttons, in this sequence," the girl told him. She moved
+her fingers lightly over a series of studs set in a small cube.
+
+"OK, push 'em. Let's see what happens."
+
+"Nothing happens," the girl said. "The machine just doesn't work."
+
+"Well, then, what's supposed to happen?"
+
+The girl looked unhappy. "I'm sorry," she said finally, "didn't Mr.
+Brown say you weren't to ask such questions?"
+
+"OK," Dolan said resignedly, "we'll let that go then. How about this:
+What indications do you have when it _is_ operating normally? Anything
+light up, move, buzz, hum, spin around?"
+
+The girl frowned thoughtfully and shook her head. "Nothing lights up,
+moves, buzzes, hums, spins around. When the machine works, it ... well,
+it just works, and that's all." She studied him with troubled eyes.
+"You are an expert, it seems to me an expert should be able to look at
+a machine and see what parts are faulty, isn't that true? Why must you
+know what the machine does?"
+
+Dolan leaned back against the machine and lit a cigarette. He squinted
+thoughtfully at her through the smoke. Well, what the hell, with looks
+like that, why should she need brains?
+
+"Miss Jones," he said patiently, "I gather that you aren't a technical
+person?"
+
+"Not with machines, no."
+
+It was an odd sort of answer. Did it imply that she had a technical
+knowledge of something other than machines? Dolan considered it briefly
+and decided to pass it up for now.
+
+"I _am_ a technically trained person," he said, "an expert as you say;
+and I can tell you this: machinery, electronic gear, anything like
+that, is built to do a specific job. Before you can design, build, or
+repair such equipment, the very first thing you have to know is: what
+do you want it to do? For all I know, this machine here may just be an
+overgrown coffee percolator. Now, suppose I go ahead and fix it with
+that in mind, and when I get done it makes beautiful coffee, but it
+turn out you wanted all along for it to get television programs, you're
+going to be terribly disappointed. You see now why I have to know what
+it does?"
+
+The girl nodded seriously. "Yes," she admitted, "I can see that; but
+I'm sorry, I still cannot tell you the purpose of the machine." She
+glanced uncertainly at Smith. He shook his head minutely. "Perhaps,"
+she said, "when Mr. Brown returns--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Brown, however, did not convince easy.
+
+Dolan puffed angrily at a cigarette, while Brown and the girl watched
+him impassively.
+
+"Damn it," he said, "it just won't work like this, that's all there is
+to it." He kicked savagely at the base of the machine. "All I'm doing
+is chasing my tail in circles. I know what part of the trouble is now,
+somehow you've lost the insulation on your conductors--burned up,
+evaporated, blew away, God knows what. Anyway, it's gone. But I can't
+just spray some gunk back on and have it work like new, we just haven't
+got that kind of insulation. Where'd you get that stuff, anyway. Can't
+you get some more?"
+
+"It was specially made for us," Brown told him. "We cannot get more
+at ... present."
+
+"I see." There had been a very slight accent on the "present". Did
+it mean anything? And if so, what? "Well, I can rewire it for you,
+use standard stuff, it won't look pretty but it might work, only what
+should I use? I don't know what it needs--high voltage cable, or bell
+wire; shielded or open. I've got to know what you've got in these black
+boxes here--" he pounded gently on one, "before I know what to feed
+them."
+
+He snapped his cigarette into a corner, gloomily watched the smoke curl
+up from it for a moment, then walked over and stepped heavily on it.
+"So that's it," he said definitely. "I've been fooling with this thing
+all day, and that's just exactly as far as I can go. It's up to you
+people, you can give me the dope, I can't promise anything even then,
+except just to try; or you might as well pay me off. I can hang around
+here and put in more time, but you won't be getting anything out of it."
+
+Brown studied his fingernails absently. "Perhaps you are right," he
+said slowly. "However, I cannot act without consulting with Mr. Smith,
+and he has gone into town to get some food for you, I am sure you must
+be hungry. When he returns, I will let you know our decision."
+
+"OK." Dolan mopped at his face with his handkerchief. "God, it's hot as
+an oven in this shack," he said. Miss Jones smiled in sympathy, though
+she looked cool enough.
+
+"Come on, Miss Jones, let's get outside and cool off a bit."
+
+"I think that would be nice," she agreed.
+
+It was just turning dusk outside, and there was an agreeable breeze
+coming up the valley. They walked over and sat down on a rocky ledge.
+
+"Tell me, Miss Jones," he said suddenly, "do you like it here?"
+
+"It's very pretty," she said. She looked out toward the ridge with the
+sunset colors fading behind it. "Much nicer than the city."
+
+"No, no," he said brusquely, "that's not what I mean. I mean, do you
+like it _here_, in our world?"
+
+"I don't think I understand you."
+
+"I mean here, now, on this planet, in this time. Do you like it as well
+as your own ... place?"
+
+She stared up at him with wide puzzled eyes. "My own place? What other
+planet or time do you think I might know?"
+
+"I don't know, Miss Jones, I just...." He was not quite sure exactly
+what he had been driving at, himself. "Forget it. Just a stupid idea."
+He leaned back and let his eye follow the shadows up the valley. A
+faint whiff of perfume reached him.
+
+"Miss Jones," he said. "That's rather an awkward thing to call you. Do
+you have a first name?"
+
+"Jane Jones, naturally," she said, and smiled. "What else?"
+
+"No good," he said firmly. "I might call you Mary, that's a nice
+anonymous tag, and sounds better too ... or you could tell me your real
+name, just the first name, that wouldn't give much away."
+
+She considered silently. "Moirta," she said finally. "My name is
+Moirta." She accented the syllables evenly.
+
+"Moirta," he repeated. "Moirta." He rolled the "r" slightly, as she had
+done. "That's much better, it fits you now, Moirta, and it fits the
+cool shades of evenin'."
+
+He looked down at her.
+
+"Moirta," he said soberly. "It's a lovely name, truly."
+
+He leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips met his, not coldly, and not
+demandingly or fiercely, but gently and firmly, in the exact measure he
+desired. He put his arms about her, and she came into them, supple but
+not limp, as a beautifully trained dancer follows a lead. For a very
+long moment they remained thus, lip to lip and breast to breast, the
+yearning and response in each rising in swift even balance.
+
+And then Brown opened the door, casting a shaft of light past them in
+the dusk.
+
+"Oh, Moirta," he called. "Are you there? Could you come here a moment,
+please--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The two male gun runners had stepped outside the cottage while Moirta
+served Dolan his dinner. They found the smells and sounds of summer
+night, the darkness itself--in their world there was no darkness except
+in closed rooms--disturbing, but preferable to watching and hearing
+Dolan eat.
+
+"For primitive, natural," the senior gun runner said, "but--" he
+winced, "_teeth!_"
+
+"_Gnawing!_" the other agreed. He clicked his own non-functional
+dentures experimentally, examined his fingers with fascinated
+revulsion. Tender flesh, white teeth--ugh!
+
+"Moirta," he said thoughtfully, "seems not to mind."
+
+The senior gun runner cringed as a bat fluttered by. "Her specialty,"
+he said absently, "not to mind." He strained his eyes to see into the
+darkness. Was that a mouse rustling in the grass? Or worse yet, a
+_snake_?
+
+"Progress?" the younger man asked.
+
+"Motivation set. Next, focus on problem. Pressure." It was _something_,
+something small and alive, coming toward him. "Move nearer door," he
+said abruptly. "Light."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Mr. Smith and I have discussed the matter," Brown said, "and we have
+decided to be completely frank with you." He paused, watching Dolan.
+"The machine is a time translator," he said.
+
+Dolan looked back at him, poker-faced. "So?"
+
+Brown frowned slightly. Perhaps he had expected more of a reaction.
+"We are from a time very far in your future," he continued. "The
+machine has the apparent effect of transferring our physical bodies
+to this age. I say 'apparent' effect, because the mechanism of this
+time translation is not fully understood. There are certain anomalies,
+the displacement effect for example--but that is immaterial, for all
+practical purposes we can move at will to and from any time in our
+past, though not into our future--when the machine is working.
+
+"Naturally, such time travel must be kept secret, if it were not,
+several undesirable consequences might arise. It is very closely
+regulated, and may be used only for bona fide historical research by
+responsible persons."
+
+He looked inquiringly at Dolan. "I am not really sure I can tell you
+much more about the machine, I am not a technician, as you know. Does
+what I have told you help any?"
+
+"I don't know," Dolan said. "Let me think about it a minute." He was
+not really much surprised at the disclosure. In terms of the technology
+he knew, the machine was almost completely meaningless. From the
+beginning, there had only been two possibilities--either it was the
+product of an alien culture, or it was an elaborate hoax. He had
+already decided it was not a hoax. He had not, he realized, allowed
+himself to explore fully the implications of the other possibility. He
+did so now, and some of the implications were--intriguing.
+
+Historical research, eh? Well, maybe. He would reserve judgment on that.
+
+But a time machine? There was no such thing. And yet, if there were--
+
+He looked at the jumble of equipment speculatively.
+
+"I still don't know how a time machine might work," he said finally.
+"Do you have any sort of handbook, operating manual, anything like
+that? Or do they have such things in your time?"
+
+"Operating manual? I don't think so. There are some pictures--" Brown
+stepped over to the machine and touched a large flattened sphere
+which grew out of the base. "This is the power unit. If you press
+these studs, various pictures--'schematics', I believe you would call
+them--are projected on the surface. Is that what you want?"
+
+"That sounds like it," Dolan said. "But I did press those studs.
+Nothing happened."
+
+"That is because the power unit is not operating. It does not come
+on, as it should, when we press this button." He indicated a stud on
+the cubicle control unit. "That, I suppose, is one of the major things
+wrong with the machine."
+
+"Ummm, yeah, I see," Dolan said. He squatted and examined the power
+unit more closely. "One of these pairs now--" he traced them with his
+finger up to the control unit, "must be the control pair." He took a
+piece of chalk and began numbering the terminals rapidly.
+
+"Now," he said, "if the control pair is shorted, the power should be
+on, but there must be overload protection of some kind, that's probably
+kicked out, so let's just cut all this junk loose and then short the
+possible control pairs one at a time, see what happens then."
+
+He reached for a pair of side-cutters. The three gun runners looked
+at each other. Brown nodded slightly. They moved quickly back out of
+Dolan's way.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"OK," Dolan said half an hour later. "We've got the power unit
+perking, and we've got the pictures. Now what do they mean? This block
+interwiring diagram now, it seems to be what I'm looking for, but I
+can't read the tags they've got on it. You know which block in the
+diagram corresponds to which piece of equipment?"
+
+Brown studied the luminous white lines against the black polished
+background. He put a well-manicured finger on one square. "According to
+the lettering," he said, "this is the control unity, the small cube at
+the top with the buttons. This other, I do not know, it says: 'temporal
+re-integrator.' I do not know what that might be."
+
+Dolan frowned doubtfully. "'Temporal re-integrator'," he repeated.
+"Could be anything. What do the others say?" Among the litter the
+first electrician had left, there was a short length of lead-shielded
+two-conductor number 14 wire. He picked it up and began to run it
+absently through his fingers, straightening it. Someone had apparently
+amused themselves by clipping idly at it with a pair of side-cutters,
+it was irregularly nicked along its length.
+
+"This," Brown continued, "is something called a 'selective resonator',
+and this, well, the term does not translate, it is a--" he pronounced
+carefully, as if unfamiliar with the word, "'bractor-quatic'--"
+
+There was something peculiar about the indentations in the wire,
+Dolan realized, a pattern--He pulled it unobtrusively through his
+fingers again, letting his thumbnail run over the nicks. It was
+Morse: K-I-T-T-E ... _kitten?_ ... no, it must be American Morse ...
+K-I-L-L-E-R ... _killers hs end rvr rd_
+
+Killers in the house at the end of River Road.
+
+This was the house at the end of River Road.
+
+Brown had stopped speaking and was looking at him questioningly.
+
+"Uh, yeah," Dolan said hastily. "Well, that still doesn't tell me
+too much." He carefully rolled the length of wire and hung it on
+a projecting piece of the time translator. His hands were damp,
+and he was sure he was moving awkwardly and unnaturally. Dolan was
+not an easily flustered person, but things were coming a little
+fast--mysterious aliens, time machines, and now--murder, or hint of it.
+
+He needed time to think.
+
+"It's getting pretty late," he said, hoping his voice sounded natural.
+"Let's just knock off for now, I'll study it over, maybe I'll have
+something figured by tomorrow."
+
+Historical research, huh? Some professors all right, this bunch--
+
+The thing to do was to stall, not let them know he suspected anything.
+
+"I tell you," he said casually, "do you have some place I could bed
+down here? Save me a trip into town and back."
+
+Was it his imagination, or did Brown relax slightly?
+
+"Why, yes, we do have a spare cot in Mr. Smith's room," Brown said.
+"Would that be good enough?"
+
+"Sounds fine," Dolan said. He snapped the lid of his tool-box shut.
+"Let's go see what it looks like."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The two male gun runners held a council of war while Dolan was eating
+his breakfast.
+
+"Subject's attention diverted," the senior gun runner said. "Unknown
+factor. Annoying."
+
+Smith clucked his tongue in sympathy. He thought for a moment. "Raise
+threshold to override?" he suggested.
+
+"Must. Moirta."
+
+Smith nodded and went out. He returned in a moment with the female gun
+runner. Brown explained the problem to her in the same few words he had
+used to Smith.
+
+She shrugged. She did not bother to practise her specialty on her
+colleagues--they were, for one thing, almost immune, they had grown up
+in a civilization where her specialty was over-crowded. For another, in
+the nature of her specialty, she found it hard to concentrate on more
+than one subject at a time. "Doing best," she said indifferently.
+
+Brown studied her shrewdly. "Supplies short," he said mildly. "One-half
+larger than one-third. Each must pay way."
+
+His voice was mild, but Moirta understood the threat quite clearly.
+"Suggestions?" she asked coldly.
+
+Brown nodded equably--he was used to temperament in this member of his
+team--and told her what he wanted her to do. She would obey, he knew.
+She would also double-cross him, if the occasion offered; but he did
+not intend that the occasion _should_ offer.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was a foot-path leading up the ridge back of the cabin. Dolan did
+not ordinarily feel the need of an after-breakfast stroll, but today he
+was looking for something. He was not quite sure what it would be, but
+he thought he would recognize it if he saw it. He walked slowly up the
+foot-path, letting his eyes roam. Perhaps fifty yards from the cottage,
+the grass was trampled and the brush bent where someone had left the
+path.
+
+This might be it.
+
+He followed the trampled trail off the path, searching carefully
+now. Three or four steps along it, he found what he had been looking
+for--two empty .45 caliber cartridges lying in the grass.
+
+He picked them up and juggled them in his hand, looking speculatively
+about. Angling off to the left was an opening in the undergrowth.
+
+He walked that way and found himself standing on the lip of a sharply
+eroded gully. Someone or something had kicked the bank down recently,
+there was a great pile of new earth in the bottom of the gully. He
+kicked around in the leaves and mold at his feet. There was a dark
+crusted substance on the leaves.
+
+The door of the cottage slammed. He slipped the empty cartridges in his
+pocket and stepped hastily back to the path, listening.
+
+Were those footsteps hurrying toward him?
+
+He began to stroll slowly back toward the cottage. Around the first
+turn he met Moirta.
+
+The girl now, he thought, where does she really fit? Possible ally?
+Enemy? Or neutral?
+
+She came up to him a little breathless and took his hand. "Were you
+going back to the house?" she asked.
+
+"Not specially. Just walking around."
+
+"Let's not go back just yet, then," she said. They turned and walked
+slowly back up the path, hand-in-hand. After a while they came out on
+an open shoulder from which they could look down, catching glimpses of
+the path they had climbed here and there, and at its end the cottage.
+They sat down close together, leaning back against a large tree, not
+speaking at first.
+
+After a while the girl sighed. "I shall feel very sorry when we leave
+this time," she said.
+
+"Me, too." He kissed her.
+
+After a moment she pulled away and looked at him searchingly. "There is
+something bothering you?" she asked. She flushed a little. "That was
+not very ... ardent."
+
+Dolan looked away, feeling foolish. "I guess not," he said.
+
+She took his hand and squeezed it. "Poor George. It must be very
+confusing for you. Can I help?"
+
+Perhaps she could, he thought.
+
+"Look here," he said cautiously, "what happens when I get this thing
+fixed, if I do? You folks go on back to your own time, I suppose, but
+what happens to me?"
+
+She hesitated. "I don't think I understand," she said. "Mr. Brown pays
+you for your work, I suppose, and you stay here, that's all. Should
+there be more?"
+
+Dolan smiled grimly. "Like the first technician, huh?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean, Brown pays me, and I stay here, like the first technician." He
+took his hand out of his pocket with the two empty cartridge cases in
+it and rolled them gently back and forth in his open palm.
+
+Moirta stared at them fascinated. "Oh," she said faintly, "I didn't
+know. I thought ... I didn't know...."
+
+"Well, you know now," he said. "And your job is to keep me cheered up
+and plugging away at the job until payday comes. Right?"
+
+"No," she said. "Oh, no. Please, George. They wouldn't do that ... that
+is, I don't think ... it's so unnecessary."
+
+"Unnecessary?"
+
+"Yes. You see--I shouldn't tell you this, but I can't have you
+thinking ... you see, after we are gone, you will forget all this. Why
+should they kill you when there's no reason?"
+
+She did not seem very strongly convinced herself, Dolan thought.
+
+"How do you mean, I'll forget it? You mean they'll hypnotize me,
+something like that?"
+
+She shook her head. "No, they won't have to do anything. It's the
+displacement effect. You see, we are not _really_ here, in a way,
+it is a sort of illusion, but more real for us than for you. When
+we return to our own time, we will remember all that happened, but
+you will remember nothing, since the translator does not really
+exist in your time. You will just forget, it will be as if none of
+this had ever happened, as if you had never met me, never heard of a
+'time-translator'."
+
+It sounded plausible, in a way, but there was a flaw in the logic.
+
+"If everybody in this time forgets, why so much to-do about secrecy?
+Won't anyone else I tell forget too?"
+
+"There is a limit to the possible displacement. If the limit is
+exceeded, according to the Alwyn hypothesis the continuum itself may
+be altered, and one of the ways in which it might change would be to
+eliminate the irritant--in other words, all of us concerned directly."
+
+"I see. So they figured two of us put too much of a strain on the
+displacement, that's why they killed this other joker--what was his
+name, anyway?"
+
+"Nelson. Perhaps," she said uncertainly, "that might be it."
+
+"And maybe they figure even one is too much strain, better to be safe
+than sorry, huh?"
+
+"No, I don't think so. Killing requires even more displacement
+than ... loss of memory. Really, I don't understand it, you see, I
+am just a sort of employee, they don't confide in me. If they knew I
+had been talking to you about these things like this--" she shuddered
+and smiled wryly. "Perhaps I too know too much, perhaps I should be
+worrying about the pros and cons of various types of displacement for
+myself."
+
+Dolan looked at her thoughtfully. "This displacement thing," he said
+gently, "I'll forget you too?"
+
+She nodded. "You will forget me. But I will remember you--for a long
+time, I am afraid."
+
+He frowned and kicked at a tuft of sod. "I don't want to forget you.
+Do you have to leave with the others? Couldn't you stay? For a little
+while anyway? You haven't really had a good chance to see our world
+yet."
+
+"No. They would never trust me out of their control. If I refused to
+go ... well ..." she shrugged.
+
+"And I don't suppose I could go back with you to your world, spend some
+time there, either?"
+
+"No, that would be to travel into your own future, which cannot be
+done."
+
+"I see." Dolan leaned back against the tree, thinking.
+
+"Well, there's one thing sure," he said. "If the machine can't be
+fixed, it can't be fixed, there isn't much they can do about it. You
+may _all_ stay in this time yet."
+
+She shook her head gently. "Not all. At least, not all alive. There
+would be no displacement, and the only hope they would have to avoid
+the Alwyn action would be to preserve absolute secrecy. You have a
+saying, I believe: 'dead men--'" She hesitated. "Even if you and I
+could find a way to escape, even if they _told_ me I might leave, I
+could not trust them. They are very dangerous men. As long as we and
+they are both in this time, there would be no safety for me, nor for
+you."
+
+"I suppose you're right," Dolan said reluctantly. He looked down at her
+searchingly. "What do you _want_ to do?" he asked. "Do you want to stay
+with me, or do you want me to forget you?"
+
+"I want to be with you," she said softly. "Always."
+
+"And I, with you," he said. He bent his head toward hers.
+
+Below, the door of the cottage opened. Smith's figure appeared. He
+glanced around and then came plodding up the path.
+
+Moirta pulled away and got to her feet. "We might as well start back, I
+suppose," she said unenthusiastically.
+
+"Let's go back in the woods, he won't find us there."
+
+She hesitated and then shook her head. "No. We have both been very
+indiscreet today, and they are suspicious men. It is important in their
+trade to be suspicious. It would not be wise to let them think we are
+avoiding them."
+
+"OK, I suppose not," he acknowledged glumly. He rose and followed her
+down the path.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Like all true artists, Moirta tended to submerge herself completely in
+her role, a failing which the senior gun runner recognized and allowed
+for in his calculations.
+
+In the following days, Dolan held her hand often, and kissed her
+sometimes, and talked with her frequently, and took her in his arms for
+short periods; but at the crucial moment Smith or Brown always casually
+appeared upon the scene. Dolan suspected, accurately, that they were
+deliberately permitting him just enough contact with her to keep him
+constantly on edge, keep his mind off other matters.
+
+They made no overt threats, but he was constantly aware of the body
+in the gully, the bulge in Smith's pocket, Brown's cold eyes studying
+him. Dolan was not a submissive person, and under the pressure a cold
+malevolence toward the two gun runners began to develop in him. He
+concealed it, as well as he could, under a shell of impassivity.
+
+His time would come. The sketch of a plan was beginning to form in his
+mind, it was not very solid yet, but if it worked out they would be
+laughing on the other side of their faces.
+
+What was it Moirta had said? There would be danger "as long as we and
+they are both in this time." The answer to that was simple. Eliminate
+"they" and eliminate the danger.
+
+In his work, Dolan kept running into reminders of the first technician,
+and the matter bothered him. The man seemed to have been making
+progress, and surely he would not have been such a fool as simply to
+refuse to work, the message he had left showed he understood quite
+clearly his danger. He asked Moirta about this, and got another shock.
+
+"That was a mistake," she said. "We did not fully understand your
+world then. In our time, medical science is very exact. There are no
+incomplete men or incomplete women. We assumed that because this
+man ... person ... looked like a man, and seemed to be a man, he was
+one. However, we have since discovered that this is not always true,
+and it was not in this case. We could not allow him to work on the
+machine, since we could not predict his reactions adequately."
+
+Not predict his reactions? There was an obvious corollary--
+
+Dolan's lips tightened. "But you _can_ predict mine, is that it?"
+
+Moirta ran her fingers lightly along the back of his hand, studying his
+knuckles with the tips of them. "Of course," she said idly, "Why not?
+There is nothing wrong with _your_ reactions, George dear."
+
+He flung her hand away violently. "Why not? So you push the buttons,
+and I react as predicted, and you sit back and laugh at me while
+I fix your machine, and then you all go tootling off to find more
+suckers, while I hold the bag. That's it, isn't it? Boy, I bet you've
+been getting a _big_ charge out of this. I thought it was mighty
+coincidental the way one of your boyfriends always pops up as soon as
+we're alone for five minutes. Not taking any chances on the reaction
+getting out of hand, are you?"
+
+She stared up at him in shocked surprise. "No," she said, "no. Oh, poor
+George. How stupid of me. You see, I am not really very wise, I know
+only one thing, how to be a woman. I keep forgetting that you do not
+think as we do. Because we can predict a reaction, does that make it
+less real?"
+
+"But you _used_ me, you knew this would happen."
+
+There were tears in her eyes. "I used you," she admitted, "and I used
+myself, and Brown used both you _and_ me.
+
+"And you used me, also. Do you wish me to think that when you hold
+a woman's hand, and say certain things to her, and look at her in a
+certain way; you are entirely innocent, you do not guess what may
+happen?"
+
+"I didn't force you," he said stubbornly, "the choice was yours to
+make."
+
+"Nor did I force you. But I knew what your choice would be, and
+further, I knew what _my_ choice would be. Emotion is my trade, as
+electronics is yours. Electrons, I have been told, have a certain
+freedom of choice, or appear to have. Yet you know with quite high
+probability which choice they will make under the influence of certain
+physical fields. In the same way, I know what choice to expect of a man
+or a woman, under the influence of certain emotional fields."
+
+"You didn't want _me_, though, you just wanted a technician. The first
+man would have done just as well for you, if he had 'reacted.'"
+
+"That is true. And I am the first woman you have ever made love to?"
+
+"No, of course not. But I've never felt the same about them as I do
+about you."
+
+"I, the same. George, I think you still do not understand me. In your
+time there are women who get things from men by seeming to promise
+more than they intend to give, for simulating emotions they do not
+feel. You think I am one of those ... no, please don't interrupt ...
+I am not. In my time there are no such women, people understand each
+other too well, they are too hard to fool.
+
+"Instead, there are women like me, women who are peculiarly attractive
+to men, and peculiarly susceptible to men--honestly so. Believe me,
+it is not an easy way to make a living. A woman has only so much
+honest emotion to give. Do you understand now?" She looked up at him
+appealingly.
+
+He did not understand, but he believed.
+
+He could not doubt that this was as important to her as to him, that
+regardless of the motives behind it, her feeling was deep and honest.
+And yet, it was impossible to understand, impossible for him to
+visualize a world in which people knew accurately the feeling others
+held for them; and yet still loved, disliked, or were indifferent.
+It was, he thought, a little like a caveman trying to understand the
+complexities and compulsions of polite urban society.
+
+He slumped back down beside her. "I don't know," he said glumly.
+"You're right, I suppose, it all sounds logical; but I still don't
+understand."
+
+She drew him to her. "Poor George," she said with her mouth against his
+ear. "Poor George, I know only one way to console you, and only one
+way to console myself." She sighed. "And it seems they will not permit
+that, I suppose the 'reaction,'" she smiled wryly, "would not fit with
+their plans."
+
+Dolan straightened and looked at her sharply. Her remark had reminded
+him of something else he needed to know. "How do they _know_ just when
+to break us up," he asked, "just when to drop in 'accidentally' on us?
+Can they read my mind?"
+
+She shook her head. "No, they are not mind-readers. It is just that
+they know so much about what to expect of people--remember that for
+thousands of years there has been nothing so important to us as what
+other people do, in my time men of science no longer study physical
+things, all that is known, they study people. In any given situation,
+they can predict quite accurately what action a given individual will
+take."
+
+"You think they know what we're talking about now?"
+
+"Not in detail. But in general, yes--and I suppose it must serve their
+purpose in some way for us to worry about these things, what will
+become of you and me, or they would not permit it. In a matter such as
+this, they do nothing without a purpose."
+
+"Well, that's fair enough," Dolan said grimly. "As long as they aren't
+actually mind-readers, they can guess all they want to."
+
+Moirta shook her head. "It is not guessing, that is what I have been
+trying to tell you. Whatever you plan, they will have foreseen it,
+perhaps not the exact thing you wish to do; but all the possible things
+you can do, and the most likely thing you will do.
+
+"Really, it will not be so bad, you will finish the translator, and we
+will go, and you will forget us, and ... well, in time I suppose I will
+forget you also."
+
+"No." He squeezed her hard against him. "I don't intend to forget you,
+and I don't intend you to forget me." He grinned down at her. "In this
+time, the boy always gets the girl, and they live happily ever after.
+It's a natural law, like gravitation.
+
+"Brown and Smith aren't infallible. They may know people, but I know
+machines. Don't forget, the time translator is the key, the big item in
+this mess. And that's in my bailiwick."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dolan went back to work.
+
+He left it to Brown to satisfy the people at the shop, and apparently
+Brown satisfied them, they sent along the equipment and supplies he
+requested without comment.
+
+He still had no idea _why_ the time translator worked, but he was
+beginning to know quite a bit about _how_ it worked, in the sense of
+functional operation, the input/output relations of the black boxes.
+A time came when he could have activated the machine by making a few
+minor connections.
+
+He did not do so.
+
+With the knowledge that he had the technical problem whipped, some
+of his urgency faded. He could take time to amplify and clarify his
+knowledge. Quite probably the time translator could never be duplicated
+by twentieth century technology. At the same time, only a fool would
+pass up a chance to learn what he could, it was too big a thing,
+even with the limitations under which it seemed to operate. Also,
+familiarity with the translator was a weapon, knowledge Brown did not
+have--a weapon he was grimly intent on using.
+
+He kept testing and checking, varying inputs and measuring outputs.
+
+Remembering what Moirta had said about losing his memory--he did not
+think he would, if his plans worked out, but there was always the
+chance of something going wrong--he kept careful notes. Brown watched
+this activity blandly. Thinking it over, Dolan saw that this was only
+logical. There were always fires for notes.
+
+So, as an extra precaution, he made copies of the most important data
+in secrecy and stored them in a glass jar under a rock back of the
+cottage. Then it occurred to him that he might forget about the jar--or
+he might not be around to remember it, there was still the gully to
+keep in mind. Well, what had worked once should work again. He nicked a
+code message in a piece of wire, showing the location of the notes, and
+left it in his tool-box.
+
+Also, he made certain changes in the time-machine.
+
+Finally, he told Brown the machine was ready.
+
+"You want to test-hop it?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure it'll work now,
+but it's still a haywire job, I could be wrong."
+
+Brown shook his head. "Not necessary. If the machine works, we
+will be ... home. If not, well, you will just have to tinker with
+it some more." It was not sound reasoning, from Dolan's viewpoint,
+but consistent with what he had come to expect from these people in
+technical matters. He had counted heavily on such a reaction.
+
+"OK," he said. "Then she's ready to go."
+
+Brown nodded and tossed a key to Smith, speaking curtly in a language
+strange to Dolan. Dolan had noticed long before that the back bedroom
+door was always locked, and the windows securely boarded up. Artifacts
+of historical interest, Brown had told him. It seemed like rather
+extreme precaution to take for security of such material.
+
+Brown turned back to Dolan. "You had better move your equipment out of
+range of the machine now, if you wish to keep it," he said.
+
+Dolan carried his equipment outside. When he returned the three aliens
+were carrying small heavy boxes out of the back room, stowing them in
+a tight circle about the machine. Moirta was straining at a heavy case
+with neatly dove-tailed corners, marked "Remington".
+
+So that was what it was all about.
+
+It suddenly occurred to him to wonder how, if the machine could not
+move a person into the future, if it had no real existence in this
+time, they expected to move guns and ammunition. Did the laws of time
+operate differently for living organisms and inanimate things? What was
+it someone had once said about life--'islands of reverse entropy'? But
+that was only a figure of speech, men were still made up of the same
+elements as steel and brass--
+
+Well, it could wait, there were more important things right now. "You
+need a hand?" he asked Moirta.
+
+She smiled and nodded breathlessly.
+
+As he stooped to help lift the box, their heads almost touched.
+"Listen!" he whispered, "be on your toes, now. I'm going to try
+something. Stay on this side of the machine, no matter what happens,
+and do just as I say."
+
+She looked startled, but nodded.
+
+With four of them working, it did not take long to pile the cargo in
+place. Brown checked it over with his eye and then turned to study
+Dolan.
+
+"Well," he said slowly, "I suppose we are ready to go. No doubt you
+wish your payment now, eh, Mr. Dolan?"
+
+This was the critical point. Dolan tensed as Smith stepped clear and
+lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Brown, his hand in his hip-pocket;
+but the senior gun runner shook his head. "Don't be stupid," he said
+quietly. "I think we have a few negotiations to make now." He looked at
+Dolan inquiringly.
+
+Dolan hoped his relief did not show too clearly. He had been reasonably
+sure Brown would be too acute to kill him off-hand, but it had been a
+tricky moment, just the same. Now, he thought, play it cagey, make them
+lay it out on the table, get it moving--
+
+"I'm no good at guessing games," he said. "You'll have to come down to
+my level on this."
+
+Brown nodded. "Of course. Excuse me. I will be more explicit. Mr.
+Smith wants to kill you and get you out of the way immediately; he
+does not trust you. I do not trust you completely myself, I do not
+trust _anyone_ completely; and for that exact reason I feel it would
+be stupid and dangerous to kill you. I am quite sure you will have
+booby-trapped the machine against just such a contingency."
+
+"Booby-trapped?" Dolan asked blankly.
+
+"Yes," Brown said patiently. "I mean the machine will not work
+satisfactorily if you are killed. It will blow up, burn out, or some
+such thing. Is that not true?"
+
+Dolan considered the question for a moment. He was acutely aware that
+the most devious plot would probably seem simple and childish to a man
+like Brown. "Suppose it were?" he said cautiously. "Then what?"
+
+"Then we shall negotiate, like reasonable people. What do you need
+to convince you of our good faith. Your money?" Brown reached in his
+jacket pocket and brought out a slip of paper. "Here," he said, "I
+think you will find this satisfactory." He handed it to Dolan.
+
+Dolan looked absently at the check. It was more than satisfactory--for
+a purely business transaction. But this was no longer just a business
+transaction.
+
+"It's not enough," he said flatly.
+
+Brown raised an eyebrow. "The girl? No." He shook his head firmly.
+"We must have Moirta for a hostage, a guarantee of your good faith.
+She goes with us. Afterward, perhaps, if she wishes to return--" he
+shrugged.
+
+Dolan studied him, trying to decide just how much Brown's word was
+worth. Just as much as it suited him to make it worth, probably. He
+glanced at Moirta. She shook her head, a tiny almost imperceptible
+jerk, confirming his own thought. There was no particular reason to
+expect that Brown would really let her return--Moirta probably was not
+important to him, but the whereabouts of the time-translator was.
+
+He turned back to Brown. "You'll promise not to stop her?"
+
+Brown smiled indulgently. "I promise." Dolan felt an almost
+uncontrollable urge to smash the smug smile with his fist. He bottled
+it up. This was no time to get excited.
+
+"OK," he said shortly. He stepped to the machine and carefully bent a
+wire just so, while Brown watched alertly.
+
+"Also," Brown said, "the notes."
+
+"Notes?"
+
+"Exactly. The notes you kept on the operation of the machine. Give them
+to me, please."
+
+Dolan shrugged. He had not really expected to keep the notes. "They're
+out in my briefcase," he said. Brown looked at Smith, who went out and
+returned in a moment with the briefcase. Dolan took out a folder and
+handed it to Brown. Brown riffled through the pages, nodded and tossed
+the folder on the pile of boxes.
+
+He studied Dolan speculatively. "The other notes, too, please," he
+said. "The secret notes."
+
+The man was guessing, of course. Dolan had not even mentioned the other
+notes to Moirta. "You've got all the notes I made," he said.
+
+Brown stepped forward and grasped his arm. "Walk!" he commanded.
+
+Dolan twisted to look at him, startled. "What--?"
+
+"The notes," Brown said coldly. "Walk." He gave a little shove, and
+Dolan found himself walking, with Brown holding his arm in a firm even
+grasp, a look of preoccupation on his face.
+
+"This way," Brown said. They went out the door.
+
+"The notes," Brown repeated insistently. "Keep walking, keep walking."
+They zigzagged rapidly across the yard, Brown still guiding Dolan by
+the arm, Smith coming behind with his hand in his pocket. Brown paused.
+"Here, I think," he said to Smith. "Look under that rock."
+
+Dolan watched in helpless rage as Smith dug the jar out and handed it
+to Brown. _Was_ Brown a mind-reader, after all? How else--?
+
+Well, of course, he thought, muscular tension, the old 'mind-reading'
+trick. He should have caught on sooner; but Brown was good at it, no
+doubt about that.
+
+Brown smashed the jar against the rock and stuffed the notes in his
+pocket. They went back in to the time machine.
+
+Brown bent over the control box and studied it carefully. He examined
+the wire Dolan had adjusted. For the first time, there was a flicker of
+uncertainty in his eyes.
+
+"Well," he said absently. "I suppose--" he looked comprehensively
+around, checking the position of the cargo. "There is something--" He
+punched the power button, moved his hand to start the machine.
+
+Dolan glanced at Moirta. She sat on one of the boxes on the far side of
+the machine, watching him.
+
+This was the time, _now_--
+
+He stepped forward and opened his mouth to shout.
+
+He never did. Something went suddenly wrong. Brown flicked a thumb,
+Smith moved like lightning, and before Dolan realized what was
+happening, he found himself flat on his back, wondering numbly what
+had happened.
+
+Brown snapped a syllable at Moirta. She answered with a shrug and a
+word. He frowned momentarily and then his face lightened.
+
+"Ah," he said softly. "I think I see, now. You were going to shout to
+Moirta to run out of range of the machine, while you jumped in and
+activated it, isn't that so? Really, it would have done no good, we
+could still have returned, and besides Moirta--" he frowned suddenly.
+"Oh _could_ we have returned?"
+
+He bit delicately at his lower lip. "Moirta," he said. "Step a little
+closer to the machine, please."
+
+"Now," he turned back to Dolan, "I am going to push the buttons, with
+Moirta quite close to the machine. Are there any last-minute changes
+you wish to make?"
+
+Dolan hesitated, studying both Moirta's and the men's positions, and
+then nodded sullenly.
+
+"I thought there might be," Brown said with satisfaction. "Mr. Smith,
+help Mr. Dolan up to the machine."
+
+Dolan reached out unsteadily, leaning on Smith, and reversed two
+connections. "That's it," he mumbled.
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Dolan. Now, Mr. Smith, if you will just carry Mr. Dolan
+over there into the corner, well away from the machine, and immobilize
+him--no, no, just temporarily. We may still need him again, Mr. Dolan
+is a very tricky sort of person."
+
+Dolan felt Smith's fingers touch his neck lightly, there was a sudden
+blazing pain, and that was all. He blanked out.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The first thing he knew after that was that fingers were working gently
+at his neck, massaging it. His head was resting on something soft. He
+opened his eyes and saw that he was lying with his head pillowed on
+Moirta's lap.
+
+"George?" she said sharply. "Are you all right, George?"
+
+"I'm all right," he said. He raised his head and looked around. The
+machine was gone, and Smith and Brown were gone, and half the boxes
+were gone. The end ones in the little semicircle were broken, and from
+them a pile of brass cartridges had spilled through the hole in the
+floor where the others had been.
+
+"Wise jerks," he mumbled with grim satisfaction. "See how they like it
+now."
+
+Moirta stared at him. "What happened, George? I don't understand what
+happened."
+
+"I gimmicked the machine. That's what happened. Surprise, huh? I'll bet
+they were plenty surprised too."
+
+"But I thought--"
+
+Dolan sat up and felt tenderly of his throat. He nodded. "I know,"
+he said. "You thought they had me licked. So did they. That was just
+smoke-screen, a little diversion. I knew they could out-smart me if
+I tried to pull anything foxy, that's their trade. But they weren't
+really mind-readers, you told me that, and the business with the notes
+cinched it.
+
+"And they didn't think like technicians. They could see I might disable
+the machine, or booby-trap it; but they couldn't see I could fix it so
+it would work, only just a little different.
+
+"All I had to do was to keep their minds on their own specialty, let
+them wear out their suspicion on the little foxy tricks they expected,
+so they wouldn't notice what I was really doing. See?"
+
+She shook her head. "No," she said. "I do not see. I suppose I'm
+stupid, too--"
+
+"Not stupid. Just not technically minded. You understand, this machine
+works by setting up a field around itself, ordinarily that field's
+circular, it takes in everything in a certain radius. But it doesn't
+have to be, that's just because it's the easiest way, more convenient.
+So I just distorted the field a little, made it lopsided. Then I went
+through all that other business to keep their minds on me, keep them
+off your position, and make sure they both stayed over on my side." He
+smiled at her. "I told you, remember, in this time the villains always
+get it in the neck, the boy gets the girl, and they live happily ever
+after."
+
+She shook her head. "No," she said gently. "I'm sorry, for you and me
+there will not be any ever after. You forget the displacement effect."
+
+"Displacement effect?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "I am afraid I did not explain that fully to you,
+I thought it would only hurt you to do so. You understand, the past
+is really immutable, we only seem to change it. For the time that
+the time-translator exists at any given time in the past, a sort
+of enclave, a self-supporting bubble, is established which permits
+apparent changes. When the time translator returns to its normal
+existence in my era, that bubble dissolves. I do not know, in terms of
+our present subjective time, just how long the displacement will hold,
+but when it vanishes we, you and I, will no longer exist."
+
+"But that would be a change in the past, in itself."
+
+"Not exactly. What I told you about forgetting was true, it was just
+not the whole truth. There will be, in my time, a Moirta who exists
+normally up to the time she is translated to the past. And there will
+be, in your time, a George Dolan who never met Mr. Brown or Miss Jones.
+But you and I, as we exist at this moment, will not have been."
+
+"I see," Dolan said. "It's too bad I didn't know about this sooner. I
+think we still may have a chance, though. You see, I had to worry about
+the possibility that Smith and Brown might think it worth while to come
+back after you. So I changed the switches, too. The time translator
+isn't going into the future, it's gone into the past, and then it's
+fixed to burn out again, a long way in the past, where there aren't any
+electronics technicians, no people at all. How about that?"
+
+"The past? I don't know," she said doubtfully. "I am not a temporal
+technician, I know only about the displacement effect as it operates
+in our usual translations. Perhaps, in that case, the bubble might
+continue to exist, as a sort of permanent side-track. I really don't
+know."
+
+She laughed suddenly, as the full implications of what he had said
+struck her. "The past? Oh, poor Smith. And poor Brown. A long way
+in the past, where there are no people at all, just dinosaurs and
+snakes--and they hate such things so." She laughed helplessly, tears
+rolling down her cheeks. "And poor George, and poor Moirta. All with
+their clever little plans, their tricks to out-smart each other.
+Everyone has outsmarted everyone else, and we all lose now, don't we?"
+
+Dolan stared at her narrowly. "We _all_ lose?"
+
+She nodded--
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The senior gun runner had been quite confident of victory.
+
+It took him a rather long moment to assimilate the fact of defeat; but
+in that moment he did assimilate it, as fully and completely as he took
+in the implications of any other situation.
+
+He examined the wreckage of the time translator curiously, tried and
+failed to make sense of the erratic pattern in which their cargo had
+accompanied them, the absence of Moirta. He straightened and looked
+about. There were no dinosaurs, the range of the time machine did
+not extend that far; but over on a ledge of rock a large cat with
+hyper-trophied eyeteeth squatted, switching its stub of a tail,
+startled by their sudden appearance.
+
+He sighed and turned toward the other gun runner. "Old, old, time," he
+said. He nodded toward the cat. "Bad for us. No chance rescue. Supplies
+short."
+
+The other said nothing, watching him narrowly, hand in back pocket.
+Down in the valley below, something trumpeted, a hoarse grunting roar.
+The senior gun runner started nervously. It was getting dark.
+
+He held out his hand. "Older first," he said simply. The younger man
+laid the gun in his hand; and the senior gun runner, without hesitation
+or farewell, raised it to his head and pulled the trigger.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"--yes, everyone," Moirta said. She wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry,
+George. I will die very quickly in this time, whether the displacement
+operates or not."
+
+"But you said--!"
+
+"I know. I was so sure there was nothing you could do, and I said what
+I thought would make you happy. And I did want to stay with you, in
+a way, even though I knew it would kill me ... and in another way, I
+wanted to go back, to return to my own time, and you were my means to
+that ... oh, it's so mixed up, really, it is funny, everyone so sure of
+themselves, and now ... this...."
+
+Dolan shook his head helplessly. "I never thought. You seemed so ...
+so...."
+
+"So human?" her lips curled wryly. "I was _made_ to seem human,
+twentieth-century human, it was part of my job. I'm not. And soon,
+I shall not even seem human, without the things I need--things that
+won't even be invented for ten thousand years--cancer inhibitors, blood
+clotting agents, insulin surrogate, vaccines, serums, antibiotics--why,
+I can't even eat your food!" She shook her head sadly. "You had better
+just leave me, it will not be nice, you will not like me at all."
+
+And yet, even with the game played out, she could not forget her trade,
+her specialty, for it was bred into her as deeply as the tendency to
+leukemia, the hemophilia, the diabetes, the congenital digestive
+deformity he had inherited from a hundred ancestors kept alive by a
+superb medical science to breed her. She laid her cheek against his,
+the smooth velvet human-seeming cheek, with no hint as yet of the lumps
+of wild tissue waiting to proliferate within.
+
+"Please don't worry, George," she said softly. "It's not your fault,
+really." She smiled up at him. "I've lived a rough life, most of us do,
+in my time. Remember, I've earned what I received, I came here knowing
+what I was doing. It's just caught up with me. It had to, some day."
+
+He caught her in his arms and pulled her tightly to him. "Oh, God,
+honey," he said. "I didn't know, I didn't even think.... I'd give
+anything...." he turned his face up blindly. "Please, Lord, let the
+bubble break," he prayed. "Let us not be, both together, now...."
+
+But the bubble did not break.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gun Runners, by Ralph Williams
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58798 ***