Arthur Saltus stopped abruptly in the doorway and Chaney collided with him。
〃Why won't I like it？〃
〃Because it's a political thing； a damned political thing； after all！ Katrina said the decision came down early this morning from the White House…from him。 We should have expected something like that。〃
Slow repeat： 〃Why won't I like it？〃
Moresby said with disdain： 〃We're going up two years to a date in November。 November 6； 1980； a Thursday。 The President wants to know if he'll be re…elected。〃
Arthur Saltus stared in open…mouthed astonishment。 After a space of disbelief he turned to Chaney。
〃What was that word again； mister？ In Aramaic？〃
Brian Chaney told him。
Brian Chaney
Joliet； Illinois
6 November 1980
If we open a quarrel between the past
and the present；
We shall find that we have lost the future。
… Winston Churchill
NINE
Chaney had no forewarning of something amiss。
The red light blinked out。 He reached up to unlock the hatch and throw it open。 The green light went dark。 Chaney grasped the two handrails and pulled himself to a sitting position； with his head and shoulders protruding through the hatchway。 He was alone in the room； as he expected to be。 He struggled through the hatch and climbed over the side； easing himself down the hull until his feet touched the stool。 The vehicle felt icy cold。 Chaney reached up to slam shut the hatch； then cast a curious glance at the monitoring cameras。 He hoped those future engineers approved his obedience to the ritual。
Chaney looked at his watch： 10：03。 That was expected。 He had kicked off less than a minute ago； the third and last to move up。 He sought out the calendar and clock on the wall to verify the date and the time： 6 Nov 80。 The clock read 7：55。 A thermometer had been added to the instrument group to record outside temperature： 31 degrees F。
Chaney hesitated； unsure of his next move。 The time was not right； it should have been ten o'clock； plus or minus eight minutes。 He made a mental note to tell the engineers what he thought of their guidance system。
The first of the field trials had been launched at a few minutes past nine； with Major Moresby claiming his due。 Thirty minutes later Arthur Saltus followed the Major into the future； and thirty minutes after him Chaney climbed into the bucket and was kicked off。 All arrivals on target were supposed to be identical with departure times； plus or minus eight minutes。 Chaney had expected to surface about ten and find the others waiting for him。 They were scheduled to regroup in the fallout shelter； equip themselves； and travel to the target city in separate automobiles to effect a wider coverage of the area。
Katrina had given each of them explicit instructions and then wished them well。
Saltus had said： 〃Aren't you ing down to see us off？〃
She'd replied： 〃I will wait in the briefing room； sir。〃
The wall clock moved to 7：56。
Chaney abandoned his irresolution。 Rounding the hull of the vehicle； he opened the locker and reached for the suit hung there only minutes before。 Small surprise。 His suit had been cleaned and pressed and was now hanging in a paper sheath provided by the dry cleaner。 Next to his were similar packages belonging to Moresby and Saltus。 His name was written across the sheath and he recognized the woman's handwriting。 He was first in： seniority。
Chaney ripped away the paper and dressed quickly； aware of the chill in the room。 The white shirt he found in the locker was a new one and he looked with some interest at the wavy； patterned collar。 Style； 1980。 The sheath was jammed back into the locker as a mocking message。
Leaving the vehicle room； Chaney strode down the well…lighted corridor to the fallout shelter； conscious of the cameras watching his every step。 The basement； the entire building； was cloaked in silence； the lab engineers would avoid contact with him as he must avoid them…but they had the advantage： they could examine a quaint specimen from two years in the past while he could only speculate on who was on the other side of the wall。 Their door was shut。 Chaney pushed the shelter door open and the overhead lights flashed on in automatic response。 The room was empty of life。
Another clock above a workbench read 8：01。
Chaney strode into the shelter to stop； turn； stare； inspect everything open to his gaze。 Except for a few new objects on the workbench the room was precisely the same as he'd last seen it； a day or two before。 He was expected。 Three tape recorders had been removed from the stores and set out on the bench； along with an unopened box of fresh tape； two still cameras designed to be worn over the shoulder were there； together with a motion picture camera for Arthur Saltus and new film for all three instruments。 Three long envelopes rested atop the cameras； and again he recognized Katrina's handwriting。
Chaney tore his open； hoping to find a personal note； but it was curiously cool and impersonal。 The envelope gave up a gate pass and identification papers bearing the date； 6 November 1980。 A small photograph of his face was affixed to the identification。 The brief note advised him not to carry arms off the station。
He said aloud： 〃Saltus； you've shut me out！〃 This evidence suggested the woman had made a choice in the intervening two years…unless he was imagining things。
Chaney prepared himself for the outside。 He found a heavy coat and a rakish cap in the stores that were good fits； then armed himself with camera； recorder； nylon film and tape。 He took from a money box what he thought would be an adequate supply of cash （there was a shiny new dime and several quarters bearing the date 1980； the portraits on the coins had not been changed）； and a drawer yielded a pen and notebook； and a flashlight that worked。 A last careful survey of the room suggested nothing else that would be useful to him； and he made ready to leave。
A clock told 8：14。
Chaney scrawled a quick note op the back of his torn envelope and propped it against the motion picture camera： Arrived early for a swim。 Will look for you laggards in town。 Protons are perfidious。
He stuffed the ID papers in his pocket and quit the shelter。 The corridor was as silent and empty as before。 Chaney climbed the stairway to the operations door and stopped with no surprise to read a painted sign。
DO NOT CARRY WEAPONS BEYOND THIS DOOR。 FEDERAL
LAW PROHIBITS THE POSSESSION OF FIREARMS
BY ALL EXCEPT LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS； AND
MILITARY PERSONNEL ON ACTIVE DUTY。 DISARM
BEFORE EXITING。
Chaney fitted two keys into the twin locks and shoved。 A bell rang somewhere behind him。 The operations door rolled easily on rolamite tracks。 He stepped outside into the chill of 1980。 The time was 8：19 on a bleak November morning and there was a sharp promise of snow in the air。
He recognized one of the three automobiles parked in the lot beyond the door： it was the same car Major Moresby had driven a short while ago…or two years ago…when he hustled Chaney and Saltus from the pool to the lab。 The keys were in the ignition lock。 Walking to the rear of the vehicle； he stared for a moment at the red and white license plate to convince himself he was where he was supposed to be： Illinois 1980。 Two other automobiles parked beyond the first one appeared to be newer； but the only visible change in their design appeared to be fancy grills and wheel caps。 So much for nubile taste and Detroit pandering。
Chaney didn't enter the car immediately。
Moving warily； half fearful of an unexpected meeting； he circled the laboratory building to reconnoiter。 Nothing seemed changed。 The installation was just as he remembered it： the streets and sidewalks well repaired and clean…policed daily by the troops on station…the lawns carefully tended and prepared for the approach of winter； the trees now bare of foliage。 The heavy front door was closed and the familiar black and yellow fallout shelter sign still hung above it。 There was no guard on duty。 On an impulse； Chaney tried the front door but found it locked