Leigher was acid. "Very funny. As it happens, this is an old gold-mining site, and some of the shafts have proved very suitable to my needs."
Mr. Ciano, stepping carefully, circled the transposer chamber. Again he noted the thickness of the leads trailing to the barred double-doors. It doesn't seem much," he said. "But it's like an iceberg, eh? Most of it out of sight"
Leigher sniffed. "Hardly an iceberg, but yes, quantitively, that might convey the impression."
"And the power is constant, ready to be tapped at any time?"
"The field is kept open at all times—has to be. To switch off, or close down, would be to break contact I can't allow that to happen, and there is no provision here for a cut-off switch. So, if you'd like to lose' somebody into the past by shutting off the power, you'd have to destroy this entire installation. And believe me, it would not be worth it"
"I was not thinking of anything like that," Mr. Ciano said. "If it really works, the last thing I would wish is to interfere with the power."
"No." Leigher removed his glasses and began to clean them with a filthy handkerchief. "I know what you want," he said bitterly. "The same as the others. Easy pickings."
Mr. Ciano pretended mild shock. "Easy pickings? My interest is primarily historical." He indicated some furniture and bric-a-brac that was piled in one corner. "Although I admit that I have a passing interest in, ah, antiques."
"Oh ha-ha," Leigher said sarcastically. His fingers flicked at the henchmen. "That's why you need your armed guards, I suppose?" he sneered. "And what's in the suitcase? A small arsenal, I shouldn't wonder."
"The suitcase contains items we thought might be useful should certain contingencies arise." Mr. Ciano tried to be crushingly icy. "What weapons you may see are purely for self-defense in case of an emergency."
"Oh ha-ha," Leigher said again. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I know who you are. You're the same as him"—his finger jabbed at Gansy—"a help-yourself crook. Well I don't care. If you shoot somebody dead, they've already been dead for a few hundred years, so it won't make a difference anyway. If you want to help yourselves, you can. But I'm certainly not going to aid you for nothing."
"You've had. . . other friends through here?" Seffan asked.
"I most certainly have," Leigher grated. Thanks to my own kindness to a dying wastrel I rescued. As it turned out, he was on the run from the police. Since that time I seem to be getting an ever-increasing number of his fellows calling at my door. Most of them making promises that they subsequently fail to keep." He glowered at Gansy.
Gansy was hurt. "I paid, didn't I? One for one. Guineas are worth more than dollars."
Leigher's smile was mirthless. He rammed his glasses back on. "Perhaps. But trying to spend them creates a great deal of unwanted attention, and I am not as familiar as you may be with discreet methods of disposal." He breathed very hard. "If you want to clean out a Seventeenth Century bank, all well and good. But I want to be paid in dollars." And with a touch of fierceness to Mr. Ciano, "And I want to be paid in advance."
Mr. Ciano squinted, sneered in his turn. "How do we know you can do what you say you can do? What if it's a frost?"
Then that'll be through your own incompetence," Leigher said sharply. "Look, I've had enough of you people coming in here, making grand promises to share what you make, but putting up not a nickel beforehand. And what do I get?" He steamed. "If they do come back, they bring me junk." He gestured at the assortment of ancient pieces. I'm in the furniture business?" His voice was high with indignation. "No! If you've come here to make use of this device, you're unlucky. "I've had enough! I'm through!" He seemed very cranky.o more! No more!" His hands swept angry negative.
Mr. Ciano was quick. "You said, 'if they do come back'—does this mean that some of them don't come back!"
Leigher glared at him. "It means exactly that Do you know what it's like in the past? Can't you appreciate the advantages? A modern man there is a king. Armed even with only a .38 he is virtually invincible." Leigher's head nodded. "Oh, yes, I've had some promises. Fat lot of good it's done me. They just throw away their recallers and don t give a damn." He shouted, I've had enough of it, I tell you!"
Even Mr. Ciano flinched at Leigher s vehemence.
Take it easy, Doctor, take it easy," Mr. Ciano placated. He clasped his hands in front of him. "You deal with me, and everything will be square. I'm no two-bit punk. I'm here on business. If what I've heard is true, we should be able to come to some arrangement to our mutual advantage. And I can see to it that you are protected and don't get bothered by strangers anymore."
Leigher was skeptical "I've heard such stories before. You people are all the same. Promises," he jeered savagely, "always promises. Well I'm not taking promises any more. You can do what you like. You either pay beforehand, or you get nothing. I'm sick and tired of freeloaders."
"Relax, Doctor, relax," Mr. Ciano soothed. "I represent sound vested interests, and well be glad to put up whatever capital you may need."
Leigher was unconvinced. "I'll believe it when I see it I'm not being taken in again. The purity of your motives and intentions are no concern of mine. You can save your talk. Now it's cash or nothing."
Mr. Ciano pondered briefly. Then he gave Seffan a slight nod.
Seffan opened his valise. He produced one wad of notes. And a second wad of notes. And another, and another. He placed all four bundles upon a small table that could have been designed by Chippendale.
"Your price per man is twenty thousand dollars, I believe," Mr. Ciano said His eyes were intensely searching. "There is enough on that table to pay for the passage of two. If it is a success, there is more where that came from—you will be paid, no haggling." He waited to let that sink in.
"Hm-m-m." Dr. Leigher strode to the table, picked up the money, riffled it, seemed satisfied. He started to stuff it into his pockets.
Seffan startled him with a cautionary grip on his elbow. "Not so fast, Doc."
"What? Look, what is this? I thought it was a payment?" Leigher was disgusted "Either it's mine, or it isn't I'm not going to play games."
Mr. Ciano waved Seffan off. "Go ahead, Doctor, it's yours. But before you send anybody away," he was coolly pragmatic, "we would like to see a demonstration. . ."
Leigher was a trifle ruffled. "A demonstration? What do you have in mind?" He thrust the last bundle of money into a dustcoat pocket, adjusted his glasses, returned his hands to swell the bulges. "If you experience it, it demonstrates itself, surely? What more do you want?"
"First I want you to send one of us." Mr. Ciano raised a considering eyebrow at a henchman. "Carl here, say—and then bring him back. If his report corroborates your claim that you can send people into the past—and recover them—then others of us will go to explore the prospects. Isn't that reasonable?"
Leigher shrugged. "I'm giving no free rides. You want a demonstration, you'll have to pay for it. That will count as one."
"That's pretty tough," Mr. Ciano argued. "We'd only want him to be in the place long enough to confirm that your device does work. A half hour, an hour, just to look around and give the O.K."
Leigher was patronizingly cynical. "You can do what you like. You pay for two journeys, and two journeys you can have. I won't take any responsibility for the way that a person may react at the other end."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I've told you. A modern man thinks differently when he gets back there. Even a dumb modem man knows so much more. There is opportunity on every hand, power—you don't realize how tempting it is."
"You mean Carl might want to stay there?" Mr. Ciano's jaw set "He knows better. Hell do as he's told, or he knows what he can expect"
Leigher was mocking. "Yes? What jurisdiction will you have over him a few hundred years back from now? Would you like to waste time, effort and money sending people to hunt for him in those times? Where are your contacts? Where would you search? And could you find men you could trust not to do the very same th
ing as the man they were looking for?"
Leigher was sardonic. "I know, I've had some. The past is virtually virgin territory to a modem man. And it's a big world, where it is easy to gain favors from influential people for services rendered. A modern man, any modern man, can become somebody. I've had," he thought and mentally counted, "nineteen people come to me to take a so-called 'temporary' trip into the past" He paused, then added with heavy emphasis, "Only three ever came back. And he" —he pointed at Gansy—"was one of them."
"How do you know that they stayed there deliberately?"
"Because they tie their recallers to pieces of junk like that!" Leigher cried, exasperated. "Furniture, knick-knacks. They think it's a joke!" He took a few paces to relieve his irritability. "They seem to think I can operate on thin air. Well, no more. From now on I'm taking no chances."
Mr. Ciano brooded. "Is there no way you can recall them, whether they want to come, or not?"
"Arbitrarily? No. The recaller must be worn properly. It is not all that comfortable, and looks odd, so it is generally taken off. Thus I dare not recall anyone unless I get the correct signal." He shook his head in despair. "And when I do get the signal, it so often has turned out to be something like that unfinished statue from medieval Florence." Leigher stared at Mr. Ciano. "You must know what you're doing. It's not quite as simple as it looks."
Mr. Ciano dug out a cigar to help him think. He nipped the end, tasted, frowned, took a fight from Seffan. His unblinking contemplation of him made Carl uneasy.
Mr. Ciano broke to study his smoke with seeming concentration. "So," he said, "is there no way that we can be sure that a traveler will return. . . will want to return?"
There is." There was a devilish light in Leigher's eye. "I have given the matter some thought, and I do have one solution." He walked over to his Queen Anne escritoire, opened a drawer, brought forth a tube. This." He tapped the plastic. "One of these pills will kill in six hours. Allowing an hour beforehand for it to be fully assimilated into the system, and one hour afterwards for a safety margin, that will leave four hours in-between when the volunteer can make examination of the past But, if he lingers overtime he will die, for the antidote is here."
Mr. Ciano halted in mid-puff. "Well." He liked it. That sounds like a good idea."
Carl shot a glance between the pair. It did not sound such a good idea to him. I'm taking no poison," he warned.
"Carl!" Mr. Ciano was sternly abrupt. "You will come to no harm. You will get back here after two or three hours, take the antidote, and that's all there'll be to it"
"Yeah? I'm taking no poison," he repeated. "Supposing something should happen? Suppose I got knocked on the head? Suppose I lost this recall thing? No. I'm sorry, Mr. Ciano, but that's out." Mr. Ciano was grieved. He went a little red, but he could see that Carl was adamant. He filed this intractability for future reference. "Very well, Carl. Then it will have to be Moke. Moke?"
Moke was checking the magazine on his pistol. He did not raise his eyes. "I don't think I'd like it either, Mr. Ciano. It'd be sorta against my religion. Fooling around with poison, I mean, a man could get killed. It'd be easy to make a mistake, wouldn't it?"
Mr, Ciano became tense. He was unused to such flagrant insubordination. Way out here, they suddenly thought they could do as they pleased. He came within an ace of losing his temper. "Seffan?" It came out very tight-wound.
Seffan relished the thought of imbibing some toxic substance no more than did the others, but he was more slyly diplomatic. "Surely it would be best to send someone experienced, someone who knows all about it and who would, therefore, be less likely to make an error?"
The others followed the direction of his gaze. "Huh?" And Gansy jerked to quick attention.
"Now wait a minute! I've been there before," Gansy said. "Why send me? I've already told you what it's like."
"Perhaps we would like you to tell us again," Mr. Ciano silkily replied. "To personally show us how it works."
"Huh? Look . . ." Gansy took in the circle of faces. "Be reasonable, I've been already. I know it's all right. What's the point of me going again? What'll it prove?"
"We wish to witness the sequence, the procedure. I think you might satisfactorily play this role."
Gansy's hands fussed at his belt. "I don't see it. It would be better for Seffan to ... to check. You can take my word for it—you've got that already. It. . . needs somebody else."
"We're not calling you a liar, Mr. Gansy," Mr. Ciano reproved him. "We believe you. Why be so troubled about going again? It will only be for a few hours."
Gansy wiped at his face. "It doesn't make sense." He smiled weakly. "I've been. It'd be better for someone else to go." He appealed to Dr. Leigher. "Wouldn't it be more logical for . . . for Carl, or Seffan to go? I mean. . ."
"I couldn't care less, quite frankly," Leigher informed him crisply. "You can sort it out amongst yourselves. And when you have decided you can let me know."
Gansy did a re-take of his "friends." "Well," he wasn't really happy, but he gave in, "I think it's crazy. But if that's the way you want it, it's O.K. by me. But," he made a firm stand, "I'm taking no poison."
"But you must," Mr. Ciano said pleasantly. "It guarantees your safe return."
"I don't need it!" Gansy began to pop sweat all over again at the thought of what he was doing. "I... I came back last time, didn't I? It doesn't affect me. I don't want to stay in the past"
"In that case to come back for the antidote will put little strain on your wishes, even should you meet a fair damsel," Mr. Ciano observed. "It is an innocent precaution against temptation—for your own security. I don't see that you can have any objection."
"I refuse to take poison!" Gansy said loudly.
There came disagreeable cluck-snack noises from a couple of handguns in the room, and Mr. Ciano's henchmen eased out to give Gansy meaningful attention.
Gansy slowly rubbed his hands over his hip pockets. "No," he protested feebly. "No."
But he was outvoted.
The recall outfit was a light metallic band that fitted over the forehead, with leads trailing to a button-signaler strapped tightly to the chest A few more leads led to thin metallic anklets. The unfortunate Gansy was ready to be positioned in the space/time-transposer chamber.
The polarity is important," Leigher was saying. The frequency differential between the composition of these metals is known, and is unique. They don't look much, perhaps, but they form the identity location marker in time and space." He took Gansy's elbow. "Come."
They stepped into the tubular chamber. Gansy shone with perspiration.
"Now. In the center, near enough. Feet together, stand upright The distance between the contact bands is important," Leigher explained to his audience. "Around the ankles below, or even worn stirrup-fashion. And on the head worn," he smiled bleakly, "like a laurel wreath. The distance between the two is vital. On no account, when being sent or recalled, should one set, or the other, be held in the hands. And neither should the body be bent in a position to bring the head and feet closer together. This would foreshorten the field, with possibly disastrous results. No one seems to have tried it so far, and it is not recommended that anyone do so.
"These bands are tougher than they look, and collapse to quite a small package that can be carried in a pocket with no inconvenience. This," Leigher pointed to the small matchbox-size button-box, "is the recall signaler. On arriving at the destination, open the front and press the button once. This will indicate intact arrival, and that circumstances are satisfactory. Pressing the button twice will indicate that the time and/or place of arrival is inopportune, at which the traveler may be immediately carried forward to another date and alternative venue.
"After arriving satisfactorily, the double signal may be employed in order to jump from one week to the next. But if more than three such jumps are attempted, there will be an extra fee to pay, and the fourth double signal will be interpreted as a triple signal—the recall advice."
Critically Leigher looked Gansy over, and found everything wanting but his equipment "To press the button three times in succession is the triple signal that requests recall. Be sure that the bands are in place and that the bodily stance is that of one standing at attention—thus to keep well within the bounds of safety. That way there is nothing to fear."
Leigher produced a small oxygen mask, gave it to Gansy who, without enthusiasm, tied it over his nose and mouth.
There is some risk of breathlessness on the journey, although it doesn't take long in subjective time. To counter this there is this mask and miniature oxy-tube, which is more than adequate to serve its purpose. It is not absolutely essential, and if it gets lost, recall without it should not be a serious threat. Everything is here to resuscitate the needy in the unlikely event that a mishap should occur."
"Right, Mr. Gansy, you are ready? Good. Come, gentlemen, stand clear of the chamber, please."
Leigher moved out and over to his console. With its cover removed, it was a gleamingly impressive long, low computerlike instrumentation. Leigher threw switches, and a light bleeped red-red-red. He scanned his illuminated inlay chart of the counties in South-east England, brought in a blowup of North Middlesex. Flick, flick, tuck, tock, tock, tock. Unhesitating, efficient, sure of himself. In went the main power gate.
Sss-sook. The curved door to the transposer-chamber slid closed, shutting off Gansy's damp and rigidly upright figure, and from somewhere came a hum that rose to become hard for human ears to bear.
Leigher was absorbed in his function, checking this dial and that, making an adjustment here, moderating there, flicking switches, closing a second power gate. He raised his eyes and screwed around to regard the festoon of insulators and boosters worn like a crown by the high dome of the chamber. He saw the flash, the confirming trigger, and he closed the major circuit
There was a bang that made everybody but Leigher jump, and the humming dropped sharply to become a steady purr.
Mr. Ciano gawked at the time-indicator that he had found, saw the day-wheel become a blur, the month-indicator nipping by, the year slot jitter to: 1948 — 1947 — 1946 — 45 — 44 — 43 — 42 — 41 —, faster and faster, in seconds to become a blank shimmering with speed.
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