"Dave?"

"Dave Dryden. I think you know him. He's been here a couple of times. But anyhow, that's where I called from."

"Sheffield."

"Yes. And you hung up on me. Twice."

Her jaw was sagging. She looked worried. "You're saying I hung up on you you?"

"You don't remember that either?"

"Shel, I don't hang up on people."

"You did yesterday. I was stuck and I was trying to talk to you-" He stopped.

Linda got up and walked past him to the door of her office. "Sally," she said, "would you come in here for a minute, please?"

Sally was her secretary. Dark skin, black hair, gla.s.ses. A bit too serious, probably. Linda looked at Shel. "Sally, was Shel here yesterday?"

"Well, of course," she said. "He was here."

"All day?"

"As far as I know. Except that he left early, I think."

"This is crazy," said Shel.

"You want to ask around?"

HE promised he'd make an appointment with a psychologist. Linda urged him again to take some time off, take the rest of the week off, but Shel a.s.sured her he was fine. But when he sat down in front of his computer, he got another shock. promised he'd make an appointment with a psychologist. Linda urged him again to take some time off, take the rest of the week off, but Shel a.s.sured her he was fine. But when he sat down in front of his computer, he got another shock.

The Devil's Disciples had gone to see Arms and the Man Arms and the Man Tuesday evening. Early Wednesday morning, around two thirty, he'd experienced the Tuesday evening. Early Wednesday morning, around two thirty, he'd experienced the event event, whatever it was. He'd spent all day Wednesday getting home. It was now Thursday morning.

Except that it wasn't. His computer indicated it was still Wednesday. He stuck his head in Bill Shanski's office, across the hall. "Bill," he said, "what day is this?"

"Wednesday," said Bill, with his usual vacuous smile.

"You sure?"

"All day long."

HE tried to bury himself in his work, a.s.sembling a sales presentation for a new data-control system. He'd never dealt with a therapist, always thought that therapists were for the weak-minded, that talking to an outsider about problems was a waste of time and money. tried to bury himself in his work, a.s.sembling a sales presentation for a new data-control system. He'd never dealt with a therapist, always thought that therapists were for the weak-minded, that talking to an outsider about problems was a waste of time and money.

But he didn't have much choice. He opened the yellow pages, picked a psychologist, and made an appointment. "You should come in tomorrow," "You should come in tomorrow," said the female voice on the phone after he'd explained the problem, said the female voice on the phone after he'd explained the problem, "for an appraisal." "for an appraisal."

He'd never really had a physical problem other than once going to a hospital after he'd crashed into an infielder chasing a fly ball. The possibility that he was suffering from a mental problem left a cold knot in his stomach. He went through a dozen cups of coffee. (He usually had about two.) And, as if the day hadn't produced enough shocks, Linda came in on her way out to lunch to tell him she'd just had a weird phone call. Two of them, in fact.

"About what?"

"A guy claiming to be you, Shel."

Shel was starting to get out of his chair, but with that news he slid back down. "What did he say?"

"He said he was sorry he hadn't been able to get to work today." She shook her head. "He sounded just like you."

Shel just stared at her.

"If this is some kind of joke, Shel, I don't appreciate it."

It was enough. He told her about his appointment with Dr. Benson. And then said he was going home.

"I think that's a good idea. Why don't you stay stay home until you're feeling better." home until you're feeling better."

HE tried to call Dave, but all he could get was his voice mail. He'd probably be in cla.s.s, so the phone was in his desk. tried to call Dave, but all he could get was his voice mail. He'd probably be in cla.s.s, so the phone was in his desk.

He skipped dinner. Had no appet.i.te. He tried to read. Tried to watch some TV. Got on the computer for a while. But it was hard to think about anything other than what was happening to him.

He went back to the bookcase. Took down Hands on the Past Hands on the Past, by C. W. Ceram. One of his favorites when he was growing up.

Hands on the Past.

It consisted of accounts of the early archaeologists. He thought of his father's pa.s.sion for history. How he'd disappeared from a locked house. And Shel wondered if, somehow, he had in the same manner disappeared from his his house Tuesday night? house Tuesday night?

The idea was crazy. But it was too coincidental not to have some validity. In any case, there could be no harm running a test. As long as he was careful.

He picked up one of the three Q-pods, sat down on the sofa, opened the lid, and entered Galilei Galilei. When it asked where he wanted to travel, he hesitated. Keep it simple: Here. Here.

DATE?.

Today.

TIME?.

On his Wednesday morning experiment, he'd asked for 3:00 P.M. It certainly hadn't been three o'clock in the afternoon when he'd opened his eyes in the Allegheny National Forest. It had been more like midmorning.

But it might have been three o'clock GMT.

Greenwich Mean Time? Maybe that was it.

He'd sat in this same sofa after Dave brought him back. The Q-pod had asked him RETURN? and he'd replied yes yes. Maybe the Q-pod had taken him back, not to where where he started, but to he started, but to when when. Two thirty Wednesday morning. My G.o.d. Was that possible?

If it were true, then it had been Shel himself on the phone to Linda this afternoon, calling from the Sheffield Chevron. Or was it yesterday yesterday afternoon? His head was starting to spin. afternoon? His head was starting to spin.

He tried calling Dave again. Still got the voice mail. The whole idea was preposterous. But it was time to find out. Where did he want to go?

There was one way to settle it: He could stay in the town house, but take himself to the time when he and Dave were just getting in. Say, a quarter to eleven. Dave had brought him back Wednesday night. But then he'd pushed the RETURN key on the Q-pod. If he was right, it had taken him back to the point where he'd been early Wednesday morning. That was why it had still been Wednesday at the offic e. Or been Wednesday again, if that was more accurate. If he was correct, he and Dave were at that moment on the way home from the Allegheny National Forest.

A quarter to eleven Wednesday night translated to Thursday, 3:45 A.M. GMT. He set the time and date, and was about to push the big black b.u.t.ton when it occurred to him that it wasn't a good idea to be sitting down. If it really happened, he'd want to arrive standing up. That way he wouldn't fall on his head.

He got to his feet. Took a deep breath. And hit the b.u.t.ton.

The lights flickered and went out. One of the lamps came back on. He was still in his den. He hadn't moved.

He checked his watch. No change. But then, it wouldn't, would it?

He went into the kitchen. The wall clock showed ten forty-five.

Bingo. My G.o.d, I did it.

His father had invented a time machine.

Shel walked through the downstairs, wanting to scream it to the heavens, tell the world, We can travel in time. We can travel in time. He knew that physicists had been saying for years there was no known reason it couldn't be done. But Shel had never believed it possible. He knew that physicists had been saying for years there was no known reason it couldn't be done. But Shel had never believed it possible.

How long ago had it happened? When had his father developed the first working model? Had he possessed this thing for years? Or was it connected with the government project?

No. He knew the answer. The letter had gone to the lawyer a few months ago.

Why had he told no one? More to the point, why did he want the devices destroyed?

HE turned out the lights. He wasn't sure why. If David's car actually showed up, carrying both Dave and himself, he'd open the front door and charge out onto the pavement and shake his own hand. Explain to himself what was going on. turned out the lights. He wasn't sure why. If David's car actually showed up, carrying both Dave and himself, he'd open the front door and charge out onto the pavement and shake his own hand. Explain to himself what was going on.

Incredible.

But wait. That wasn't the way it had happened.

As much as he liked the idea of meeting himself, he decided caution would be a better policy. He couldn't have said why. Maybe he was driven by his father's secrecy. Hammer them flat. Throw them into a fire. Then weigh them down and drop what's left into the ocean. Hammer them flat. Throw them into a fire. Then weigh them down and drop what's left into the ocean.

The Shel coming back from western Pennsylvania, though, had no keys. He unlocked the front door. Save them from having to break a window. Then he picked up a spare key from the wicker bowl and put it in his pocket.

Minutes later, a car pulled up outside.

Shel was so excited he could hardly breathe. He went over to one of the dining-room windows and peered out through the curtain. Headlights swept across the driveway, and Dave's white Regal eased in off the street. It was dark, but he could just make out the pa.s.senger. A chill slithered up his spine.

The engine died. They got out of the car, and Shel-the one outside-stood looking around, wondering, of course, how he was going to get into a locked house. Shel watched, unable to believe what he was seeing, and, somehow, mildly disappointed in his appearance. He didn't look as good as he'd expected.

Abruptly the man outside turned Shel's way. Shel ducked back into the dark. The outside Shel stood staring for a minute. Then he shook his head, and said something to David. He remembered: "Somebody's in there." "Somebody's in there."

Shel retreated from the dining room into the kitchen and stood near the side door.

They'd be coming in the front. When he heard them on the porch, he eased the side door open and slipped out into the driveway.

He went for a walk. Gave it an hour just to be safe. When he returned, the lights were out, and the Shel who had arrived with Dave had by then consented to the time machine's query: RETURN? It had put him back in the town house early Wednesday morning.

HE sat cradling the Q-pod in his hands. His father must have had a big time with this. The guy who'd lived to visit Urquhart Castle and the Palmengarten and the Hanging Gardens had extended his reach dramatically. sat cradling the Q-pod in his hands. His father must have had a big time with this. The guy who'd lived to visit Urquhart Castle and the Palmengarten and the Hanging Gardens had extended his reach dramatically.

He wondered how far back he'd been able to go. A few days? Years? Was the Mesozoic within range? Had he been able to travel in the other direction? Into the future?

And that explained his disappearance. He'd gone somewhere, and, obviously, something had gone wrong. Maybe he'd landed in the middle of the Little Bighorn. If Shel could figure it out, he could follow him and, he hoped, do a rescue. If he was in time.

Wait a minute.

Shel had a time machine. If you have a time machine, there's never any question about the cavalry arriving on cue. If he was too late with the first attempt, he could just reset the clock and go back another hour. Or whatever it took. All he needed to do was figure out where his father had gone.

He visualized him on Lincoln's train to Gettysburg, or watching Washington cross the Delaware. Maybe he'd decided to tour the Renaissance. h.e.l.l, that would explain the robes! He had had been going back pretty far. been going back pretty far.

But how to know where to look?

Then he realized how dumb he'd been: There was no need to follow his father into the past. Or the future. Whatever. He'd left from the house on Moorland Avenue a week ago Monday. All Shel needed to do was to show up at the house on Monday the fifteenth and say h.e.l.lo.

CHAPTER 5.

We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea.

-SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, "THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER"

SHEL would have liked to transport himself directly into his father's house, or, failing that, onto Moorland Avenue. Why drive over there when he had, in effect, instantaneous transportation? But he didn't know how to do it. There were provisions for narrowing down the arrival site, but he had no idea of the precise location of the house in terms of degrees, minutes, and fractions of seconds. would have liked to transport himself directly into his father's house, or, failing that, onto Moorland Avenue. Why drive over there when he had, in effect, instantaneous transportation? But he didn't know how to do it. There were provisions for narrowing down the arrival site, but he had no idea of the precise location of the house in terms of degrees, minutes, and fractions of seconds.

So he waited until morning. Usually, breakfast was his big meal, but he got up with no appet.i.te, settled for a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, wrapped the Q-pod in a plastic bag, and drove to Moorland Avenue. He parked in the driveway, got out, walked behind the house, where he was more or less out of sight, and set the converter to take him back to Monday night, October 15. With no change of geographical position.

Then he pressed the b.u.t.ton.

The sun went out, and the sky filled with stars. The house remained dark.

He walked back out to the driveway. And voila. Shel's car was gone. Now it remained only to wait for his father to arrive.

But, come to think of it, there was no need to wait. Time travelers don't have to wait for anybody. And there was the t.i.tle for the book he would one day write about all this. My G.o.d, he felt good. The vast realms of past and future were opening up. And, more important, he didn't have to worry anymore about a tumor. Life had become a dream.