Chapter III

They were headed back toward what should have been the boulevard. The car zoomed through a cloverleaf turn and up onto a broad freeway. Jeff knew for certain there was no freeway there in 1957--nor in any earlier year. But on the horizon, he could see the familiar dark bulk of the mountains. The whole line of moonlit ridges was the same as always.

“Ann,” he said slowly, “I think this is for real. Somehow I guess we escaped from 1957. We’ve been transported in time.”

She squeezed his arm. “If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me! I was scared a minute ago. But now, oh, boy!”

“Likewise. But I still wonder what Snader’s angle is.” He leaned forward and tapped the driver on his meaty shoulder. “You brought us into the future instead of the past, didn’t you?”

It was hard to know whether Snader was sleepy or just bored, but he shrugged briefly to show there was no reply coming. Then he yawned.

Jeff smiled tightly. “I guess we’ll find out in good time. Let’s sit back and enjoy the strangest ride of our lives.”

As the limousine swept along through the traffic, there were plenty of big signs for turn-offs, but none gave any hint where they were. The names were unfamiliar. Even the language seemed grotesque. “Rite Channel for Creepers,” he read. “Yaw for Torrey Rushway” flared at him from a fork in the freeway.

“This can’t be the future,” Ann said. “This limousine is almost new, but it doesn’t even have an automatic gear shift--”

She broke off as the car shot down a ramp off the freeway and pulled up in front of an apartment house. Just beyond was a big shopping center, ablaze with lights and swarming with shoppers. Jeff did not recognize it, in spite of his familiarity with the city.

Snader bounded out, pulled open the rear door and jerked his head in a commanding gesture. But Jeff did not get out. He told Snader, “Let’s have some answers before we go any further.”

Snader gave him a hard grin. “You hear everything upstairs.”

The building appeared harmless enough. Jeff looked thoughtfully at Ann.

She said, “It’s just an apartment house. We’ve come this far. Might as well go in and see what’s there.”

Snader led them in, up to the sixth floor in an elevator and along a corridor with heavy carpets and soft gold lights. He knocked on a door.

A tall, silver-haired, important-looking man opened it and greeted them heartily.

“Solid man, Greet!” he exclaimed. “You’re a real scratcher! And is this our sharp?” He gave Jeff a friendly but appraising look.

“Just what you order,” Snader said proudly. “His name--Jeff Elliott. Fine sharp. Best in his circuit. He brings his lifemate, too. Ann Elliott.”

The old man rubbed his smooth hands together. “Prime! I wish joy,” he said to Ann and Jeff. “I’m Septo Kersey. Come in. Bullen’s waiting.”

He led them into a spacious drawing room with great windows looking out on the lights of the city. There was a leather chair in a corner, and in it sat a heavy man with a grim mouth. He made no move, but grunted a perfunctory “Wish joy” when Kersey introduced them. His cold eyes studied Jeff while Kersey seated them in big chairs.

Snader did not sit down, however. “No need for me now,” he said, and moved toward the door with a mocking wave at Ann.

Bullen nodded. “You get the rest of your pay when Elliott proves out.”

“Here, wait a minute!” Jeff called. But Snader was gone.

“Sit still,” Bullen growled to Jeff. “You understand radioptics?”

The blood went to Jeff’s head. “My business is television, if that’s what you mean. What’s this about?”

“Tell him, Kersey,” the big man said, and stared out the window.

Kersey began, “You understand, I think, that you have come back in time. About six years back.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, but go on.”

“I am general manager of Continental Radioptic Combine, owned by Mr. Dumont Bullen.” He nodded toward the big man. “Chromatics have not yet been developed here in connection with radioptics. They are well understood in your time, are they not?”

“What’s chromatics? Color television?”

“Exactly. You are an expert in--ah--colored television, I think.”

Jeff nodded. “So what?”

The old man beamed at him. “You are here to work for our company. You will enable us to be first with chromatics in this time wave.”

Jeff stood up. “Don’t tell me who I’ll work for.”

Bullen slapped a big fist on the arm of his chair. “No fog about this! You’re bought and paid for, Elliott! You’ll get a fair labor contract, but you do what I say!”

“Why, the man thinks he owns you.” Ann laughed shakily.

“You’ll find my barmen know their law,” Bullen said. “This isn’t the way I like to recruit. But it was only way to get a man with your knowledge.”

Kersey said politely, “You are here illegally, with no immigrate permit or citizen file. Therefore you cannot get work. But Mr. Bullen has taken an interest in your trouble. Through his influence, you can make a living. We even set aside an apartment in this building for you to live in. You are really very luxe, do you see?”

Jeff’s legs felt weak. These highbinders seemed brutally confident. He wondered how he and Ann would find their way home through the strange streets. But he put on a bold front.

“I don’t believe your line about time travel and I don’t plan to work for you,” he said. “My wife and I are walking out right now. Try and stop us, legally or any other way.”

Kersey’s smooth old face turned hard. But, unexpectedly, Bullen chuckled deep in his throat. “Good pop and bang. Like to see it. Go on, walk out. You hang in trouble, call up here--Butterfly 9, ask for Bullen. Whole exchange us. I’ll meet you here about eleven tomorrow pre-noon.”