Strang sat bolt upright on the cot, his head spinning. The thought had
broken through crystal clear in the darkness, revealed itself for the
briefest instant, then swirled down again into the foggy gulf. Agent?
Why should he have an agent? What purpose? Frantically he scanned his
memory for Drengo, down along the dark channels, searching. Drengo had
come through the fire, into the burning building, carried him like a
child through the flames into safety. Drengo had been best man at his
wedding--but he'd been married before the bombing of the city. _Or had
he?_ Where did Drengo fit in? Was the fire the first time he had seen
Drengo?
Something deep in his mind forced its way through, saying NO! YOU HAVE
KNOWN HIM ALL YOUR LIFE! Roger fought it back, frantically. Never!
Back in Iowa there had been no Drengo. Nor in Chicago. Nor in New
York. He hadn't even known him in--IN NEW ALBANY!
* * * * *
Roger Strang was on his feet, shaking, cold fear running through his
body, his nerves screaming. Had they ruined his mind? He couldn't
think straight any more. Telling him things that weren't true, forcing
lies into his mind--frightening him with the horrible conviction that
his mind was really helpless, full of false data. What had happened to
him? Where had the thought of "New Albany" come from? He shivered, now
thoroughly frightened. There wasn't any "New Albany." Nowhere in the
world. There just _wasn't_ any such place.
_Could he have two memories? Conflicting memories?_
He walked shakily to the door, peered through the small peephole. In
the morning they would try again, they had said. He shuddered,
terribly afraid. He had felt his mind cracking under the last
questioning; another would drive him completely insane. But Drengo
would have the answers. Why had he shot little Davey? How did that fit
in? Was this false-credential business part of some stupendous scheme
against him? Impossible! But what else? He knew with sudden certain
conviction that he must see Martin Drengo, immediately, before they
questioned him again, before the fear and uncertainty drove him out of
his mind. He called tentatively through the peephole, half-hoping to
catch a guard's attention. And the call echoed through silent halls.
And then he heard Ann's voice, clear, cool, sharp in the prison
darkness. Roger whirled, fear choking the shouts still ringing in his
ears, gaped at the woman who stood in his cell--
She was lovelier than he had ever seen her, her tiny body clothed in a
glowing fabric which clung to every curve, accenting her trim figure,
her slender hips. Brown hair wreathed her lovely face, and Roger
choked as the deep longing for her welled up in his throat.
Speechlessly he took her in his arms, holding her close, burying his
face in her hair, sobbing in joy and relief. And then he saw the
glowing circle behind her, casting its eerie light into the far
corners of the dark cell. In fiery greenness the ring shimmered in an
aurora of violent power, but Ann paid no attention to it. She stepped
back and smiled at him, her eyes bright. "Don't be frightened," she
said softly, "and don't make any noise. I'm here to help you."
"But where did you come from?" The question forced itself out in a
sort of strangled gasp.
"We have--means of going where we want to. And we want you to come
with us." She pointed at the glowing ring. "We want to take you back
to the time-area from which you came."
Roger goggled at her, confusion welling strong into his mind again.
"Ann," he said weakly. "What kind of trick is this?"
She smiled again. "No trick," she said. "Don't ask questions, darling.
I know you're confused, but there isn't much time. You'll just have to
do what I say right now." She turned to the glowing ring. "We just
step through here. Be careful that you don't touch the substance of
the portal going through."
Roger Strang approached the glowing ring curiously, peered through,
blinked, peered again. It was like staring at an inscrutable
flat-black surface in the shadow. No light reflected through it;
nothing could be seen. He heard a faint whining as he stood close to
the ring, and he looked up at Ann, his eyes wide. "You can't see
through it!" he exclaimed.
Ann was crouching on the floor near a small metallic box, gently
turning knobs, checking the dial reading against a small chronometer
on her wrist. "Steady, darling," she said. "Just follow me, carefully,
and don't be afraid. We're going back home--to the time-area where we
belong. You and I. I know--you don't remember. And you'll be puzzled,
and confused, because the memory substitution job was very thorough.
But you'll remember Martin Drengo, and John Morrel, and me. And I was
your wife there, too--Are you ready?"
Roger stared at the ring for a moment. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"How far ahead? Or behind--?"
"Ahead," she said. "Eighty years ahead--as far as we can go. That will
bring us to the present time, the _real_ present time, as far as we,
and you, are concerned."
She turned abruptly, and stepped through the ring, and vanished as
effectively as if she had disintegrated into vapor. Roger felt fear
catch at his throat; then he followed her through.
They were standing in a ruins. The cell was gone, the prison, the
Barrier Base. The dark sky above was bespeckled with a myriad of
stars, and a cool night breeze swept over Roger's cheek. Far in the
distance a low rumble came to his ears. "Sounds like a storm coming,"
he muttered to Ann, pulling his jacket closer around him.
"No storm," she said grimly. "Look!" She pointed a finger toward the
northern horizon. Brazen against the blackness the yellow-orange of
fire was rising, great spurts of multi-colored flames licking at the
horizon. The rumble became a drone, a roar. Ann grasped Roger's arm
and pulled him down to cover in the rubble as the invisible squadron
swished across the sky, trailing jet streams of horrid orange behind
them. Then to the south, in the direction of the flight, the drone of
the engines gave way to the hollow boom-booming of bombing, and the
southern horizon flared. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the
rumble died away, leaving the flames licking the sky to the north and
south.