well, dressed in her favorite comfortable clothes and set off to rendezvous with her coconspirator, Alan. Her backpack was filled but not stuffed with some essentials, should she survive. She used no special medications, and, if she survived, when Clarence and dear Peggy joined her in the past, she would have the services of a fine physician at her disposal. The essentials, rather than the usual things women of her somewhat advanced age might bring along, consisted of two favorite books, the small leather photo album with pictures of herself and her late husband, two changes of underwear and stockings, a long nightgown (in preparation for mixed company until everyone was settled), a flashlight, extra batteries, a Swiss Army Champion with every sort of blade imaginable, a topographical map of the immediate area and a lensatic compass, bought as G.I. surplus.
Alan had met her at the control truck, asked her if she’d like to come in—she declined—and helped her to the canvas-backed folding chair in which she sat. He had told her, his voice held to a conspiratorial tone, that he had contrived a wild-goose chase for Clarence and Peggy, so that they would not be in the area when the time transfer experiment took place. Jane Rogers thought that quite wise.
Lost in reverie, she was vaguely surprised when Alan was by her side again and asking her a question.
“Did you just ask if I wanted a gun?”
“Well, there are wild animals in these mountains, even today, and more so a century ago. And in the past, of course, you might encounter some disreputable person and—”
“Alan, I have no quarrel with persons who choose to own, use or even carry firearms. It is a Constitutional right, as it is my right to profess total ignorance of the use of firearms. So, were you to insist that I lugged along such a contrivance, it would be of little use to me, unless it were shaped like a softball bat or a frying pan, both of which I know how to use in my own defense.”
“I see.”
Alan had excused himself to attend to some technical details, he said, but was gone for fewer than five minutes. Upon his return, they set out toward the capsule.
The capsule was roughly the size and shape of the space capsules utilized by the Mercury astronauts in the early days of the United States space program, but would be more comfortable.The interior was littered with precious little instrumentation, merely two television monitors with which to view the surroundings of the capsule at almost any angle, a blood pressure and heart rate monitor and an oxygen tank and mask.
“Who ordered the oxygen tank!?”
“I thought that it might be—”
Jane was determined not to let Alan outtalk her. “If the Naile family arrived alive, they did so without oxygen tanks and masks. However, from the wreckage photos, it appears that there was some sort of fire, perhaps electrical. A fire extinguisher, yes. Oxygen! I should say not! I have no wish whatsoever to be incinerated, young man.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And he shouted over his shoulder toward the knot of technicians, “Deep-six the oxygen, guys!”
The day was bright and clear, the sky a perfect blue punctuated by marvelously fluffy white clouds and higher, thin wisps of cloud, these in long, graceful tendrils stretching in series almost like protein chains from horizon to horizon.
Alan, handsome lad that he was, suggested, “I think, Dr. Rogers, that it might be best to get started.”
“Time is money,” she told him, thinking herself mean-spirited for saying so.
“Not at all. I merely want to make certain that we’re well underway, at least, before Clarence and Peggy might return. Clarence’s temper, you know.”
“Of course. I meant no slight. Will you see that the results of my initial studies and the work of your personnel are properly documented and published?”
“Documented, to be sure. Published? Perhaps not advisable, unless you want 1898 to get awfully crowded.”
“Well put, young man. Well put.”
“May I kiss you, Dr. Rogers?”
“Are you that afraid for me?”
“Either way, it is good-bye, and I hate saying good-bye to a beautiful woman. Always a failing of mine and a worse failing with my great-grandfather.”
“Really—”
“Please? Not to be mercenary, but you wouldn’t be here on the threshold of discovery without my help.”
“Really!”
“Then, as a memory of a voyage I shall never take?”
“Do you always get your way with women?”
Alan smiled wolfishly. “Actually, you probably wouldn’t want to know.”
“Shame on you. Yes, a solitary—”
Despite the difference in their ages, Jane Rogers