Not a guard moved, true, but the wands were still leveled. And now Vasper strode forward. Bob's knees felt weak, but he followed. Panic was upon him, so much that he felt an almost overwhelming urge to dash for the machine. As for Vasper, he spoke no word. It was evident the guards were dumbfounded, still suspicious, but powerless for the moment to halt them. And Vasper reached up, moved a hand and a door slid open. The pair entered.
Already the men outside were in motion. As one a half hundred rushed toward the door. But Vasper had it closed. "Lelan's in trouble," he called, running forward to a turret. "Hang on. We're going to Fator's quarters—to his entrance hall."
The domed ceiling melted. In one continuous motion they seemed to blend into another building, beneath another dome, more brightly lighted. There were men, guards, but Vasper groaned. "Fator is not here," he shouted.
Bob was conscious of a voice sounding in his earphone. It was high pitched, insistent. "Tell Vasper—my legs are gone. Fator—Stadium—underneath—" Lelan's voice died in a great sigh. Bob pictured the onrush of guards, blasting their friend's body bit by bit into gas. Bob shouted the words to Vasper, who nodded. They made the arena field first, and there was Godi, racing toward them and pointing toward the tower overlooking the stadium entrance. Then Godi reached the tower, pointed downward.
Even as Godi pointed vigorously into the earth, he seemed to swell, to grow abruptly, into a white cloud that became mist. Guards were coming across the field. Vasper circled the machine above the dissolving mist. Then, with an air of decision, he pointed the machine earthward.
This was no sudden transition by means of fourth-dimensional powers. The machine struck, and they became the center of an exploding mass of soil and masonry. And as quickly, they dived into a great, underground chamber.
There, visible to the invaders, was Fator. There were two beds, side by side. One held Jim Kenley, bared to the waist. Forg was stretched upon the other. Fator had his hands upraised, and Vasper got down, ran to the exit and waved his hand. "You take Fator. I'll take care of Jim," he called. Bob was outside as quickly. He realized the chance they must take now. Let the screens pour in a horde of guards and the machine's security for them would vanish. Fator was fumbling for a wand. It had fallen to the floor. Now Fator was bent over, hand outstretched. Bob made a dive. He struck the director of Taval, sent him beyond reach.
Vasper was racing toward the machine with Jim's body. Forg made feeble efforts to raise as Bob, the death wand in his possession, grabbed Fator's arm. "Get up," he snarled. "You kill no buddy of mine, for his body. Get up, or I'll blow you out of Taval."
Fator wasn't calm now. He looked wolfish, screaming curses, clawing for the wand. He resisted, and Bob started dragging him. And now men did pour forth from screens, wands before them. "Blast him," Fator shouted. "Quick—"
Bob yanked Fator around, holding him as a screen. He held the wand before him. "Okay," he said. "Let's start."
It was a bluff. Vasper shouted encouragement. But Fator fought, and almost pulled away, while guards circled at a safe distance, hesitating to attack. They followed, till Bob was below the machine entrance. It was a three-foot climb, and Fator himself laughed. "When he turns to push me in, use the ray," he ordered.
Bob stood there. He was stymied. He heard Vasper talking. He must be talking to Jim. Then Bob felt a hand. "Jim's coming around," he said. "Hold tight when we pull." Hands slid under both shoulders. Fator let out a scream of sheer terror now, and both Jim and Vasper tugged. Guards ran toward them. Vasper calmly snatched Bob's wand. He made a quick flip and the room became a cloud of white mist. Then, as he and Jim pulled Bob and Fator inside, Vasper closed the door and jumped for the control turret. Fator was still struggling, but Bob and Jim held to him, as Vasper directed. Up through the earth they roared and the stadium field was in bold relief, for one brief moment. It was Bob's last glimpse of Taval. For the roaring increased, and the ports admitted a nightmare of flashing, ever-changing lights, coupled with deepest darkness. Then the roaring stopped. The lights slowed. Motion ceased; Vasper climbed down, stared at Fator thoughtfully. "Your brain can hunt a body—in the Sixth Century," he said.
Bob saw green fields, the ocean in the distance, blue and dotted with sails. They were atop a hill, and vineyards stretched downward, to a city at the water's edge. Fator stared, then nodded. "I was too ambitious," he sighed. "Too ambitious." He stepped down, without a backward look. Vasper closed the door, and when he reached the controls, the roaring, and the succession of shifting colored lights, like tinted lightning, recommenced. Bob had no idea how long it took them. Jim, looking pale, suddenly woke up fully. "Gosh," he shouted. "I wish we could go back, for a while," he called.
"Why?" Bob wanted to know.
"Why—right away my Yanks and Cubs were to tangle for a five-game series, and Lelan's to pitch for the Cubs."
Bob looked at Vasper, who smiled sadly, shook his head. Bob didn't explain what had happened to Lelan, who had given his life for this friend from the Twentieth Century. Then the machine jolted to earth. It was night outside. Vasper opened the door, extended his hand. "That glow is your home city," he said. "You have been away exactly sixty-one days, my friends. Perhaps you can explain that both were taken to hospitals out of the city during the excitement, after the great storm, and your identities were lost, due to great stress."
Bob nodded. "Yes, that can be explained. We'll arrange that, Vasper. But now, the problem is—well, you. Come and live with us. We'll make it up, for all this."
But Vasper shook his head. "No. I would be difficult to explain, perhaps. Or at least, my conveyance, eh?" He smiled.
"But you can't go back to Taval," Jim protested. "You've broken a half dozen laws, and swiped their precious machine."
"True. I doubt I could ever return," Vasper affirmed. He sighed. "I've been something I regret now. Very much. But life has its compensations, Bob and Jim. Perhaps I would have kept right on, kidnaping, as you say, to bolster up our civilization. But Fator's discovery—that made the difference. It is possible there might be a revolt in Taval. I can discover that, by visiting a later time than the year 3300. Meanwhile," he added, "there are some many periods of our history I want to investigate. From the beginning. Think of that. The stone age. The ice ages. When the world was young. I can go when and where I please, right on down the ages. What a story I could dictate, when I grow old."
"You make me want to join you," Bob muttered. But he already felt a curiosity about Kerla Research, and the rebuilding. He could think of a particular restaurant, and of shows, and people he wanted to talk with again. Jim put it into words. "Boy-oh-boy. Shows. Who won the Belmont. And they're thinking of the Series—and football. And all the gang—they'll want to know where I recovered, huh. And my folks—" Jim's voice broke. As for Vasper, he put an arm about Jim's shoulder. Then he came over, pressed Bob's hand. "Maybe," he smiled, "I might visit you, some time, and take you for—well a sort of leave. If you care."
"Care! I'll make it my vacation this same time next year. For a month. We'll go back—and forward too. And Jim—"
"You're wrong there," Jim said flatly. "I'll entertain Vasper here, in good old 1940, or 45. But I'm not leaving this place, unless," he added, "I can run up ahead six months some time, and get the series and Bowl game results. You know, just for luck."
And that was that. Vasper reentered the golden tinted machine. They could see him, silver headgear gleaming, through the turret plastic hood. He waved a hand. Then a roar, and the machine was gone.
Below, lights of a row of cars marked a highway. Bob and Jim, both silent, trudged down the hill, toward the highway. Once more they must live where time and space counted very much indeed.