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"Yet an there be one of thy folk here," said Gwen, "wherefore can he not care for us?"

"Who said it was a he?"

"Why…" Gwen looked at Rod. "I would ha' thought…"

Yorick shook his head. "All we ask is that an agent be capable."

"Then thine agent here is female?"

"Now, I didn't say that." Yorick held up a palm. "And I'm not about to, either. The whole point is that our agent has managed to establish a very good cover, and we don't want to blow it. Stop and think about it—can you figure out who it is?"

Rod stared at the ape-man for a moment, then shook his head. "You're right—I can't."

Gwen turned to gaze about them, her eyes losing focus.

"Uh-uh, milady!" Yorick wagged a forefinger at her. "No fair reading minds. It's better for us all if you don't know who it is! After all, what you don't know, you can't let slip."

"So they sent in a special agent," Rod said, "you. After all, if your cover's blown, it won't be any major tragedy."

"I wasn't planning to use it again, anyway." Yorick nodded.

"Thus thou'rt come in aiding us to return to our home!"

Yorick kept nodding. "Going to try, anyway. I've got a time-beacon with me. All I have to do is push the button, and it'll send a teeny ripple going through the time-stream. When that ripple hits the receiver in Doc Angus' headquarters, he'll know exactly when and where we are, so he'll be able to shoot us all the spare parts for making a time machine. And I'll put them together, press the button— and voila! You'll be home!"

Rod frowned. "But why can't he just press a button and pick us up? I mean, he shot you here without a time machine to receive you, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't work both ways." Yorick shrugged. "Don't ask me why—I'm just the bullet. I don't understand the gun, milord."

"Uh, can the 'milord' business." Rod darted nervous glances around the room. "I don't think they'd understand it here."

"Suits." Yorick shrugged again. "What do you want me to call you?"

"How about, uh—'major?' They'd recognize that, and it's legit; I'm just not in the same army, that's all."

"Any way you want it, Major."

"Thanks." Rod hunched forward, frowning. "Now, about time-travel. Why does it only work one way?"

"I said not to ask me that!" Yorick winced. "What do I know? I'm just a dumb caveman. But I think it's sorta like— well, you can throw a spear, but you can't make it fly back to you. Understand?"

"You can tie a rope to it." Rod remembered reading every other chapter of Moby Dick.

"A rope five hundred years long? Gets a little weak in the middle, Major. And five hundred is a short haul, where I come from."

Rod felt an attack of stubbornness coming on. "It should be possible, though."

"Okay, so maybe it is, but Doc Angus just hasn't figured out how to do it yet. And I get the impression that no one ever will."

"Watch out for the absolutes." Rod raised a cautioning finger. "The boys up the time-line might just not have told you yet."

"Possible," Yorick admitted, "but not probable. We're both fighting the same enemies—and if SPITE saw a chance to get the jump on VETO, you can bet they'd leap at it— especially a jump like that! And if the VETO boys thought they could get an edge on SPITE, they'd grab it, too."

"And they would both rejoice to gain advantage over thy GRIPE," Gwen added.

"Oh, you betcha, lady!" *

"Well, I guess we all have to take McAran's word for it." Rod pushed back his chair and stood up. "Might as well get moving on it, eh? It's going to be kind of hard, trying to find a place in this colony where we can be alone for a couple of hours."

"Well, more like sixteen, really." Yorick stood up, too. "It takes a little time, getting the components through. Not to mention putting them together." He turned to Gwen. "If you'll excuse us, milady…"

"Nay, I will not." Gwen was already coming around the table. "Whither mine husband goeth, I go."

"Oh. Don't think I can take care of myself yet, eh?" Rod grinned. "Or don't you trust me out of your sight?"

"Somewhat of both, mayhap." Gwen tucked her arm through his. "Yet whate'er the cause, thou shalt not leave me. Lead on. Master Yorick."

"Any way you want it, milady." The ape-man laid some IDE bills on the table and turned to the door.

Rod eyed the money with appreciation. "You do come prepared, don't you?"

"Huh?" Yorick turned back and saw where Rod was looking. "Oh! Just the basic survival kit, Major. We have one ready for every time and clime."

Rod turned away to the door with him. "Y' know, it's kind of funny that this outlying planet would still use IDE paper money, even after the government that printed it has died."

"Why? It's not really paper, y' know, it's a very tough plastic. It'll last forever—or a couple of centuries, at least."

"Well, yeah, but it doesn't have any value in itself. It's only as good as the government that printed it."

"Yeah, but it still works just fine, if everybody believes in it—and they do. Helps that it's based on energy—their basic monetary unit was the BTU. So many BTUs equal a kwaher—a kilowatt-hour—and so many kwahers equal a therm. So the money supply only gets increased when there's more energy available within the interplanetary system as a whole."

"Yeah, if the government doesn't rev up the printers!"

"Ah, but the government doesn't exist anymore." Yorick held up a finger. "It can't inflate the currency now."

"Nice bit of irony." Rod smiled. "The IDE's currency is more sound now that the government that made it has disappeared, than it was while that government was alive and kicking."

"Mostly kicking, at least toward the end. I mean, they were even doing everything they could to bump off Cholly, over there, just because he came up with some wild theories."

"Cholly?" Rod turned to stare at the barkeeper. "Mr. Nice

Guy himself? Why would the IDE want to kill him off?"

"Well, not the IDE, really—just the LORDS, the majority party that engineered the big coup d'etat, and set up the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra."

"Before they even came to power?"

Yorick nodded. "And SPITE and VETO are still trying to finish the job. That's one of our agent's main jobs— protecting Cholly and his establishment."

"What's so important about a tavern?"

"Oh, the tavern's just a front. His real establishment is just an idea and a method, with a set of tried-and-true techniques. People who need a reason for living take his method and go out and do the same kind of work, all on their own." Yorick grinned. "Drives PEST crazy. They keep trying to find out how his organization works—who gives the orders, and how they're transmitted—but there isn't any organization! Just ideas…"

"Sounds fabulous. What's his real work?"

"Mass education—without the masses realizing they're being educated. Cholly is Charles T. Barman, Major."

Rod froze, staring at the cheery tavernkeeper. "That!?! That is the man who created the educational system that gave birth to the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal?"

"Yeah, but he's only just now doing the creating, so the DDT's very vulnerable right at this time-locus, five centuries before it'll be born. If anything happens to Cholly, the DDT "revolution' might never happen. You see why we don't want to compromise our agent here. Don't stare, Major— it makes you conspicuous. Shall we go?"

"Uh—yeah." Rod turned away, feeling numb. "Yeah, sure. Let's go."

"Nar, let's not," rumbled the sergeant.

He wasn't all that big himself, but the troops behind him filled the doorway. Rod stared, shocked—it was the slob from the Wall that morning, Thaler's buddy. But he'd gone through a complete metamorphosis, and maybe even a shower. His uniform was neat and crisp, his cheeks were shaven, and his hair was combed. "Amazing," he murmured.