nk, Doc."

Reston-Farrell said, "Of course," and then something else Joe didn't
get. Whatever the something else was, a slot opened in the middle of the
table and a glass, so clear of texture as to be all but invisible, was
elevated. It contained possibly three ounces of golden fluid.

Joe didn't allow himself to think of its means of delivery. He took up
the drink and bolted it. He put the glass down and said carefully,
"What's it all about, huh?"

Warren Brett-James said soothingly, "Prepare yourself for somewhat of a
shock, Mr. Prantera. You are no longer in Los Angeles--"

"Ya think I'm stupid? I can see that."

"I was about to say, Los Angeles of 1960. Mr. Prantera, we welcome you
to Nuevo Los Angeles."

"Ta where?"

"To Nuevo Los Angeles and to the year--" Brett-James looked at his
companion. "What is the date, Old Calendar?"

"2133," Reston-Farrell said. "2133 A.D. they would say."

Joe Prantera looked from one of them to the other, scowling. "What are
you guys talking about?"

Warren Brett-James said softly, "Mr. Prantera, you are no longer in the
year 1960, you are now in the year 2133."

He said, uncomprehendingly, "You mean I been, like, unconscious for--"
He let the sentence fall away as he realized the impossibility.

Brett-James said gently, "Hardly for one hundred and seventy years, Mr.
Prantera."

Reston-Farrell said, "I am afraid we are confusing you. Briefly, we have
_transported_ you, I suppose one might say, from your own era to ours."

Joe Prantera had never been exposed to the concept of time travel. He
had simply never associated with anyone who had ever even remotely
considered such an idea. Now he said, "You mean, like, I been asleep all
that time?"

"Not exactly," Brett-James said, frowning.

Reston-Farrell said, "Suffice to say, you are now one hundred and
seventy-three years after the last memory you have."

Joe Prantera's mind suddenly reverted to those last memories and his
eyes narrowed dangerously. He felt suddenly at bay. He said, "Maybe you
guys better let me in on what's this all about."

Reston-Farrell said, "Mr. Prantera, we have brought you from your era to
perform a task for us."

Joe stared at him, and then at the other. He couldn't believe he was
getting through to them. Or, at least, that they were to him.

Finally he said, "If I get this, you want me to do a job for you."

"That is correct."

Joe said, "You guys know the kind of jobs I do?"

"That