ht back--for
comparison and proof. Aim low--at the chest."

Conger weighed the gun in his hands. "It feels good," he said. "I know
this gun--that is, I've seen them before, but I never used one."

The Speaker nodded. "You will be instructed on the use of the gun and
the operation of the cage. You will be given all data we have on the
time and location. The exact spot was a place called Hudson's field.
About 1960 in a small community outside Denver, Colorado. And don't
forget--the only means of identification you will have will be the
skull. There are visible characteristics of the front teeth, especially
the left incisor--"

Conger listened absently. He was watching two men in white carefully
wrapping the skull in a plastic bag. They tied it and carried it into
the crystal cage. "And if I should make a mistake?"

"Pick the wrong man? Then find the right one. Don't come back until you
succeed in reaching this Founder. And you can't wait for him to start
speaking; that's what we must avoid! You must act in advance. Take
chances; shoot as soon as you think you've found him. He'll be someone
unusual, probably a stranger in the area. Apparently he wasn't known."

Conger listened dimly.

"Do you think you have it all now?" the Speaker asked.

"Yes. I think so." Conger entered the crystal cage and sat down, placing
his hands on the wheel.

"Good luck," the Speaker said.

"We'll be awaiting the outcome. There's some philosophical doubt as to
whether one can alter the past. This should answer the question once and
for all."

Conger fingered the controls of the cage.

"By the way," the Speaker said. "Don't try to use this cage for purposes
not anticipated in your job. We have a constant trace on it. If we want
it back, we can get it back. Good luck."

Conger said nothing. The cage was sealed. He raised his finger and
touched the wheel control. He turned the wheel carefully.

He was still staring at the plastic bag when the room outside vanished.

For a long time there was nothing at all. Nothing beyond the crystal
mesh of the cage. Thoughts rushed through Conger's mind, helter-skelter.
How would he know the man? How could he be certain, in advance? What had
he looked like? What was his name? How had he acted, before he spoke?
Would he be an ordinary person, or some strange outlandish crank?

Conger picked up the Slem-gun and held it against his cheek. The metal
of the gun was cool and smooth. He practiced moving