present time, the _real_ present time, as far as we,
and you, are concerned."

She turned abruptly, and stepped through the ring, and vanished as
effectively as if she had disintegrated into vapor. Roger felt fear
catch at his throat; then he followed her through.

They were standing in a ruins. The cell was gone, the prison, the
Barrier Base. The dark sky above was bespeckled with a myriad of
stars, and a cool night breeze swept over Roger's cheek. Far in the
distance a low rumble came to his ears. "Sounds like a storm coming,"
he muttered to Ann, pulling his jacket closer around him.

"No storm," she said grimly. "Look!" She pointed a finger toward the
northern horizon. Brazen against the blackness the yellow-orange of
fire was rising, great spurts of multi-colored flames licking at the
horizon. The rumble became a drone, a roar. Ann grasped Roger's arm
and pulled him down to cover in the rubble as the invisible squadron
swished across the sky, trailing jet streams of horrid orange behind
them. Then to the south, in the direction of the flight, the drone of
the engines gave way to the hollow boom-booming of bombing, and the
southern horizon flared. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the
rumble died away, leaving the flames licking the sky to the north and
south.

Roger shivered. "War," he said. "Eurasia?"

She shook her head. "If only it were. There is no Eurasia now. The
dictator took care of that. Nothing but gutted holes, and rubble." She
stood up, helping Roger to his feet. Together they filed through the
rubbish down to a roadway. Ann dialed a small wrist radio; in a few
moments, out of the dark sky, the dim-out lights of a small 'copter
came into view, and the machine settled delicately to the road. Two
strange men were inside; they saluted Ann, and helped Roger aboard.
Swiftly they clamped down the hatch tight, and the ship rose again
silently into the air.

"Where are we going?" asked Roger Strang.

"We have a headquarters. Our data must be checked first. We can't
reach a decision without checking. Then we can talk."

The 'copter swung high over the blazing inferno of a city far below.
Strang glanced from the window, eyes widening at the holocaust. The
crater holes were mammoth, huge spires of living flame rising to the
sky, leaving mushroom columns of gray-black smoke that glowed an evil
red from the furnace on the ground. "Not Eurasia?" Roger asked
suddenly, his mind twisting in amazement. "But