Bob did so. The girl arose and stood waiting placidly by his side. Diktor spoke to her. She looked puzzled, but moved out of the room. “I told her that, notwithstanding her new s~tatus, you wished her to continue serving breakfast.”
Diktor resumed his explanations while the service of the meal continued. The next course was brought in by Arma and another girl. When Bob saw the second girl he let out a low whistle. He realized he had been a little hasty in letting Diktor give him Arma. Either the standard of pulchritude had gone up incredibly, he decided, or Diktor went to a lot of trouble in selecting his servants.
“—for that reason,” Diktor was saying, “it is necessary that you go back throigh the Time Gate at once. Your first job is to bring this other chap back. Then there is one other task for you to do, and we’ll be sitting pretty. After that it is share and share alike for you and me. And there is plenty to share, I—You aren’t listening!”
“Sure I was, chief. I heard every word you said.” He fingered his chin. “Say, have you got a razor I could borrow? I’d like to shave.”
Diktor swore softly in two languages. “Keep your eyes off those wenches and listen to me! There’s work to bedone.”
“Sure, sure. I understand that—and I’m your man. When do we start?” Wilson had made up his mind some time ago—just shortly after Arma
had entered with the tray of fruit, in fact. He felt as if he had walked into some extremely pleasant dream. If cooperation with Diktor would cause that dream to continue, so be it. To hell with an academic career!
Anyhow, all Diktor wanted was for him to go back where he started and persuade another guy to go through the Gate. The worst that could happen was for him to find himself back in the twentieth century. What could he lose?
Diktor stood up. “Let’s get on with it,” he said shortly, “before you get your attention diverted again. Follow me.” He set off at a brisk pace with Wilson behind him.
Diktor took him to the Hall of the Gate and stopped. “All you have to do,” he said, “is to step through the Gate. You will find yourself back in your own room, in your own time. Persuade the man you find there to go through the Gate. We have need of him. Then come back yourself.”
Bob held up a hand and pinched thumb and forefinger together. “It’s in the bag, boss. Consider it done.” He started to step through the Gate.
“Wait!” commanded Diktor. “You are not used to time travel. I warn you that you are going to get one hell of a shock when you step through. This~ other chap—you’ll recognize him.”
“Who is he?”
“I won’t tell you because you wouldn’t understand. But you will when you see him. Just remember this—There are some very strange paradoxes connected with time travel. Don’t let anything you see throw you. You do what I tell you to and you’ll be all right.”
“Paradoxes don’t worry me,” Bob said confidently. “Is that all? I’m ready.”
“One minute.” Diktor stepped behind the raised dais. His head appeared above the side a moment later. “I’ve set the controls. Okay. Go!”
Bob Wilson stepped through the locus known as the Time Gate. There was no particular sensation connected with the transition. It was like stepping through a curtained doorway into a darker room. He paused for a moment on the other side and let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. He was, he saw, indeed in his own room.
There was a man in it, seated at his own desk. Diktor had been right about that. This, then, was the chap he was to send back through the Gate. Diktor had said he would recognize him. Well, let’s see who it is.
He felt a passing resentment at finding someone at his desk in his room, then thought better of it. After all, it was just a rented room; when he disappeared, no doubt it had been rented again. He had no way of telling