_Just now!_ He realized the truth in that moment. * * * * * Later, when that jewel of a planet had set and the stars were out, he lay on the bed, still warm with excitement and relief. He didn't have to worry any more about military secrets, or who Swarts was. Those questions were irrelevant now. And now he could accept the psychological tests at their face value; most likely, they were what they purported to be. Only one question of importance remained: What year was this? He grimaced in the darkness, an involuntary muscular expression of jubilation and excitement. The _future_! Here was the opportunity for the greatest adventure imaginable to 20th Century man. Somewhere, out there under the stars, there must be grand glittering cities and busy spaceports, roaring gateways to the planets. Somewhere, out there in the night, there must be men who had walked beside the Martian canals and pierced the shining cloud mantle of Venus--somewhere, perhaps, men who had visited the distant luring stars and returned. Surely, a civilization that had developed time travel could reach the stars! And _he_ had a chance to become a part of all that! He could spend his life among the planets, a citizen of deep space, a voyager of the challenging spaceways between the solar worlds. "I'm adaptable," he told himself gleefully. "I can learn fast. There'll be a job for me out there...." _If--_ Suddenly sobered, he rolled over and put his feet on the floor, sat in the darkness thinking. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would have to find a way of breaking down Swarts' reticence. He would have to make the man realize that secrecy wasn't necessary in this case. And if Swarts still wouldn't talk, he would have to find a way of forcing the issue. The fellow had said that he didn't need cooperation to get his results, but-- After a while Maitland smiled to himself and went back to bed. * * * * * He woke in the morning with someone gently shaking his shoulder. He rolled over and looked up at the girl who had brought him his meal the evening before. There was a tray on the table and he sniffed the smell of bacon. The girl smiled at him. She was dressed as before, except that she had discarded the white cloak. As he swung his legs to the floor, she started toward the door, carrying the tray with the dirty dishes from yesterday. He stopped her with the word, "Miss!" She turned, and he thought there was something eager in her face. "Miss, do you speak my language?" "Yes," hesitantly. She lingered too long on the hiss of the last consonant. "Miss," he asked, watching her face intently, "what year is this?" Startlingly, she laughed, a mellow peal of mirth that had nothing forced about it. She turned toward the door again and said over her shoulder, "You will have to ask Swarts about that. I cannot tell you." "Wait! You mean you don't know?" She shook her head. "I cannot tell you."