"All right; we'll let it go at that." She grinned at him again as the door slid shut. * * * * * Swarts came half an hour later, and Maitland began his planned offensive. "What year is this?" Swarts' steely eyes locked with his. "You know what the date is," he stated. "No, I don't. Not since yesterday." "Come on," Swarts said patiently, "let's get going. We have a lot to get through this morning." "I _know_ this isn't 1950. It's probably not even the 20th Century. Venus was a morning star before you brought me here. Now it's an evening star." "Never mind that. Come." Wordlessly, Maitland climbed to his feet, preceded Swarts to the laboratory, lay down and allowed him to fasten the straps and attach the instruments, making no resistance at all. When Swarts started saying a list of words--doubtlessly some sort of semantic reaction test--Maitland began the job of integrating "csc^3x dx" in his head. It was a calculation which required great concentration and frequent tracing back of steps. After several minutes, he noticed that Swarts had stopped calling words. He opened his eyes to find the other man standing over him, looking somewhat exasperated and a little baffled. "What year is this?" Maitland asked in a conversational tone. "We'll try another series of tests." It took Swarts nearly twenty minutes to set up the new apparatus. He lowered a bulky affair with two cylindrical tubes like the twin stacks of a binocular microscope over Maitland's head, so that the lenses at the ends of the tubes were about half an inch from the engineer's eyes. He attached tiny clamps to Maitland's eyelashes. "These will keep you from holding your eyes shut," he said. "You can blink, but the springs are too strong for you to hold your eyelids down against the tension." He inserted button earphones into Maitland's ears-- And then the show began. He was looking at a door in a partly darkened room, and there were footsteps outside, a peremptory knocking. The door flew open, and outlined against the light of the hall, he saw a man with a twelve-gauge shotgun. The man shouted, "Now I've got you, you wife-stealer!" He swung the shotgun around and pulled the trigger. There was a terrible blast of sound and the flash of smokeless powder--then blackness. With a deliberate effort, Maitland unclenched his fists and tried to slow his breathing. Some kind of emotional reaction test--what was the countermove? He closed his eyes, but shortly the muscles around them declared excruciatingly that they couldn't keep that up. Now he was looking at a girl. She.... Maitland gritted his teeth and fought to use his brain; then he had it.