As for security, a job, he'd lived through Heartbreak Ridge; and after that, any more economic peril came out as strictly anticlimax. Losing The Girl--well, he had no choice but to admit it bruised his ego. Yet, on the other hand, it relieved him of all the gnawing inner doubts, the secret hesitations at her coolness. The Professor? Another disappointment. But the mere fact that an idol's feet turned out to be of clay hardly rated as a unique discovery. At any rate, he'd survive it. So, what did that leave of his losses? He cringed. That was the way with dreams. They were so hard to give up. And he'd worked towards this one for so long. Now, there was nothing left to do but face the facts: he'd never have a chance at Crete; never really know for sure why Knossos fell. Unless-- Burke stopped short. What had The Professor said? That he'd destroy the time inverter first thing tomorrow morning? Which still left tonight, didn't it? It was a thought to appall any man in his right mind. For while The Professor admitted to small progress with the machine, he also said frankly that he was completely stymied in the most vital area: while he had succeeded in transporting objects from present to past on an experimental basis, he couldn't move them even an instant into the future. Carrying this a step further, anything sent into the past stayed there. It couldn't be returned to the present. And that meant that if anyone named Dion Burke should prove so mad as to send himself back to Bronze Age Crete, there he'd stay, with no chance ever of return to Twentieth Century United States. It was a thought to numb a man. Yet, was it really so insane? After all, what was more important to him than that he learn the truth about the fall of ancient Knossos? What else could satisfy him, after all these years? Even if he died, it wouldn't matter too much. His parents were already gone, his friends mostly on the casual side. For the first time, now, it dawned on Burke that rain was splattering in his face. It felt good. His clothes and shoes--he didn't even care that they were ruined. Pivoting, he started the long tramp back to his apartment. There, for comfort, he took a hot shower; then put on a clean, dry outfit. It seemed like a good idea, also, to check his watch, fill his cigarette lighter, and stow the old five-shot Smith & Wesson thirty-eight he'd inherited from his father in the waistband of his trousers. By the time he'd completed all such arrangements, the rain had stopped. Here and there, stars shone amid the thin clouds overhead. * * * * *