"I think that's the term," said Karson. "Lugert's a throwback--a man out of the past. A man out of your time, suddenly reborn in our era for God knows what reason. He's cold and hard and utterly ruthless. Nothing stops him; we're powerless. The compulsion against violence is too strong in us." "Just a bunch of patsies," Jack said. "Lugert snaps the whip and you all lie down and play dead when he says so. That it?" It took Karson a few moments to digest the strange idioms. Finally he said, "Right. He began small, with petty thefts and burglaries--he took anything he wanted. Then he began branching out. He compelled a scientist to create a serum for him that would instill absolute loyalty to him in anyone who took it; using that serum, he's built up a band of henchmen who shares his violent ways. Two days ago he decided to make the ultimate grab for power: he ordered us to evacuate the Government Building and let him take over." "And you said yes," Jack remarked. "What else could we do? But we have a weapon: you. You share Lugert's way of life; we don't. We can strike at him indirectly, through you." "You want me to kill this Lugert. What's in it for me?" "What?" "I said, what's in it for me? What do I get out of it besides the risk of a punctured hide? I don't do these things for my health, Karson." Karson thought about that for a moment. "Of course; there would have to be some reward, wouldn't there? Well, what would you want? We can supply virtually anything, if you'll do the job properly. Osmiridium? Sapphires? Books? Women?" The man named Jack shook his head. "Gold," he said. Karson was startled. "Gold? But why would you want--oh, very well. Gold was the reigning object of value in your day, wasn't it? Would 25 pounds be enough?" The man from the past smiled unwarmly. "Quite enough," he said. "You got yourself a deal." * * * * * The man named Jack cautiously approached the big building that served as headquarters for Lugert until the time when he would move into the sprawling area of the Government Building. Jack wore modern clothes; his own shabby ancient ones were carefully stored away in a laboratory closet. His hair was close-cropped in the current fashion. But inside his skull was the mind of a 20th-century man. And hidden in the folds of his vest was a 20th-century automatic, a snubnosed .38 ready to spit death. The day was 5 September 2531; he had been in this strange world of the future three days and if all went well he would return to his own time today. He had spent the three days studying the approach to Lugert's headquarters, familiarizing himself with the layout, readying himself for the killing that had to be done. He was thinking, _Funny old duck, that Karson. They all are. Imagine, letting someone like Lugert push them all over the place because all the fight's been bred out of them!_