As Mr. Atkins put it, "It's no different than reading a story and then having to relive the whole thing, anticipating each action and bit of dialogue. And that's precisely what this is. Only it's our lives, not fiction. We didn't like it, Gerald. We didn't like it at all! But we did something about the problem instead of merely complaining." Let me say right now that I thought the solution they came up with was nonsensical and I kept searching, all the time we talked, for ways of politely turning down the offer. Escaping to to the past was a ridiculous answer. But it was just the kind of notion that would appeal to an old-fashioned character like Mr. Atkins. I didn't tell him so, of course. I thanked him for his consideration and shook hands and felt relieved when he finally left. * * * * * My mind was made up by then. I'd back out, quit if I had to, rather than take refuge in the past to evade the future. It wasn't until I got out of the office that I realized there was no big decision to make; it was already made for me. Either I was going to die or I was going into the past--and I wasn't going to die if I could help it. But neither did I intend going into the past if I could really help _that_! When Marge realized that I wasn't merely trying to take her mind off the fatal day, she pounced on me and hugged me as though I myself had invented the time machine just to save her life! "It's wonderful, darling!" she cried. "You were right all along! Oh, how can you forgive me for making things so unbearable for you?" "About this idea of going into the past--" I said. "What's the difference when we go to," she cut in, "as long as we don't have to die?" "But I figured on telling Mr. Atkins at the last minute that all I want is a transfer--" "What's the sense of guessing?" she asked excitedly. "All we have to do is borrow a couple of Projectors and see!" I began to feel myself being squeezed into a one-way trap. I put my foot down--but where it landed was in a Grundy Projector from the people next door--and where it figuratively emerged was eleven days later, when I couldn't shut my non-physical eyes to the way the whole situation would turn out. Marge and I, with half a dozen others, were getting into a helicar. I followed them out to a house in the country. We handed in all the money we had saved and in return were given old-style clothes, ancient-looking money and a small amount of luggage. Then we all stepped into what looked like an oversized version of a Grundy Projector and vanished. [Illustration] Fight? Argue? Scheme? I didn't have a chance. * * * * * It was 1956 when we arrived in old New York. We were met by others who had pioneered the way before us and they looked after our group until we learned the ropes.