"Ummm, yeah, I see," Dolan said. He squatted and examined the power unit more closely. "One of these pairs now--" he traced them with his finger up to the control unit, "must be the control pair." He took a piece of chalk and began numbering the terminals rapidly. "Now," he said, "if the control pair is shorted, the power should be on, but there must be overload protection of some kind, that's probably kicked out, so let's just cut all this junk loose and then short the possible control pairs one at a time, see what happens then." He reached for a pair of side-cutters. The three gun runners looked at each other. Brown nodded slightly. They moved quickly back out of Dolan's way. * * * * * "OK," Dolan said half an hour later. "We've got the power unit perking, and we've got the pictures. Now what do they mean? This block interwiring diagram now, it seems to be what I'm looking for, but I can't read the tags they've got on it. You know which block in the diagram corresponds to which piece of equipment?" Brown studied the luminous white lines against the black polished background. He put a well-manicured finger on one square. "According to the lettering," he said, "this is the control unity, the small cube at the top with the buttons. This other, I do not know, it says: 'temporal re-integrator.' I do not know what that might be." Dolan frowned doubtfully. "'Temporal re-integrator'," he repeated. "Could be anything. What do the others say?" Among the litter the first electrician had left, there was a short length of lead-shielded two-conductor number 14 wire. He picked it up and began to run it absently through his fingers, straightening it. Someone had apparently amused themselves by clipping idly at it with a pair of side-cutters, it was irregularly nicked along its length. "This," Brown continued, "is something called a 'selective resonator', and this, well, the term does not translate, it is a--" he pronounced carefully, as if unfamiliar with the word, "'bractor-quatic'--" There was something peculiar about the indentations in the wire, Dolan realized, a pattern--He pulled it unobtrusively through his fingers again, letting his thumbnail run over the nicks. It was Morse: K-I-T-T-E ... _kitten?_ ... no, it must be American Morse ... K-I-L-L-E-R ... _killers hs end rvr rd_ Killers in the house at the end of River Road. This was the house at the end of River Road. Brown had stopped speaking and was looking at him questioningly. "Uh, yeah," Dolan said hastily. "Well, that still doesn't tell me too much." He carefully rolled the length of wire and hung it on a projecting piece of the time translator. His hands were damp, and he was sure he was moving awkwardly and unnaturally. Dolan was not an easily flustered person, but things were coming a little fast--mysterious aliens, time machines, and now--murder, or hint of it. He needed time to think.