Cole moved--fast. He raced, head down, back along the path to the cart, toward the street. Something hit him. A wall of force, throwing him down on his face. He sprawled in a heap, numb and dazed. His body ached, vibrating wildly, out of control. Waves of shock rolled over him, gradually diminishing. He got shakily to his feet. His head spun. He was weak, shattered, trembling violently. The man was coming down the walk after him. Cole pulled himself onto the cart, gasping and retching. The horses jumped into life. Cole rolled over against the seat, sick with the motion of the swaying cart. He caught hold of the reins and managed to drag himself up in a sitting position. The cart gained speed, turning a corner. Houses flew past. Cole urged the team weakly, drawing great shuddering breaths. Houses and streets, a blur of motion, as the cart flew faster and faster along. Then he was leaving the town, leaving the neat little houses behind. He was on some sort of highway. Big buildings, factories, on both sides of the highway. Figures, men watching in astonishment. After awhile the factories fell behind. Cole slowed the team down. What had the man meant? Fifth Atomic War. Horses destroyed. It didn't make sense. And they had things he knew nothing about. Force fields. Planes without wings--soundless. Cole reached around in his pockets. He found the identification tube the man had handed him. In the excitement he had carried it off. He unrolled the tube slowly and began to study it. The writing was strange to him. For a long time he studied the tube. Then, gradually, he became aware of something. Something in the top right-hand corner. A date. October 6, 2128. Cole's vision blurred. Everything spun and wavered around him. October, 2128. Could it be? But he held the paper in his hand. Thin, metal paper. Like foil. And it had to be. It said so, right in the corner, printed on the paper itself. Cole rolled the tube up slowly, numbed with shock. Two hundred years. It didn't seem possible. But things were beginning to make sense. He was in the future, two hundred years in the future. While he was mulling this over, the swift black Security ship appeared overhead, diving rapidly toward the horse-drawn cart, as it moved slowly along the road. Reinhart's vidscreen buzzed. He snapped it quickly on. "Yes?" "Report from Security." "Put it through." Reinhart waited tensely as the lines locked in place. The screen re-lit. "This is Dixon. Western Regional Command." The officer cleared his throat, shuffling his message plates. "The man from the past has been reported, moving away from the New York area." "Which side of your net?" "Outside. He evaded the net around Central Park by entering one of the small towns at the rim of the slag area." "_Evaded?_" "We assumed he would avoid the towns. Naturally the net failed to encompass any of the towns." Reinhart's jaw stiffened. "Go on."