_March 2, 2631_: Dear Diary: What a vexatious group! What on earth shall I do? These Romans seem to be pining away and losing interest in my tests, taking them lackadaisically, if at all. I'm sure I don't know what's wrong. I've given them the most attractive apparatus I can find, different colored little balls and pegs and objects, and brightly-lit shadow cards to study. I've piped all sorts of cheerful music into the basement and given them authentic Roman diets of the period and all they wanted to eat. They just don't seem to have any interest. I can't imagine what's wrong. * * * * * (_From the notebook of Croton Myers_) _March 2, 2631_: 11:02 P.M.:--Dial settings A-26.24, B-5.1, C-2.73779 Calibration check, Vernier check. (Run 73) Found it. Year 65, our calendar, Feb. 22, 10:15 P.M. (approx). Sixteen individuals. Time scar to present date and year. Hole plugged on or about Feb. 27. Structure therefore safe middle late Roman era, disregarding minor time-thread damage which runs out anyway. However--took general check on hunch, and hunch confirmed. There's another hole even closer to our time. I can tell by the strains on the major time-threads. No time to trace it down now. We've got about five hours worth of elasticity in the present time-fabric before there'll be (a) a time collapse, or (b) an attempt by the fabric to rearrange itself to relieve the strain. Even the rearrangement could do for us. This second hole's too close to our own period. I'm no Sherlock, but to me it adds up to only one answer--Bugsomer. I'm going over and see if I can force the information out of him. _The damn fool!_ * * * * * _March 3, 65_: TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA: Order your gladiators to stretch out this battle with the Christians. I don't want a sheep-slaughter. I want some sport. Some running around and excitement. See to it. NERO, Imp. * * * * * _March 3, 65_: TO THE EMPEROR: Hail Caesar! I will do whatever I can when the time comes. But you know how uncooperative these Christians are. They won't even pick up their swords and armor. They want to be martyrs. However, I promise that the Emperor will not be disappointed. (signed) Lictus, CAPTAIN OF THE ARENA * * * * * _Dear Diary_: I have no idea what the date is, so I just won't put any down. If the world goes topsy-turvy, it's not _my_ fault. I'm all in a flutter. I hardly know where to begin writing. I guess it all began when that pig-headed Myers came breaking into my house in the middle of the night. Breaking in, literally! My front door was locked, naturally, so he just kicked in a window and walked through it. I was down in the basement with my poor Romans, who hadn't been sleeping too well lately. I was trying to get them to take some barbiturates, but they seemed afraid to do so for some reason. They preferred to turn and toss on their cushions all night.