"What does he do? I mean, what's Mr. Sertant's business? The way he snoops around people sometimes, you'd think he was a private detective. You know, like Mike Hammer?" "You might call him that." "I just wanted to know if I could tell my friends I'm working for a private detective or what, but Mr. Sertant doesn't ever tell me what he does. I just sit here in case anyone comes. Who shall I say is calling, sir?" "Mr. Barwan. Tedor Barwan." "Umm." The girl said nothing, but she scowled while trying to write Tedor's name on a pad. "T-e-d-o-r B-a-r-w-a-n," he spelled it out for her. "Are you Turkish, Mr. Barwan? It sounds maybe like it's Turkish." "No." "Mr. Sertant has a funny name, too. Sertant. Excuse me please, Mister." "That's all right." "I'd better tell Mr. Sertant you are here." She flicked the intercom, and Tedor could hear a buzzer dimly in the inner office. "Mr. Sertant? There's a Mr. Tedor Barwan to see you.... Yes, sir.... You go right on in, Mr. Barwan." * * * * * Tedor thanked her, pushed through the gate, opened the door to Sertant's office, closed it behind him. Sertant got up from his desk, an Agent somewhat younger than Tedor, with red hair and very fair, almost livid skin. "Your identification please, Barwan." Tedor gave his papers to Sertant. "Excellent. It's quite a coincidence you dropped in, Barwan. We've been looking for you." "Really?" "It will save us a lot of work." Tedor was about to ask why, but Sertant began answering the question before he had the opportunity to ask it. Sertant reached into a draw of his desk, his hand emerging swiftly and with clear purpose, grasping a 20th century automatic pistol with comfortable familiarity and pointing it at Tedor. "Sit down, Barwan." Tedor sat. "You're under arrest." "This is crazy," Tedor snorted. "What for? By what authority? I think I outrank you as an Agent, anyway." "I don't doubt you do." "Then you can't arrest me." "This gun says I can. I also have orders which say I can." With his free hand Sertant groped about the top of his desk, never letting his eye leave Tedor. Presently he found a sheet of paper tucked under his blotter, passed it across the desk-top. Tedor scanned it quickly, and with mounting incredulity. It proclaimed: _HEADQUARTERS CENTURY AGENTS OFFICE OF THE CHIEF_ _To all Agents, all centuries: Important. Century Agent C-20 Tedor Barwan--now on vacation, whenabouts unknown--is to be detained on sight for possible connection with or knowledge of serious case of time tinkering. Signed. Mulid Ruscar, Chief._ "It's Ruscar's signature," said Tedor, "but I still say you can't hold me." "This gun says I can," Sertant repeated. "I'm sorry, Barwan, but those are my orders. I hardly know anything about it myself, although something seems to be popping right here in this century."