"You're really pretty sure of this thing, ain't you, Doc?"
Wordlessly, the old Martian rose from his bench, pressed a stud on the side of a bulky automatic cataloguing file. He returned with several objects that Robbin could only identify from his memory of the history tapes he'd studied as a boy.
"I could say you've been capering in museums, Doc, but I guess I know better...." He turned the objects around in his hands. A 19th century Colt revolver. An ornate dagger from perhaps the scabbard of a Spanish nobleman who had lived and died a thousand years ago. A book of names and numbers—MANHATTAN TELEPHONE DIRECTORY—1967 was printed on its cover.
"I warped Space to effect your rescue, Robbin. I can warp Time to hide you. The Patrol is growing in efficiency and in sheer numbers—there's no hiding place for you in Space, lad. None. Not even—here."
Cutlass knew he was right. If they found him here, it'd be the colony again for Doc. He owed him too much, for his father as well as himself, to let that happen. And anywhere else, sooner or later—
"I guess you win, Doc. But I've still got questions. I step into the cylinder—and then where'll I be? What'll I be? Suppose I don't like it where I end up? I'm sick of the sight of space police—or any other kind of police."
"I'll place you on Earth, because you're native to it, Robbin, and have a knowledge of its history. And—I'll try to pick a time that suits a young fellow of your talents! And if you don't like it, you have only to use this—"
Cutlass fingered the small object, was fascinated as it glittered with all the blended colors of the sun despite the blue-green shadows that fell everywhere about it. It was the shape and size of an old-fashioned cigarette-lighter, and made of some hard, smooth metal that doubtless was of Doc's own forging. The only break in its smooth surface was a round, countersunk button colored like a ruby.
"No matter where you find yourself in Space or Time," he heard Doc saying, "press the button—hold it down hard. And I'll know you're either bored or—" the withered old face smiled gently, "in trouble that you can't battle your way out of! I'll have you in another space-time within seconds."