"A sales center?" Blote inquired. "Or a manufacturing complex?"
"Both," Dan said. "I'll just nip over and—"
"That won't be necessary, Dan," Blote said. "I'll accompany you." He took the directory, studied it.
"Remarkable! A common commodity, openly on sale, and I failed to notice it. Still, a ripe nut can fall from a small tree as well as from a large." He went to his desk, rummaged, came up with a handful of fuel cells. "Now, off to gather in the time machine." He took his place in the carrier, patted the seat beside him with a wide hand. "Come, Dan. Get a wiggle on."
Hesitantly, Dan moved to the carrier. The bluff was all right up to a point—but the point had just about been reached. He took his seat. Blote moved a lever. The familiar blue glow sprang up. "Kindly direct me, Dan," Blote demanded. "Two twenty-one Maple Street, I believe you said."
"I don't know the town very well," Dan said, "but Maple's over that way."
Blote worked levers. The carrier shot out into a ghostly afternoon sky. Faint outlines of buildings, like faded negatives, spread below. Dan looked around, spotted lettering on a square five-story structure.
"Over there," he said. Blote directed the machine as it swooped smoothly toward the flat roof Dan indicated.
"Better let me take over now," Dan suggested. "I want to be sure to get us to the right place."