"Rats!" I said scornfully. "Speak for yourself, Hallowell!" But Lancelot Biggs nodded.
"He's right. We still have twenty minutes. It is not right that you of another age should share our fate. We must get the temporal deflector into operation, send all of you back—"
Hank cried sharply, "Just us? Why not everybody, Lanse? Let's all escape to the twentieth century. The whole kit an' kiboodle!"
But Biggs shook his head.
"I'm afraid that is impossible, Hank. There are limitations to temporal transmission. You and your friends can enter our time because there is no natural barrier, but we cannot violate the established world-line of things that have been. We never were in your time, therefore we cannot now go there. But, wait—"
He spun swiftly to a wall-audio, spoke to the engine room below.
"Get the deflector ready. We're sending our guests back!" Then, nodding to all of us, "If you will come with me—"
We started for the door. But we had taken just a few steps when the audio buzzed. Biggs answered its call, listened for a moment, cried out,
"But Garrity, are you absolutely sure? It can't be! It mustn't be!"