It suddenly occurred to him to wonder how, if the machine could not move a person into the future, if it had no real existence in this time, they expected to move guns and ammunition. Did the laws of time operate differently for living organisms and inanimate things? What was it someone had once said about life—'islands of reverse entropy'? But that was only a figure of speech, men were still made up of the same elements as steel and brass—
Well, it could wait, there were more important things right now. "You need a hand?" he asked Moirta.
She smiled and nodded breathlessly.
As he stooped to help lift the box, their heads almost touched. "Listen!" he whispered, "be on your toes, now. I'm going to try something. Stay on this side of the machine, no matter what happens, and do just as I say."
She looked startled, but nodded.
With four of them working, it did not take long to pile the cargo in place. Brown checked it over with his eye and then turned to study Dolan.
"Well," he said slowly, "I suppose we are ready to go. No doubt you wish your payment now, eh, Mr. Dolan?"
This was the critical point. Dolan tensed as Smith stepped clear and lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Brown, his hand in his hip-pocket; but the senior gun runner shook his head. "Don't be stupid," he said quietly. "I think we have a few negotiations to make now." He looked at Dolan inquiringly.
Dolan hoped his relief did not show too clearly. He had been reasonably sure Brown would be too acute to kill him off-hand, but it had been a tricky moment, just the same. Now, he thought, play it cagey, make them lay it out on the table, get it moving—
"I'm no good at guessing games," he said. "You'll have to come down to my level on this."