Within three minutes, Leland Hale was firmly planted in the rear seat of the car beside the Director of the Museum of Cultural History, while the uniformed men sat in front, one of them tooling the vehicle off down the narrow concrete roadway toward the city of Grosstat.
"Tell me," said Leland Hale, "how did all this come about? The news releases were very sketchy."
Rudolf Mier leaned back comfortably in his seat and allowed a look of semi-concentration to envelope his face.
"Well, it all began a couple of centuries ago—back during Dachboden's lifetime. That's when the Museum was founded, you know." Then he stopped and looked at Hale. "Ah—do you know? I mean, are you acquainted with the history of Apfahl?"
Hale looked properly embarrassed, "I'm afraid I know very little, Doctor. In spite of Dachboden's fame, Apfahl has not shared that fame as it properly should. Let us say that, although Apfahl basks in the glory of her renowned son, she doesn't reflect too much of it. You will have to assume I know absolutely nothing, I'm afraid."
"I see," said Mier. "Well, then, at any rate, the Museum was founded by a group of our forefathers for the purpose of preserving the unique heritage that is Apfahl's. In accordance with this ideal, they proposed to bury a time capsule containing contemporary artifacts. You are acquainted with the practice, I assume?"
"It's quite common," said Hale.
"As it should be. Each age should take pains to be sure that the ensuing age does not lose its heritage."
"Of course." Hale honestly didn't see why it should—if Hale could ever be said to do anything honestly. Anything worth preserving was not the sort of junk that was usually put in a time capsule. Oh, well—
"The capsule is of the standard type," Mier continued. "Hermetically sealed, with a tamper-proof time lock activated by a radio-decay clock. It's set to open at ——" He rattled off a string of numbers, and then went on to explain the Apfahlian calendar, winding it up with: "Our calendar is very scientific."