"Yes. I shall advise him. He has been back to your century. He delayed, for your benefit. You shall learn, upon seeing him."
Vasper had brought back two more young men. Likewise, he had some magazines and newspapers. He delivered these in Jim's presence and the latter grabbed for the sports pages. Bob picked up his choice paper. There was a headline, and pictures.
THREE DEAD, 47 HURT IN TORNADO
Bob saw pictures of twisted buildings, wreckage, littering streets. The entire downtown section of his home city had suffered. Kerla Research structures had been particularly hard hit. And there, at the bottom of the page, was his own photograph.
YOUNG DIRECTOR OF KERLA RESEARCH LOST, read the caption.
Many bodies were still buried in debris, Bob read, and it was assumed Bob had met such a fate. Jim interrupted. "Sa-a-ay. The Cincy Reds are coming right back. Can you tie that? And the Cards—sa-a-ay. The Nationals will be all tied up again this year. And—" Jim crushed the paper, tossed it away. He got up, face pale.
Bob laid his paper aside, walked over and patted Jim's shoulder. "They said it was a tornado, just as we got kidnaped, Jim. I'm supposed to be killed. And maybe you. We'll have to forget it, Jim."
"I wish to hell Vasper hadn't stopped on his way back. Or—that's the particular hell of it. Vasper going back. And coming just like coming home on the bus. And look at us. Look at us. Now I want to get back. Back home. To hell with this—all of it."
"Hush Jim. Shut up." Vasper looked sorry. He shook his head. "I thought I was doing you a favor," he apologized. "To tell the truth, I had never seen such a storm, and I wanted to know how—how intense it was myself. We—we almost gave up taking you back because of the disturbance."
"I wish it had blown you to the year 50,000," Jim said bitterly. "Now I'm thinking of Yanks and Reds and Cubs, and football and racing, and—of everything."