spot--" Gregory pointed to a ten-foot circle in front of a bank of
sleek-cabineted, dial-studded machines "--with any set of space-time
coordinates in the universe. However, to avoid disruption of the
structure of space-time, we must return you to approximately the same
point in space-time."

Benson nodded again, this time at the confirmation of his earlier
suspicion. Well, while he was alive, he still had a chance.

"All right; tell me exactly what you want me to do."

* * * * *

A third outbreak of bedlam, this time of relief and frantic explanation.

"Shut up, all of you!" For so thin a man, Carl had an astonishing voice.
"I worked this out, so let me tell it." He turned to Benson. "Maybe I'm
tougher than the rest of them, or maybe I'm not as deeply conditioned.
For one thing, I'm tone-deaf. Well, here's the way it is. Gregory can
set the machine to function automatically. You stand where he shows you,
press the button he shows you, and fifteen seconds later it'll take you
forward in time five seconds and about a kilometer in space, to The
Guide's office. He'll be at his desk now. You'll have forty-five seconds
to do the job, from the time the field collapses around you till it
rebuilds. Then you'll be taken back to your own time again. The whole
thing's automatic."

"Can do," Benson agreed. "How do I kill him?"

"I'm getting sick!" Paula murmured weakly. Her face was whiter than her