LITMIR.BIZ

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the televisor itself have to be on the same time level for them to operate. We might modify the screen, even modify the televisor so that we could travel in time, but it will take a lot of research, a lot of work. And especially it will take a whale of a lot of power.”

      “We have the power,” said Greg.

      Russ moved the lighter back and forth over the tobacco, igniting it carefully. Clouds of blue smoke swirled around his head. He spoke out of the smoke.

      “Right now,” he said, “we better see how Craven and our other friends are getting along. I didn’t like the way Stutsman was talking or the way he was swinging that gun around. And Chambers wasn’t anywhere in sight. There’s something screwy about the entire thing.”

      *

      “What are we going to do now?” demanded Stutsman.

      Craven grinned at him. “That’s up to you. Remember, you’re the master mind around here. You took over and said you were going to run things.” He waved a casual hand at the shattered machines, the ripped-out apparatus. “Well, there you are. Go ahead and run the joint.”

      “But you will have to help,” pleaded Stutsman, his face twisted until it seemed that he was suffering intense physical agony. “You know what to do. I don’t.”

      Craven shook his head. “There isn’t any use starting. Manning will be along almost anytime now. We’ll wait and see what he has in mind.”

      “Manning!” shrieked Stutsman, waving the pistol wildly. “Always Manning. One would think you were working for Manning.”

      “He’s the big shot out in this little corner of space right now,” Craven pointed out. “There isn’t any way you can get around that.”

      Stutsman backed carefully away. His gun came up and he looked at Craven appraisingly, as if selecting his targets.

      “Put down that gun,” said a voice.

      Gregory Manning stood between Stutsman and Craven. There had been no foggy forerunner of his appearance. He had just snapped out of empty air.

      Stutsman stared at him, his eyes widening, but the gun remained steady in his hand.

      “Look out, Craven,” warned Greg. “He’s going to fire and it will go right through me and hit you.”

      *

      There was the thump of a falling body as Craven hurled himself out of his chair, hit the floor and rolled. Stutsman’s gun vomited flame. The spouting flame passed through Greg’s image, blasted against the chair in which Craven had sat, fused it until it fell in on itself.

      “Russ,” said Greg quietly, “disarm this fellow before he hurts somebody.”

      An unseen force reached out and twisted the gun from Stutsman’s hand, flung it to one side. Swiftly Stutsman’s hands were forced behind his back and held there by invisible bonds.

      Stutsman cried out, tried to struggle, but he was unable to move. It was as if giant hands had gripped him, were holding him in a viselike clutch.

      “Thanks, Manning,” said Craven, getting up off the floor. “The fool would have shot this time. He’s threatened it for days. He has been developing a homicidal mania.”

      “We don’t need to worry about him now,” declared Greg. He turned around to face Craven. “Where’s Chambers?”

      “Stutsman locked him up,” said Craven. “I imagine he has the key in his pocket. Locked him up in the stateroom. Chambers jumped him and tried to take the gun away from him and Stutsman laid him out, hit him over the head. He kept Chambers locked up after that. Hasn’t allowed anyone to go near the room. Hasn’t even given him food and water. That was three days ago.”

      “Get the key out of his pocket,” directed Greg. “Go and see how Chambers is.”

      Alone in the control room with Stutsman, Greg looked at him.

      “I have a score to settle with you, Stutsman,” he said. “I had intended to let it ride, but not now.”

      “You can’t touch me,” blustered Stutsman. “You wouldn’t dare.”

      “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

      “You’re bluffing. You’ve got a lot of tricks, but you can’t do the things you would like me to think you can. You’ve got Chambers and Craven fooled, but not me.”

      “It may be that I can offer you definite proof.”

      Chambers staggered over the threshold. His clothing was rumpled. A rude bandage was wound around his head. His face was haggard and his eyes red.

      “Hello, Manning,” he said. “I suppose you’ve won. The Solar System must be in your control by now.”

      He lifted his hand to his mustache, brushed it, a feeble attempt at playing the old role he’d acted so long.

      “We’ve won,” said Greg quietly, “but you’re wrong about our being in control. The governments are in the hands of the people, where they should be.”

      Chambers nodded. “I see,” he mumbled. “Different people, different ideas.” His eyes rested on Stutsman and Greg saw sudden rage sweep across the gray, haggard face. “So you’ve got him, have you? What are you going to do with him? What are you going to do with all of us?”

      “I haven’t had time to think about it,” said Greg. “I’ve principally been thinking about Stutsman here.”

      “He mutinied,” rasped Chambers. “He seized the ship, turned the crew against me.”

      “And the penalty for that,” said Greg, quietly, “is death. Death by walking in space.”

      Stutsman writhed within the bands of force that held him tight. His face contorted. “No, damn you! You can’t do that! Not to me, you can’t!”

      “Shut up,” roared Chambers and Stutsman quieted.

      “I was thinking, too,” said Greg, “that at his order thousands of people were mercilessly shot down back in the Solar System. Stood against a wall and mowed down. Others were killed like wild animals in the street. Thousands of them.”

      *

      He moved slowly toward Stutsman and the man cringed.

      “Stutsman,” he said, “you’re a butcher. You’re a stench in the nostrils of humanity. You aren’t fit to live.”

      “Those,” said Craven, “are my sentiments exactly.”

      “You hate me,” screamed Stutsman. “All of you hate me. You are doing this because you hate me.”

      “Everyone hates you, Stutsman,” said Greg. “Every living person hates you. You have a cloud of hate hanging over you as black and wide as space.”

      The man closed his eyes, trying to break free of the bonds.

      “Bring me a spacesuit,” snapped Greg, watching Stutsman’s face.

      Craven brought it and dropped it at Stutsman’s feet.

      “All right, Russ,” said Greg. “Turn him loose.”

      Stutsman swayed and almost fell as the bands of force released him.

      “Get into that suit,” ordered Greg.

      Stutsman hesitated, but something he saw in Greg’s face made him lift the suit, step into it, fasten it about his body.

      “What are you going to do with me?” he whimpered. “You aren’t going to take me back to Earth again, are you? You aren’t going to make me stand trial?”

      “No,” said Greg, gravely, “we aren’t taking you back to Earth. And you’re standing trial right now.”

      Stutsman read his fate in the

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