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been asleep allthat time?"

  "Not exactly," Brett-James said, frowning.

  Reston-Farrell said, "Suffice to say, you are now one hundred andseventy-three years after the last memory you have."

  Joe Prantera's mind suddenly reverted to those last memories and hiseyes narrowed dangerously. He felt suddenly at bay. He said, "Maybe youguys better let me in on what's this all about."

  Reston-Farrell said, "Mr. Prantera, we have brought you from your era toperform a task for us."

  Joe stared at him, and then at the other. He couldn't believe he wasgetting through to them. Or, at least, that they were to him.

  Finally he said, "If I get this, you want me to do a job for you."

  "That is correct."

  Joe said, "You guys know the kind of jobs I do?"

  "That is correct."

  "Like hell you do. You think I'm stupid? I never even seen you before."Joe Prantera came abruptly to his feet. "I'm gettin' outta here."

  For the second time, Reston-Farrell said, "Where would you go, Mr.Prantera?"

  Joe glared at him. Then sat down again, as abruptly as he'd arisen.

  * * * * *

  "Let's start all over again. I got this straight, you brought me, somescrewy way, all the way ... here. O.K., I'll buy that. I seen what itlooks like out that window--" The real comprehension was seeping throughto him even as he talked. "Everybody I know, Jessie, Tony, the Kid, BigLouis, everybody, they're dead. Even Big Louis."

  "Yes," Brett-James said, his voice soft. "They are all dead, Mr.Prantera. Their children are all dead, and their grandchildren."

  The two men of the future said nothing more for long minutes while JoePrantera's mind whirled its confusion.

  Finally he said, "What's this bit about you wanting me to give it tosome guy."

  "That is why we brought you here, Mr. Prantera. You were ... you are, aprofessional assassin."

  "Hey, wait a minute, now."

  Reston-Farrell went on, ignoring the interruption. "There is small pointin denying your calling. Pray remember that at the point when we ..._transported_ you, you were about to dispose of a contemporary namedAlphonso Annunziata-Rossi. A citizen, I might say, whose demise wouldprobably have caused small dismay to society."

  They had him pegged all right. Joe said, "But why me? Why don't you getsome heavy from now? Somebody knows the ropes these days."

  Brett-James said, "Mr. Prantera, there are no professional assassins inthis age, nor have there been for over a century and a half."

  "Well, then do it yourself." Joe Prantera's irritation over this wholecomplicated mess was growing. And already he was beginning to long forthe things he knew--for Jessie and Tony and the others, for his favoritebar, for the lasagne down at Papa Giovanni's. Right now he could havewelcomed a calling down at the hands of Big Louis.

  Reston-Farrell had come to his feet and walked to one of the largeroom's windows. He looked out, as though unseeing. Then, his backturned, he said, "We have tried, but it is simply not in us, Mr.Prantera."

  "You mean you're yella?"

  "No, if by that you mean afraid. It is simply not within us to take thelife of a fellow creature--not to speak of a fellow man."

  Joe snapped: "Everything you guys say sounds crazy. Let's start all overagain."

  Brett-James said, "Let me do it, Lawrence." He turned his eyes to Joe."Mr. Prantera, in your own era, did you ever consider the future?"

  Joe looked at him blankly.

  "In your day you were confronted with national and international,problems. Just as we are today and just as nations were a century or amillennium ago."

  "Sure, O.K., so we had problems. I know whatcha mean--like wars, anddepressions and dictators and like that."

  "Yes, like that," Brett-James nodded.

  The heavy-set man paused a moment. "Yes, like that," he repeated. "Thatwe confront you now indicates that the problems of your day were solved.Hadn't they been, the world most surely would have destroyed itself.Wars? Our pedagogues are hard put to convince their students that suchever existed. More than a century and a half ago our society eliminatedthe reasons for international conflict. For that matter," he addedmusingly, "we eliminated most international boundaries. Depressions?Shortly after your own period, man awoke to the fact that he hadachieved to the point where it was possible to produce an abundance forall with a minimum of toil. Overnight, for all practical purposes, thewhole world was industrialized, automated. The second industrialrevolution was accompanied by revolutionary changes in almost everyfield, certainly in every science. Dictators? Your ancestors found, Mr.Prantera, that it is difficult for a man to be free so long as othersare still enslaved. Today the democratic ethic has reached a pinnaclenever dreamed of in your own era."

  "O.K., O.K.," Joe Prantera growled. "So everybody's got it made. What Iwanta know is what's all this about me giving it ta somebody? Ifeverything's so great, how come you want me to knock this guy off?"

  Reston-Farrell bent forward and thumped his right index finger twice onthe table. "The bacterium of hate--a new strain--has found the humanrace unprotected from its disease. We had thought our vaccines immunizedus."

  "What's that suppose to mean?"

  Brett-James took up the ball again. "Mr. Prantera, have you ever heardof Ghengis Khan, of Tamerlane, Alexander, Caesar?"

  Joe Prantera scowled at him emptily.

  "Or, more likely, of Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin?"

  "Sure I heard of Hitler and Stalin," Joe growled. "I ain't stupid."

  The other nodded. "Such men are unique. They have a drive ... a drive topower which exceeds by far the ambitions of the average man. They aregenii in their way, Mr. Prantera, genii of evil. Such a genius of evilhas appeared on the current scene."

  "Now we're getting somewheres," Joe snorted. "So you got a guy what's alittle ambitious, like, eh? And you guys ain't got the guts to give itto him. O.K. What's in it for me?"

  The two of them frowned, exchanged glances. Reston-Farrell said, "Youknow, that is one aspect we had not considered."

  Brett-James said to Joe Prantera, "Had we not, ah, taken you at the timewe did, do you realize what would have happened?"

  "Sure," Joe grunted. "I woulda let old Al Rossi have it right in theguts, five times. Then I woulda took the plane back to Chi."

  Brett-James was shaking his head. "No. You see, by coincidence, a policesquad car was coming down the street just at that moment to arrest Mr.Rossi. You would have been apprehended. As I understand Californian lawof the period, your life would have been forfeit, Mr. Prantera."

  Joe winced. It didn't occur to him to doubt their word.

  Reston-Farrell said, "As to reward, Mr. Prantera, we have already toldyou there is ultra-abundance in this age. Once this task has beenperformed, we will sponsor your entry into present day society.Competent psychiatric therapy will soon remove your present--"

  "Waita minute, now. You figure on gettin' me candled by some headshrinker, eh? No thanks, Buster. I'm going back to my own--"

  Brett-James was shaking his head again. "I am afraid there is no return,Mr. Prantera. Time travel works but in one direction, _with_ the flow ofthe time stream. There can be no return to your own era."

  Joe Prantera had been rocking with the mental blows he had beenassimilating, but this was the final haymaker. He was stuck in thissquaresville of a world.

  * * * * *

  Joe Prantera on a job was thorough.

  Careful, painstaking, competent.

  He spent the first three days of his life in the year 2133 getting thefeel of things. Brett-James and Reston-Farrell had been appointed towork with him. Joe didn't meet any of the others who belonged to thegroup which had taken the measures to bring him from the past. He didn'twant to meet them. The fewer persons involved, the better.

  He stayed in the apartment of Reston-Farrell. Joe had been right,Reston-Farrell was a medical doctor. Brett-James evidently had somethingto do with the proce
ss that had enabled them to bring Joe from the past.Joe didn't know how they'd done it, and he didn't care. Joe was arealist. He was here. The thing was to adapt.

  There didn't seem to be any hurry. Once the deal was made, they left itup to him to make the decisions.

  They drove him around the town, when he wished to check the trafficarteries. They flew him about the whole vicinity. From the air, SouthernCalifornia looked much the same as it had in his own time. Oceans,mountains, and to a lesser extent, deserts, are fairly permanent evenagainst man's corroding efforts.

  It was while he was flying with Brett-James on the second day that Joesaid, "How about Mexico? Could I make the get to Mexico?"

  The physicist looked at him questioningly. "Get?" he said.

  Joe Prantera said impatiently, "The getaway. After I give it to thisHoward Temple-Tracy guy, I gotta go on the run, don't I?"

  "I see." Brett-James cleared his throat. "Mexico is no longer a separatenation, Mr. Prantera. All North America has been united into one unit.Today, there are only eight nations in the world."

  "Where's the nearest?"

  "South America."

  "That's a helluva long way to go on a get."

  "We hadn't thought of the matter being handled in that manner."

  Joe eyed him in scorn. "Oh, you didn't, huh? What happens after I giveit to this guy? I just sit around and wait for the cops to put the armon me?"

  Brett-James grimaced in amusement. "Mr. Prantera, this will probably bedifficult for you to comprehend, but there are no police in this era."

  Joe gaped at him. "No police! What happens if you gotta throw some guyin stir?"

  "If I understand your idiom correctly, you mean prison. There are noprisons in this era, Mr. Prantera."

  Joe stared. "No cops, no jails. What stops anybody? What stops anybodyfrom just going into some bank, like, and collecting up all the bread?"

  Brett-James cleared his throat. "Mr. Prantera, there are no banks."

  "No banks! You gotta have banks!"

  "And no money to put in them. We found it a rather antiquated method ofdistribution well over a century ago."

  Joe had given up. Now he merely stared.

  Brett-James said reasonably, "We found we were devoting as much time tofinancial matters in all their endless ramifications--including bankrobberies--as we were to productive efforts. So we turned to moreefficient methods of distribution."

  * * * * *

  On the fourth day, Joe said, "O.K., let's get down to facts. Summa thethings you guys say don't stick together so good. Now, first place,where's this guy Temple-Tracy you want knocked off?"

  Reston-Farrell and Brett-James were both present. The three of them satin the living room of the latter's apartment, sipping a sparkling winewhich seemed to be the prevailing beverage of the day. For Joe's tasteit was insipid stuff. Happily, rye was available to those who wanted it.

  Reston-Farrell said, "You mean, where does he reside? Why, here in thiscity."

  "Well, that's handy, eh?" Joe scratched himself thoughtfully. "You gotsomebody can finger him for me?"

  "Finger him?"

  "Look, before I can give it to this guy I gotta know some place wherehe'll be at some time. Get it? Like Al Rossi. My finger, he works inRossi's house, see? He lets me know every Wednesday night, eighto'clock, Al leaves the house all by hisself. O.K., so I can make plans,like, to give it to him." Joe Prantera wound it up reasonably. "Yougotta have a finger."

  Brett-James said, "Why not just go to Temple-Tracy's apartment and, ah,dispose of him?"

  "Jest walk in, eh? You think I'm stupid? How do I know how manywitnesses hangin' around? How do I know if the guy's carryin' heat?"

  "Heat?"

  "A gun, a gun. Ya think I'm stupid? I come to give it to him and hegives it to me instead."

  Dr. Reston-Farrell said, "Howard Temple-Tracy lives alone. Hecustomarily receives visitors every afternoon, largely potentialfollowers. He is attempting to recruit members to an organization he isforming. It would be quite simple for you to enter his establishment anddispose of him. I assure you, he does not possess weapons."

  Joe was indignant. "Just like that, eh?" he said sarcastically. "Thenwhat happens? How do I get out of the building? Where's my get carparked? Where do I hide out? Where do I dump the heat?"

  "Dump the heat?"

  "Get rid of the gun. You want I should get caught with the gun on me?I'd wind up in the gas chamber so quick--"

  "See here, Mr. Prantera," Brett-James said softly. "We no longer havecapital punishment, you must realize."

  "O.K. I still don't wanta get caught. What _is_ the rap these days,huh?" Joe scowled. "You said they didn't have no jails any more."

  "This is difficult for you to understand, I imagine," Reston-Farrelltold him, "but, you see, we no longer punish people in this era."

  That took a long, unbelieving moment to sink in. "You mean, like, nomatter what they do? That's crazy. Everybody'd be running around givingit to everybody else."

  "The motivation for crime has been removed, Mr. Prantera,"Reston-Farrell attempted to explain. "A person who commits a violenceagainst another is obviously in need of medical care. And, consequently,receives it."

  "You mean, like, if I steal a car or something, they just take me to adoctor?" Joe Prantera was unbelieving.

  "Why would anybody wish to steal a car?" Reston-Farrell said easily.

  "But if I _give it_ to somebody?"

  "You will be turned over to a medical institution. Citizen HowardTemple-Tracy is the last man you will ever kill, Mr. Prantera."

  A chillness was in the belly of Joe Prantera. He said very slowly, verydangerously, "You guys figure on me getting caught, don't you?"

  "Yes," Brett-James said evenly.

  "Well then, figure something else. You think I'm stupid?"

  "Mr. Prantera," Dr. Reston-Farrell said, "there has been as muchprogress in the field of psychiatry in the past two centuries as therehas in any other. Your treatment would be brief and painless, believeme."

  Joe said coldly, "And what happens to you guys? How do you know I won'trat on you?"

  Brett-James said gently, "The moment after you have accomplished yourmission, we plan to turn ourselves over to the nearest institution tohave determined whether or not we also need therapy."

  "Now I'm beginning to wonder about you guys," Joe said. "Look, all overagain, what'd'ya wanta give it to this guy for?"

  The doctor said, "We explained the other day, Mr. Prantera. CitizenHoward Temple-Tracy is a dangerous, atavistic, evil genius. We areafraid for our institutions if his plans are allowed to mature."

  "Well if you got things so good, everybody's got it made, like, who'dlisten to him?"

  The doctor nodded at the validity of the question. "Mr. Prantera, _Homosapiens_ is a unique animal. Physically he matures at approximately theage of thirteen. However, mental maturity and adjustment is often notfully realized until thirty or even more. Indeed, it is sometimes neverachieved. Before such maturity is reached, our youth are susceptible toromantic appeal. Nationalism, chauvinism, racism, the supposed glory ofthe military, all seem romantic to the immature. They rebel at theorderliness of present society. They seek entertainment in excitement.Citizen Temple-Tracy is aware of this and finds his recruits among theyoung."

  "O.K., so this guy is dangerous. You want him knocked off before hescrews everything up. But the way things are, there's no way of making aget. So you'll have to get some other patsy. Not me."

  "I am afraid you have no alternative," Brett-James said gently. "Withoutus, what will you do? Mr. Prantera, you do not even speak the language."

  "What'd'ya mean? I don't understand summa the big words you eggheadsuse, but I get by O.K."

  Brett-James said, "Amer-English is no longer the language spoken by theman in the street, Mr. Prantera. Only students of such subjects anylonger speak such tongues as Amer-English, French, Russian or the manyothers that once confused the race with thei
r limitations as a means ofcommunication."

  "You mean there's no place in the whole world where they talk American?"Joe demanded, aghast.

  * * * * *

  Dr. Reston-Farrell controlled the car. Joe Prantera sat in the seat nextto him and Warren Brett-James sat in the back. Joe had, tucked in hisbelt, a .45 caliber automatic, once displayed in a museum. It had beenmore easily procured than the ammunition to fit it, but that problem toohad been solved.

  The others were nervous, obviously repelled by the very conception ofwhat they had planned.

  Inwardly, Joe was amused. Now that they had got in the clutch, theothers were on the verge of chickening out. He knew it wouldn't havetaken much for them to cancel the project. It wasn't any answer though.If they allowed him to call it off today, they'd talk themselves into itagain before the week was through.

  Besides, already Joe was beginning to feel the comfortable, pleasurable,warm feeling that came to him on occasions like this.

  He said, "You're sure this guy talks American, eh?"

  Warren Brett-James said, "Quite sure. He is a student of history."

  "And he won't think it's funny I talk American to him, eh?"

  "He'll undoubtedly be intrigued."

  They pulled up before a large apartment building that overlooked thearea once known as Wilmington.

  Joe was coolly efficient now. He pulled out the automatic, held it downbelow his knees and threw a shell into the barrel. He eased the hammerdown, thumbed on the safety, stuck the weapon back in his belt andbeneath the jacketlike garment he wore.

  He said, "O.K. See you guys later." He left them and entered thebuilding.

  An elevator--he still wasn't used to their speed in this era--whooshedhim to the penthouse duplex occupied by Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy.

  There were two persons in the reception room but they left on Joe'sarrival, without bothering to look at him more than glancingly.

  He spotted the screen immediately and went over and stood before it.

  The screen lit and revealed a heavy-set, dour of countenance man seatedat a desk. He looked into Joe Prantera's face, scowled and saidsomething.

  Joe said, "Joseph Salviati-Prantera to interview Citizen HowardTemple-Tracy."

  The other's shaggy eyebrows rose. "Indeed," he said. "In Amer-English?"

  Joe nodded.

  "Enter," the other said.

  A door had slid open on the other side of the room. Joe walked throughit and into what was obviously an office. Citizen Temple-Tracy sat at adesk. There was only one other chair in the room. Joe Prantera ignoredit and remained standing.

  Citizen Temple-Tracy said, "What can I do for you?"

  Joe looked at him for a long, long moment. Then he reached down to hisbelt and brought forth the .45 automatic. He moistened his lips.

  Joe said softly, "You know what this here is?"

  Temple-Tracy stared at the weapon. "It's a handgun, circa, I would say,about 1925 Old Calendar. What in the world are you doing with it?"

  Joe said, very slowly, "Chief, in the line you're in these days youneeda heavy around with wunna these. Otherwise, Chief, you're gunna windup in some gutter with a lotta holes in you. What I'm doin', I'm askin'for a job. You need a good man knows how to handle wunna these, Chief."

  Citizen Howard Temple-Tracy eyed him appraisingly. "Perhaps," he said,"you are right at that. In the near future, I may well need an assistantknowledgeable in the field of violence. Tell me more about yourself. Yousurprise me considerably."

  "Sure, Chief. It's kinda a long story, though. First off, I better tellyou you got some bad enemies, Chief. Two guys special, named Brett-Jamesand Doc Reston-Farrell. I think one of the first jobs I'm gunna hafta dofor you, Chief, is to give it to those two."

  THE END

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from _Analog_ December 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.