Sensei had just managed to calm him down on their way to the pickup after that evil Chinese future-bitch had tried to mind-fuck him right in the hallway. He looked over at Jan while the man pulled off with a sure steady hand on the wheel and he felt confident that his team leader was a man worth following into danger.

Look at this old dude, as cool as a cucumber just driving away.

“Thank you Sensei. Sorry I almost lost it back there but that bitch drives me up a wall. She’s just using my little brother and she goes out of her way to rub my nose in it—enough of that.”

“No problem Randy. Do you have our route worked out?”

“Take us up Ninety Five the back way, through Dundalk, and then up Eastern Avenue to the Essex park-and-ride. That’s a good place to leave your truck. We will not be able to return with anything electronic or magnetic—that will all get trashed if we take it. So we won’t be calling for a pickup and those future motherfuckers will be on our ass in a heartbeat when we come back. This beats trying to get Burton through modern airports though. Also insertions close to a known geographical feature are our best bet for maintaining our bearings from Time to Time. Unless we are downtown there will not be a building we could recognize.”

Prep him for your atrocious liberties with the mission parameters, just a little.

“Look Sensei, you have to trust me here. Our handlers don’t give a shit about us. They just want the goods. They would probably prefer one of us to die back there so that the survivor could bring back two instead of one—we’re just fucking biological equipment to them. I’ve got a plan to increase our survivability.”

Jan gave him a curious sideways glance. “I’m all about survival. I haven’t lived to be this old by taking unnecessary risks.”

They parked the Tacoma just across the Back River Bridge at 10:04 a.m. right next to a so-called Smart Car lost in a small lot of parked commuter cars.

Yeah all of you pathetic lemmings, I remember what it felt like heading to work every accursed weekday morning like a steer up the meat-chute. And they say Hell awaits us—ha.

When they crossed the street to catch an eastbound bus a small middle-aged black-haired man with thin face, worn flannel shirt and shredded blue jeans was waiting. He looked up nervously at Randy, flashed a worried look at Jan and then stuck his hands in his pockets and tried to smile.

There is your little jonesing grease-ball, right on time.

“Henry! Nice to see you brother. Henry meet Sensei. Sensei meet Henry.”

Henry looked about nervously. “You got the cash Slam!”

“Sure do brother. First let me buy you a bus ticket so we can take this mooke-wagon out to the Super Eight. Once we get a room you’ll get your cash and a little something extra.”

The nervous little man nodded and darted onto the bus and waited as Randy put money into the meter for all of them. Sensei was nervous as well, apparently never having taken the bus and not feeling too comfortable with some semi-literate civil servant carting him around. Not to mention he was dressed like a 19th Century businessman.

Look at all of these docile mookes eye-balling you in terror, convinced you’ve come to send them off to that big plantation in the sky.

Randy led them all to the back and sat down across the rear bench seat like he owned it. Sensei and Henry booth took a side seat while the two Black dudes in either corner eyed his western duds and unseasonable trench coat suspiciously. It was the first Monday in June and had to be in the low 90s. Jan was giving him worried looks so he broke the ice. “We are getting off at the motel behind Al’s Seafood Sensei. We’ll make the deal with Henry there.”

The larger of the two black dudes gave him a curious look so he decided to include him in the conversation as he tapped his boot to indicate the handle of his push-dagger and popped a couple of snaps on the breast of his duster to reveal the pearled handle of his Navy .36. “Of course Mister Mooke here is invited to deal as well. Would you like to come deal with me Mister Mooke?”

The man pulled the cord for the next stop and got off in a hurry without a backward glance. The smaller man just cowered in the corner as Henry shrunk to ever smaller proportions on his seat and Sensei looked at him with that look of societal disappointment he had been becoming familiar with on the odd occasion when he permitted his team leader and mentor a glimpse of his inner animal. He did his best to set them at ease. “Don’t worry Henry, you will be well within minutes, and Sensei your plane ticket will be punched by this afternoon.”

Just so he did not get pinched for violating parole he had Sensei sign them in at the desk while he waited on the lot with Henry. The room was a model of bland squalor and Henry had the shakes by now and was pacing. Jan was looking at him hard and finally burst out, “What the hell?”

“Everything is in order Sensei. Henry here is going to accompany us, is going to lend his aura to our magic carpet ride. We just have to straighten him out first.”

Jan was beside himself. “Jesus Christ, are you insane?”

Actually I am. But that is beside the point.

Just sort this out.

He walked over to Henry and tossed a needle and six hits of heroin on the table. Henry had everything else he needed. As the man began tying off and shooting up Randy pulled out a couple grand and waved the bills. “Now Henry this is the rest of your payment. It should keep you in dope for a long time—a few weeks at least. You don’t get it yet though. I need you around. Now give yourself just a little extra but don’t OD okay.”

He then turned to Jan as he took off his duster and tossed it across the bed. “There you go Sensei, all the body mass we need.”

Jan was hot, “What the hell!?!”

Jan was standing there with eyes bugging out as he saw the harness arrangement Randy had made for himself: a Colt .45 on each hip with 36 rounds and two loaded cylinders on the belt; a custom bowie across his tailbone, a Navy .36 and a bandolier of ammo over his heart, a ‘pepper box’ hand cannon under his left arm; and, oh yeah , “and Sensei I have a trusty derringer in my coat pocket here—well one in each of the three coat pockets to be exact. Oh yes, and the two boot knives. That about does it, all thanks to Henry’s body mass. You see Sensei with your affinity for the ‘empty hand way’ I did not want you to become burdened by such crude ballistic concerns.”

Jan just stared in stunned silence so Randy took it upon himself to open up his boss’s carry-case and begin the operation. Henry was a good little dope-fiend as he held the activated time-travel hoop called a capacitator and Randy threaded a matching platinum strand [extracted from the hoop] or ‘key’ around his wrist just under the skin as the man held the hoop. All the while Randy smoked a joint and knocked back his half-pint of Bacardi 151 while Jan paced like a caged tiger.

It was a little sloppy and the closure probably wasn’t going to hold too well. But that was not his problem. “Sensei, from what Queen Bitch told me about the trace generated by firing this thing up and letting it idle like this we can expect the fucking Future Freaks to be on our ass at any time, so let’s roll.”

Randy put his coat back on and stood Henry up as Jan set the dates on the three activation dials of the hoop that they were to hold. Then, while they all held on with one hand and Jan’s free hand was occupied with his carry-case Randy set the translocator dial to the matching date of 1868.

As a magnetic whoop and a crack of thunder filled the room and the window burst onto the asphalt lot he just had to let out a hearty “Yeeehaah!” as they were struck by lightning and sucked spaghetti like into the ever-expanding end of the hollow platinum tube.

Oooh Krishna, here I come Lord of Light!