Future Shock

Future Shock, Part 1 By Jackinnm@yahoo.com

Note: This story is fiction, and given the plot, mainly science fiction or imaginative fiction. Time travel would be very nice if it were possible to do it as easily as described here, especially considering the benefits that this story describes.

I'd worked for ten years at the Bureau of Printing and Engraving in Washington, DC, when I received the summons to report to a nondescript office building in Washington's seedy southeast area. My supervisor gave me no hint as to the reason why. I wondered what this was all about, and began to worry that it might be something about political correctness or sexual harassment, given the state of the government and its bureaucrats. I knew bureaucrats very well, because I was one of them. The only thing I was pretty sure wouldn't happen was a confrontation about my being gay. In 21st Century Politically Correct America, that was out of the question.

When I arrived I didn't have long to wait until a friendly fellow named "Hap" led me to a back office that was almost bare except for a desk and a few chairs. There was no nameplate on the door or the desk, and I began to wonder if my host's name was really "Hap," especially as he had not offered a last name.

"Do you believe in time travel?" he began. I didn't know what to make of the question, because it was totally unexpected.

"No, but I hadn't thought much about it," I replied. "It's something I read about when I was a kid and was reading science fiction stories," I went on almost aimlessly.

"Well, there is such a thing, but it's pretty experimental. We don't know how it works, and we have some evidence that it does. Are you interested in becoming a time traveler? The pay is extremely good." Uh-oh, I thought. The pay's extremely good because it must be extremely dangerous.

"I might be, if you could tell me more about it," I said.

"What do you want to know? I'll answer if I know," Hap said.

"Well, first of all, why me? There must be a lot of people who would be qualified. You've got test pilots who became astronauts, ex-military types who do all sorts of jobs for the CIA, and that sort of thing.

"We know that you're unmarried and have no living relatives," he said. "Those are among the reasons we picked you." I began to understand. I also noted that he hadn't mentioned that I was gay. Maybe the background check they surely must have run on me hadn't revealed that. Maybe he was just being tactful.

"Go on," I said, eager to learn more.

"Look, I don't want to sound brutal about this, but I've got to give it to you straight. You're pretty much of a loner, too. If anything goes wrong, not many people will miss you. Oh, sure, we could have recruited an astronaut, but astronauts are public figures and they're almost all married. If one drops out of sight, many people, including family, friends, and the media, will be very interested. With a little luck, nobody's gonna miss you."

"Thanks for being honest, anyway," I said.

"I had to present it to you this way, no bullshit. You don't have to have any special talents, because the process is pretty automated. You don't have to fly the time machine the way you fly an airplane. It does everything for you."

"You said you had some evidence that time travel works," I went on. "Can you explain that to me?"

"Sure. Our first tries involved sending travelers into the past. Not one ever returned. We're still not sure if it was equipment failure or whether they didn't want to come back. However, the slight evidence we have that they arrived at their destinations is records of their presence. For example, we obtained a ledger book from a hotel of the 1880s in Manhattan. This is the hotel we'd told one of the travelers to use, and we found that he did in fact check in for a couple of nights at the target date. Now this isn't absolute proof, because it's possible that someone else with the same name had checked in. We just don't know for sure." Hap looked more tired than uncomfortable, and I felt he was being truthful.

"Was there are other evidence that turned up?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, lots of it, but it wasn't conclusive. We began looking for death certificates, for example, and we found them. Someone with the name of one of our time travelers died in 1925. Another died in 1929. At least, people with their names died then. We can't be sure it was really them because we can't match them up with birth certificates, or at least, lack of them."

"Birth certificates? They were born in our time, weren't they?" I asked, puzzled.

"Right, and that's the key. The first traveler did die in 1929, and our research turned up no birth certificate for him during the decade 1850-1860, which is when he'd have had to be born, given his age at death."

"Then that pretty much settles it, doesn't it?" I asked, not following his logic.

"No, not at all. Bureaucracies weren't as efficient during the 19th Century, not the way they are now, where every birth leaves a paper trail. Back then, many people were born without birth certificates, even in large cities such as New York. So you see, the guy who died in 1929 isn't necessarily our man, because he might have really been born during the decade in question, without a paper trail." I was beginning to understand the difficulties of tracing a time traveler into the past.

"There's something else, too," Hap went on. "We sent several men into the New York of the early 1880s. As back-up for them, we also sent back emergency kits, or perhaps we'd better call them survival kits, buried under specific park benches in New York's Central Park, where they could dig them up. These kits contained antibiotics and other drugs, money of the era, and a few other items. When we went to the places where we'd sent them, we didn't find them. We concluded that either they had never arrived or that someone had dug them up."

"You mean all of them were gone?" I asked. "You found no trace at all?"

"That's right. If we'd found even one, or part of one, that would be proof that the kits arrived. Not finding anything makes it uncertain whether they ever arrived or were removed later."

"I guess you sent someone back after them, to find out what had happened," I conjectured.

"Oh, yes we did. That was our first step. We sent a former law enforcement officer, highly trained and with a good record, to investigate. He just vanished. We don't even have evidence that he died, because we found no death certificate. From the moment we sent him back, there was not a trace of him, even though we'd specifically instructed him to leave us a message that we would be able to pick up in the 21st Century. Nothing. Zilch. Zip." Hap looked downcast.

"So you don't know if he ever arrived, got there but was killed in the attempt, or what," I summarized.

"We don't know shit," he confirmed.

"So you'd like me to follow them, find out what happened?" This was becoming less and less attractive to me as the discussion progressed.

"No, that seems pointless to us. We'd like to try another tack. We'd like you to go into the future."

"How would you know if I made it?" I asked. "If guys you sent into the past didn't leave good traces, how would you ever know I was in the future?"

"We've come up with a new development in the equipment. We'll give you a little device, a sort of remote control, so that any time you want you can activate the time machine and snap back to here. The ones we sent back didn't have this. They were supposed to be at a certain place at a certain time for us to recover them. We didn't even know for sure that it would work both ways. We've improved the machine a bit since then."

"Suppose I'm incapacitated or dead? How would I push the button then?" I asked

"The remote has a locator, so that we can pin-point your position any time. We can bring you back even if you're unconscious or dead. Just remember to keep it on your person at all times."

"That seems simple enough," I said. "When do you want me to leave?"

"We'll be in touch with you. It's gonna be only a week or two. Meanwhile, just go back to work and we'll contact you when the time comes. Oh, and this is very important. Don't say a word about this to anybody. This project is top secret."

"What if I do? Are you gonna have a CIA hit man bump me off?" I asked.

"No, not at all," he laughed. "We'll just deny everything. Look, nobody will ever believe you if you start spouting some fantastic story about time travel. You'll be totally discredited. Your supervisor will say that they don't know anything about time travel at Printing and Engraving, and that you were sent here for a psychiatric exam because you'd been acting funny at work. With all the publicity about workplace violence these days, you'll look like a nut. You'll be dismissed from your job and won't be able to get another. Nobody will want to touch you with a ten-foot pole." That was frightening, more so than a hit man would have been. I felt that Hap was very serious about secrecy.

"Okay, you've convinced me," I said. "How do I contact you?"

"You don't contact me. One of us will contact you when we need you. As I said, it'll be a week or two." He ushered me out of the building and, as it was already 4:30, I went home. I had a date with my friend John that evening, and I showered and changed clothes before going to his place.

John and I had been friends and sexual partners for five years. At 35, he was two years older than I, and we were different in other ways as well. He was blond and blue-eyed, while I had brown hair and eyes. He was an inch shorter than my six feet, and a much more flashy dresser. Now, as I looked at him after he let me in, I saw that he wasn't dressed in anything but his birthday suit. That revealed another similarity between us. We'd both been circumcised a couple of days after we'd been born, like most American males in our age group.

John and I did not live together, as that would have made our relationship too obvious. Even in this age of rampant political correctness, it wasn't a good idea to flaunt a gay lifestyle. You couldn't be fired for being gay, but there were subtle ways of discrimination, such as poor performance evaluations, denial of promotions, ostracism, and other sanctions against which the equal employment law was useless.

I stripped off my clothes so that I could feel his warm body against mine, and I was very aware of his eyes on me. John and I were very much into each other, and we turned each other on spontaneously. John's prick was a "shower," large even without erection, while mine was a "grower," only about three inches limp and growing to six when hard. At the end of John's shaft was a large mushroom cap, purple like mine, which was of the helmet type. The top of my ridge flared up, while his was flat. Another difference was that there was a thick cuff of skin covering John's ridge, because he'd been stretching his shaft skin to undo the effects of his circumcision. Although I hated my cut state, I didn't have the patience to tape my shaft skin forward over the head every day. John had apparently just removed his tape.

John hugged me tightly as he asked: "Anything interesting happen at work today?" I hesitated for a long while before speaking, and my prolonged silence concerned him.

"Anything wrong?" he asked. I decided to tell him everything. After all, if I couldn't trust John, who could I trust. I related the entire story to him, and told him not to repeat what I'd told him because it would cause trouble for me. When I'd finished%2 C he said:

"That's the damnedest story I've ever heard. If anyone else told me that I'd say they were either crazy or pulling my leg, but I've known you long enough to be sure you're serious." We sat side by side on his couch for a long time, lost in our own thoughts.

"Well, that's it," I said. "I guess you realize that we might never see each other again if things go bad."

"That's what scares me," he said. "We've had five wonderful years together. You're like a brother to me."

"You're like a brother to me, too," I said as tears filled my eyes. I'd been an only child, never having had a brother, and John filled a serious gap in my life. Now the thought of never seeing him again frightened me, and I began to shudder. I felt his arms around me as he pulled me close to him.

"Think I might be able to go with you?" he asked.

"I don't know. They didn't say anything about needing more than me for their experiment."

"Didn't you say they'd already sent several guys into the past?" he asked. "That might mean they need more than just one guy."

"Yeah, and they might already have the other guys lined up," I answered. "Just because I didn't see anyone else doesn't mean they don't have anyone else."

"Well, maybe we'll just have to wait and see. Will you ask them and let me know when they contact you?"

"If they let me, John. I got the impression that the next time they contact me it'll be to go. Anyway, I'm sure they'll ask me why you offered to volunteer, and I'll have to admit to them that I didn't keep my mouth shut." I wrapped my arms around John and after a minute he got up and led me into the bedroom.

We'd made love many times and we knew each other's preferences. John gave the head of my prick a few squeezes, which got my erection underway, as I slid the loose skin of his shaft up over his rim, compressing its nerve endings. When we were both hard he took a Magnum size condom from the bedside table and squirted a few drops of Astroglide into it before unrolling it down my helmet and shaft. I dipped my fingers into his jar of Albolene, and coated his prick with it. He lay on his left side facing away from me and lifted his right leg so that I could slip my penis between his thighs, Princeton style.

I began pumping my prick between his thighs as I stroked his, building our excitement slowly because we both enjoyed the ride as much as we did the climax. Astroglide is a very nice lubricant that provides a warming sensation because it contains glycerin, but being water-based, eventually dries out. With a condom, though, this doesn't happen, and I enjoyed the feel of the condom's wrinkles against my glans and shaft. Petroleum based Albolene does not dry out, and I was sure of being able to give John pleasant friction on his prick until he exploded.

I maintained a slow rhythm because we both enjoyed the sensations, which deepened our intimacy as we very gradually approached climax. We took over a quarter-hour to get there, and I felt a slow tingle begin in my helmet as his glans hardened in its final swelling between my encircling fingers. I was able to see over his shoulder as I stroked him, and watched a steady drool of lubricant seeping from his long slit. It didn't mix with the oil-based Albolene, but fell onto the towel we'd arranged underneath us.

I felt his body tense as I increased my pace, my prick lunging between his thighs. We were now both breathing hard and I knew that our climaxes would soon be upon us. I was grunting with each thrust and John was moaning as my fingers slid up and down his slick prick. I saw his glans darken as his excitement approached the peak. My eyes closed as the tingle in my helmet intensified, and I began giving his prick twisting strokes, my fingers encircling the sensitive rim, to bring on his crisis.

We were both pretty loud as we slid downhill into our orgasms. John's body jerked suddenly and he cried out and I felt his prick throb hard in my hand. At that moment his fingers slid between his thighs and I felt his fingertips pressing into the triangular groove under my helmet, forcing the orgasm from me. The tingle in my glans sharpened, and then exploded as the heavy pounding of orgasm began deep inside me. Hot semen boiled up my shaft and exploded out of my orifice, filling the condom and swirling around my helmet.

We grunted and moaned in hot passion as our pricks throbbed again and again, sending our sperm shooting from our straining tips. Mine filled the condom and John's shot onto the towel, some of it running down over my trembling encircling fingers. Our bodies strained against each other as we drained ourselves in mutual frenzy.

The following Thursday my supervisor came to me in the middle of the afternoon to say that I was wanted by the same people who had summoned me the previous week. I was to meet them outside the building, where a car would be waiting for me. I left and when I got to the sidewalk I saw Hap standing by a Lexus 300 SUV. I got in the back seat with him while the driver headed to Andrews Air Force Base.

"Today's the day," Hap began. "I don't mean that we'll shoot you into the future today, but this is when the mission begins for you. We'll have a couple of days of preparation, and then you'll leave."

"Don't I get to pack?" I asked.

"You don't have to. We'll provide everything you might need. We're headed out to our facility in Arizona, where there are accommodations for guests, and we've got a suite already prepared for you. You can pick up clothing at the commissary, toothpaste, and anything else within reason. It's all on our tab, of course."

"Is there much training involved?" I asked.

"No, not really, mainly because we don't know much about the future. We can't teach you what we don't know. When we sent people into the past, we knew what that was like. We provided clothing styled the way people dressed in the 1880s, and we were able to provide money and other things that would make it easier for them to fit into their slot in the past." He turned to look at me.

"Look, I won't bullshit you. Your trip might be very pleasant, but it also might be very rough. We don't know what the future holds, especially a couple of hundred years from now. You might arrive in the middle of a nuclear war, or an invasion by space aliens. There might be a new virus that could kill you in a day. That's why we're providing you with a remote control. If you see anything you don't like, or appears threatening, push the button and you'll be back in seconds."

We arrived at Andrews, where the driver took us to a corner of the base. An executive jet awaited us, and within minutes after we'd boarded we were airborne. A steward served us a meal on board, and Hap continued to brief me about time travel.

Modern theoretical physics had established that both time and space are relative, and that the past co-exists with both the present and future. This made it theoretically possible to sideslip into the past or future. The project's purpose was to determine if a human being could be thrown into another time, slipping across time in both spirit and body. In short, the idea was to see if fact matched theory. It already seemed to match, given the people they'd projected into the past, if they'd actually arrived. At least, the people running the project felt that there was more than an even chance the time machine worked, despite the uncertainties Hap had related to me earlier.

When we arrived, Hap introduced me to Dr. Ellis, a physicist a bit younger than I. He was about 30, and he explained the simple facts to me as Hap listened.

"We don't know anything for sure about the future, not even what sort of clothing people will be wearing in 200 years. We've consulted with experts, such as fashion designers, and asked them for their best guess. They think that, provided present trends continue, that people will be wearing functional clothing, with few embellishments. The best we came up with was either a robe or a jumpsuit. Thus, we'll issue you a couple of each to take with you. Underwear is another question, because we have no way of knowing what sort of underwear people will be wearing, or even if they'll be wearing underwear. However, we feel that that's not important, because underwear will be under your outer clothing."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind going commando," I replied. "Whatever you think best."

"We'll provide you with underwear. Whether or not you wear it is up to you," he riposted. "Now let's get on to another topic. For trips into the past, we gave our people survival kits that included antibiotics. We'll give you these as well, but you ought to know that they might be ineffective, and even totally useless. We keep developing new antibiotics because bacteria mutate and develop resistance to antibiotics, and after a few years of use they become less effective. 200 years means a lot for microbial mutations, and all you encounter will probably be resistant strains."

"Okay, I understand that," I said. "How about communicating with people I meet 200 years from now? What language do you think they'll speak?"

"I think we've got a good handle on that," Ellis replied. "Right now English is well on its way to becoming the universal language on Earth. If this trend continues, and we can't think of any reason why it shouldn't, practically everyone on Earth should understand English, even 200 years from now. Anyway, we're sending you to New York City. They should still be speaking English there."

"What if the Chinese take over the world, or the Indians? With globalization that might well happen," I asked.

"Then it would be different," Ellis admitted. "Still, the Indians speak English. Anyway, we can't teach you every possible language that might be spoken 200 years from now. This is going to remain one of the uncertainties."

"There are lots of uncertainties in this," I remarked.

"There are, which is why you're being paid well. We'll have to get you down to our business office to sign a contract, arrange insurance, and draw up your will."

"All I care about is the contract. I don't need insurance because I don't have any dependents, and I already have a will."

"Who is your beneficiary?" Ellis asked as Hap looked at me intently.

"My friend John," I said.

"I guess he must be a good friend," Hap said. "Did you tell him you'd be gone for awhile?"

"Yes I did."

"Did you tell him about your new job?" Hap asked.

"Yes, I did. He asked me if he could come too," I said. "Would that be a security breach?"

"Not necessarily," answered Hap. He didn't even seem to be disturbed by my violating his admonition of silence.

"Well, I told John, even though you told me to keep quiet about this."

"That's not a problem," Hap said. "We were worried about your telling the Washington Post or the New York Times. Telling John isn't much of a leak, and maybe he can go with you or follow you at some point."

"That would be one way of plugging the leak," laughed Ellis. "Send both of them into the future."

"Actually," added Hap, "we wouldn't mind it at all if your friend volunteered. You can phone him if you like to tell him to expect a visit from us. Unless he has a disability about which we don't know, he should qualify."

"How did I qualify?" I asked. "You didn't give me any tests."

"No, but we did a very extensive background check on you. Background checks are far more reliable than any sort of testing, especially polygraphs and psychological tests. Those tests are crap. We found that you did well in school, and even better in your work. You're bright and ambitious. You're also adaptable. These are qualities we need in time travel candidates."

"Did your background check reveal that I'm gay?" I asked impulsively, possibly ruining my chances of being accepted.

"Oh, that," answered Ellis. "So what? I'm gay too. We don't think that matters at all."

"Now let's get the paperwork done," said Hap as he got to his feet. He led me to the business office, where an attorney had me sign a contract. I was surprised at the salary: one million dollars a month. Hap saw my surprise, for he commented:

"Don't get too excited at the money. Taxes will eat up most of it. We can't avoid taxes, especially as we're working for the government. Now it's evening on the east coast, so phone your friend now." I dialed John's number and filled him in on the day's events, telling him that he'd be contacted soon.

After a pleasant and filling dinner and drinks, Hap led me to my accommodations, a small suite. Inside was a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and a closet with several robes and jumpsuits my size. I flopped on the bed and was asleep within minutes, despite my excitement.

The following morning after breakfast Hap escorted me to the project's clinic, where a doctor gave me a quick once-over. He explained:

"This is just a quickie, to make sure we haven't missed anything critical. We already knew that you're in good health, but I just had to listen to your heart and take a blood sample as a final check. As far as I can see, you're cleared to go."

"Well, we're ready if you are," Hap said as he led me to the operations room. Banks of electronic equipment lined the walls and in the center stood a small cubicle resembling a telephone booth. Dr. Ellis was waiting for us.

"That's it," he said, pointing to the booth. "You step inside and you're on your way. Just change your clothes first." I stripped down and selected a jumpsuit from several on a table, which I put on over a pair of boxer shorts. For shoes, I put on a pair of Nikes, useful if I had to move fast. Hap handed me a backpack.

"This contains spare clothes and a few other items you might need, such as emergency rations. There are some gold coins, a few basic medicines such as vitamins and pain-killers, and a gun, just in case. We know you took a training course a couple of years ago and know how to use a handgun. Now stick this remote control in your side pocket." I took the pack from him and entered the cubicle. I saw a white flash and suddenly I was somewhere in the future, standing on a sidewalk in what I presumed to be New York City.

People were walking by me, and I heard English spoken. Sleek and silent vehicles cruised in the street, and I assumed they used some sort of electric power because there was no odor of gasoline. I began walking, planning to explore as much as I could before making contact with anyone. At the corner was a clothing store, and in the window was a variety of clothing styles, including robes and jumpsuits. I was glad that I did not stand out because of my dress, as people passing me wore a variety of clothing as well, and my attire seemed to fit in well.

Signs were in English, and the prices for the clothing were in dollars. However, I doubted that the dollars of the future looked anything like those I'd known. I walked on down the other street, exploring farther. On the corner was the entrance to a hotel, which had a restaurant on the ground floor. This seemed to be a good base of operations and I decided to book a room. The moment I walked through the entrance a buzzer sounded, and a security guard came toward me.

"Excuse me sir, you just set off the metal detector. Do you have a weapon on you?" I stood paralyzed, as my trip had just gone disastrously wrong. "I asked, do you have a weapon on you, sir." He repeated. I saw another man approaching, and I guessed he was one of the managers.

"In my backpack," I muttered.

"We don't allow weapons in here," the manager said. "This is private property, and even if you have a carry permit, we reserve the right to deny entry to anyone with a weapon. Anyway, you won't need it in here. Let me have it." I handed over my backpack, and the security guard fished around inside it.

"This is a SIG Pistol," he said. "These haven't been made for 150 years. It looks new, too. Where did you get it?"

"I brought it from home," I answered, the first thing that came to mind.

"Where is home?" asked the manager.

"Washington, DC," I said. They looked at each other.

"Can I see your card, sir?" asked the guard.

"What card?" I asked.

"Perhaps you'd better come to the office," said the manager, and I got the impression that despite the polite way he'd suggested it, I didn't have a choice. They escorted me to an office behind the front desk and the guard remained with me while the manager closed the door and remained outside. Through the window I saw him take what looked like a cell phone from his pocket and begin to speak rapidly into it. Within a few minutes two men entered the office, and even though this was 200 years in the future I had no trouble recognizing them as cops.

"I'm Investigator Wallace," the taller of the two said, "and this is Investigator Stanmore. Please empty your pockets." Both wore jumpsuits and windbreakers over them.

"Am I under arrest?" I asked. "What have I done?"

"No you're not under arrest, sir. We're just detaining you pending investigation. You really should not have tried to bring a gun into the hotel. Do you have a concealed carry license?"

"No," I replied dejectedly.

"Well, that's a petty misdemeanor. We'll have to decide whether to press charges. If you don't have a record we'll probably let it drop. Now what's this?" he asked, holding up my time travel remote control. To the side, Stanmore was examining the pistol.

I didn't answer, provoking more intent looks from the cops and the security guard.

"I think we'd better continue at the office," Wallace said, and Stanmore began packing all my possessions, including the remote, into the backpack. They led me out to a vehicle that looked very much like a car from my era, except that I couldn't figure out where the engine was and it made no noise as Wallace drove me and Stanmore to a building several blocks away. Nobody said anything during the drive. Inside, they led me to a room with only a table and several chairs.

"We're not getting useful answers out of you," Wallace continued. "Are you in some sort of trouble?" You may as well answer. Once we type your DNA, we'll know who you are." I remained silent, unable to think of anything to say. If I told them that I was a time traveler, they'd surely think I was crazy.

"Please open your mouth," said Stanmore as he approached me with a plastic spoon.

"This won't hurt a bit," Wallace said. "He's just going to scrape the inside of your cheek for a few cells. Then we'll get you DNA." I opened my mouth and Stanmore took the cell sample. He left the office as Wallace motioned me to sit.

"We've got nothing, absolutely nothing," Stanmore said when he returned.

"We've got a DNA record of all 200 million people on the planet," Wallace said to me. I was surprised that the Earth's population had shrunk so much. Wallace went on:

"Officially, you don't exist. Now maybe you can explain that. Where did you come from?"

"I guess that's because I'm not from here," I said as another man entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"This is Doctor Eddy," Wallace said. "He's going to give you a physical. Strip down, please." Again, despite the polite way he asked, I felt that I was in no position to refuse, and I took off my clothing. The room was pleasantly cool, but I didn't feel chilled after I disrobed.

"Well, he's circumcised," Wallace said to the others. "I've never seen anyone who was circumcised, except for those religious terrorists we arrested a couple of years ago.

"How come you're circumcised?" the doctor asked. "Today nobody is circumcised, except for members of a couple of small bands of religious fundamentalists living underground. Circumcision of either sex is illegal now. It was popular in this country during the 20th Century, but hasn't been practiced at all for over 150 years."

"That SIG pistol," muttered Stanmore, and Wallace looked at him. "That hasn't been made for over 150 years." Now all eyes returned to me.

"When were you born?" asked Doctor Eddy, a curious look in his eyes.

"Yes, tell us when?" echoed Wallace. It was obvious that their questioning had shifted from where to when.

"Okay, 1975," I said.

"We'd heard about a time travel project from around the beginning of the 21st Century, but they were only fragmentary reports. How old are you?"

"33," I said.

"So you left your time about 2008?" asked Wallace, sitting down in a chair in front of me.

"What immunizations have you had?" asked Doctor Eddy, a look of alarm on his face. I told him, mentioning smallpox, lockjaw, pneumonia and flu shots.

"That's not good enough," he said. "There are some new viruses that could kill you in a New York Minute," as he rushed out. I was surprised that that quaint expression was still in use. The doctor returned in a minute with an unfamiliar instrument in his hand.

"I'm going to give you the necessary immunizations right now. You may not know what this thing is, but don't worry, it doesn't use needles so it won't hurt at all. This will spray the vaccines onto your skin, and they'll penetrate into your system in about ten seconds." He pressed the device against my biceps and I heard several hisses.

"He doesn't have a card, either," said Wallace.

"Well, get him a card. He can't get health care without it." The doctor turned to me.

"We've had comprehensive socialized medicine since long before I was born," he explained. "The bookkeeping end of it is linked to the Universal Identification Card. Everybody on the planet gets one at birth, and its chip inside contains the DNA code for that particular person. The card is for everything, employment, payments, medical care, the works."

"Is there a deductible or co-payment on the medical care?" I asked.

"No, not at all. Medical care is total. Whatever you need, you just show the card and you've got it, except for immortality. We still haven't figured out how to live forever."

"You can get dressed now," Wallace instructed me. "We're just going to hold on to some of the contents of your pack."

"Let's take him to the ID Office," Stanmore suggested.

"I guess you can take care of that," Wallace replied. Turning back to me he said:

"You're not under arrest, but I'd suggest you stick pretty close to us and don't wander off. You're not familiar with conditions today, and there might be some risk if you went out on your own. Understand?" I nodded, and when Stanmore left the office I followed. The procedure for the ID card was not complicated. They already had my DNA and they digitalized it and transcribed it onto a chip in a small plastic card the same size as a credit card from my era. By this time it was late in the afternoon and Stanmore said to me:

"I guess you don't have a place to stay and my partner and I have lots of room. You're welcome to come home with me." I looked carefully at Stanmore. He was about my age, slightly shorter than my six feet, but significantly more muscular.

"I appreciate this, especially since you don't have to do it," I replied.

"I don't have to, I want to," he said with emphasis. "Come on, my personal vehicle's right outside." He led me out to the parking lot, where we climbed into a small two-seater with trim lines. He slipped his ID card into a slot in the dash and pressed a couple of buttons. The vehicle started up with a barely audible whine and moved into the street without his hands on the controls.

"I guess you've got automatic navigation, right?" I asked

"Yes, this one does. Actually most do today. All I have to do is drive the route manually once and it stores it in memory. The route director then drives it automatically after that. There's automatic collision avoidance, and I can literally sleep during the trip home."

"How far is it?" I asked.

"Oh, only a couple of minutes more. We live at the upper end of Manhattan."

"There's not much traffic," I remarked.

"That's because New York's population is much less today than it was in your time, only a few hundred thousand people," he said. "Between the wars and epidemics during the last couple of centuries, the world's population is much smaller as well. We plan to keep it that way. Too many people means too many problems." The two-seater slowed and headed for a garage door that swung up at its approach. It eased into the parking bay and the power plant stopped.

"We're here, I guess." I reached for the door handle, which was much like those in cars from my time.

"Let's go up so you can meet Steve," he said, indicating a set of stairs. "By the way, my name's Mike." The stairs opened up into the kitchen, where another man, blond like Mike, was preparing dinner. The kitchen appliances looked a lot like 20th Century ones, and I saw knives and forks on the table next to the plates.

"Steve, this is Jack, a new arrival from the 21st Century," Mike said by way of introduction. Steve had been preparing a salad, and he rinsed his hands and shook hands with me. I noticed he was wearing only an apron and slippers.

"Glad to meet you," he said. "I'd heard that time travel was possible, but never saw anything tangible until now."

"It's been quite a day for me," I said. "I've been finding out how much the world's changed, but a lot of things are the same."

"Yes, we still eat, and our other biological functions are still the same," laughed Mike. I was itching to ask why they lived together, but couldn't bring myself to bring up the subject.

"I hope you like steak and salad," said Steve. "Mike phoned me from the office and suggested that this might be the best choice for dinner this evening. We wouldn't want to shock you with some exotic foods that have emerged during the last 200 years."

"Yes," said Mike. "I couldn't be sure if you'd like roast plankton loaf or algae salad." Steve chuckled at this suggestion.

"We still have wine," he said, "but except for the very expensive stuff, most of it's made in a chemical plant instead of a winery. It's more consistent that way, as well as less costly to make."

"Would it bother you to take your clothes off?" Steve asked. "We're nudists here behind closed doors. I'm just wearing the apron do that my dinkie doesn't get splashed with hot grease when I grill the steaks." Mike was already disrobing, and when he took off his windbreaker I saw a shoulder holster under his left armpit. Now he was wearing only his shoes and I saw him naked for the first time.

"Look," I blurted out. "I'm not at all bothered by nudity, and I'm gay, too, in case you were wondering." As I spoke I gazed at Mike's crotch enviously. He was not only well hung, but he was intact.

"That's fine, Jack. We were wondering if you'd ask about that, why we're living together, and all that." Mike smiled as he said this.

"Just throw your clothes on the chair in the corner," suggested Steve. "Are you ready to eat now, or would you like a drink first?"

"I guess I could use a drink. It's been quite a day," I said. Mike walked over to a panel on the wall and asked:

"What would you like? This automatic bartender can mix anything. It even comes out ice-cold or boiling hot if you wish."

"I guess a Seven and Seven," I replied. "Wait a minute: do they drink Seven and Sevens now?"

"I never heard of it but the computer will know." Mike pressed a few buttons and we heard a buzz. He opened a small door in the front of the unit and extracted a plastic tumbler, which he handed to me. I tasted it and said:

"Perfect. It's just like a real bartender had mixed it. It even has ice cubes."

"How do you like your steak?" Steve asked. "The zapper grill will make it any way you want in about 30 seconds.

"Medium rare, but what's a zapper grill?" I asked.

"This thing's the zapper grill," Steve answered, pointing to what looked like a toaster oven on the counter. "It uses a laser as well as a microwave generator to cook, and it's very fast." Mike had handed him what looked like a gin and tonic, and prepared one for himself.

"C'mon, let's sit down for a minute," Mike said. "I see the salad's ready, and it won't take long to fix the meal." Steve took off his apron and took a chair that he swung out from the table. He, too, lacked the prominent circumcision scar that disfigured my penis.

"Yours is the first circumcised penis I've ever seen," said Steve. "I'd seen photos, but never one for real."

"I guess you don't do that shit anymore," I said. "I didn't have a choice. The doctor did it to me when I was born."

"Nobody is circumcised anymore, except for a few die-hard religious fundamentalists," said Steve. "My last name's Shapiro, but nobody in my family's been circumcised for over a century."

"Good thing he didn't get cut," said Mike, turning to me. "His prick's all foreskin. He wouldn't have anything left." I saw what he meant. His foreskin extended at least an inch and a half beyond the prominent bulge of his glans. Steve was a "grower," unlike Mike, whose prick was a "shower." I was the same way, as my prick was fairly small soft and didn't grow to its full 6 ½" until I had an erection.

"What about those religious fundamentalists?" I asked. "What's their involvement with terrorism these days?"

"We still have terrorists," Mike said. "They're mostly religious fundamentalists, and mostly Muslim, as in your time. They circumcise both males and females. That's why we took notice when we strip-searched you today. At first we didn't know what you were. I was wondering if you were one of them but escaped."

"Yeah, and I was carrying a gun, too. I guess you have concealed carry laws now, don't you?"

"That we do," said Steve. "I have a permit, although I'm not a cop. I work as a book editor. We still have books, although most of them are published on-line."

"Are you two married?" I asked.

"Oh, no, not at all" said Mike. "The idea of gay marriage was pretty trendy back at the start of the 21st. Century, but it never worked well because it was just a fad. Hell, everybody knew that straight marriages had a 50 percent divorce rate for years, and as it turned out, gay marriages did even worse. People just generally got away from the idea of marriage. It's not outlawed, but hardly anybody gets married these days. It's just a waste of time."

"Same goes for the idea of single partners," added Steve. "What they used to call `marital fidelity' was just a form of possessiveness and control."

"People have to stay together because they want to," said Mike. "Being chained together by law doesn't make for a comfortable relationship."

"Is there a lot of promiscuity? What about AIDS?" I asked.

"Oh, AIDS Type I, II, II, IV, and IV caused a lot of problems for years," said Steve. "They're pretty much gone now. DNA was the key. Doctors found that once they analyzed the DNA even of a virus, an anti-toxin was possible, and a vaccine was the next step. There were a lot of other viruses that were more infectious, though. Hepatitis was bad, but that's gone too, thanks to vaccines."

"Hey, how about some food?" Mike asked Steve. "We're finished with our drinks, and personally I'm getting hungry." Steve got up and put on his apron before he stepped to counter.

"I've got rib-eyes," he said. "How do you like yours?" he asked, looking directly at me.

"Medium rare," I replied, and he slipped one steak into the top slot of the thing that looked like a toaster oven and punched the keys.

"Yours will be ready in a minute," he said as he put the other two steaks into the slots underneath. "I already know how Mike likes his." He punched the other two keypads, and we waited. It was remarkable. The steaks were ready in about a minute, and Steve served them onto plates. He brought out a salad and bread, and we began to eat.

After we'd finished, we went into the living room. Steve sat next to me on the couch and Mike sat across from us. Both were staring at my crotch.

"I know," I said. "Mine's the first circumcised penis you've ever seen. Well, I haven't seen all that many foreskins." As I spoke, Steve began to pinch the helmet of my prick gently, causing a responsive throb deep inside me.

"You can handle mine, if you want to see how a foreskin works," he said as he ran his finger around my thick brown circumcision scar. I grasped the long nipple of Steve's foreskin and pulled it out away from his body. Inside the long hood, I saw the outline of his swelling glans. Mine had swelled rapidly under his tender touch, and now I was fully hard.

"Your skin feels very stretchy," I remarked. Across from us, Mike was rolling his foreskin pucker between two fingers.

"Maybe you'd better get some lubricant for his cock," Mike said to Steve. "You might make it sore stroking him dry." Steve got up and went into another room, returning with a small plastic bottle from which he squirted a few drops of clear slippery fluid on my prick. He began massaging it in, sending messages of joy into my nerve endings.

"This is going to be a treat for us," said Mike. "We're going to enjoyed watching a cock squirt its load without any foreskin to get in the way." Steve's encircling fingers continued to massage my prick, gently but firmly, and I felt my sensations deepening. I grasped his erection again, working the long thick foreskin up and down, but it was so long that I never unmasked the big helmet, whose outlines I could see clearly through the fleshy sleeve.

"Maybe you'd better stop stroking me," Steve suggested. "My cock's more sensitive than yours, and you'll make me come too quickly." I let go and concentrated on my own sensations.

"He's got a nice glans," said Mike. "It's a helmet type, just like yours, Steve. Look at his meatus, too. It's not just a slit like we have. It looks like a teardrop."

"It was just a slit when he was soft," Steve said. "It started to pout like that when he got hard." His fingers continued caressing my naked swollen glans and the skin immediately behind it. Mike had stopped fingering his penis and had come to sit on the floor in front of me, between my spread legs.

"I'm going to cup his balls," he said and I felt his warm fingers closing around my scrotum."

"He's already started to tighten up," commented Steve. "His balls are up against his body." Steve continued to massage my prick, and I felt a light tremor in my legs.

"Do you shoot or dribble?" Mike asked me as his fingers kneaded my tight scrotum.

"Normally I dribble, but when I'm really excited I shoot," I replied. Mike now began to tug at the skin of my sac, stretching the thick wrinkled tissue and the nerve endings within.

"We'll see just how excited you are," Steve said as he picked up the pace. I felt the tension building in my body.

"You'll make me come any second," I whispered, as I felt myself being dragged inexorably toward the brink.

"This is an edger," said Mike, holding up a small black box for me to see. The box had a button on the side and two bright metal electrodes about an inch apart at the end. "When you get really close, I'll press this into your perineum, behind your sac, and this will keep you on the edge."

"What does it do?" I asked, gasping the words because my sensations were becoming so acute.

"This puts out a high-frequency current that stops the ejaculation," Mike answered. "You'll feel all the sensations of orgasm, being right on the peak, but you won't blow your load until I let you."

"It feels really good," said Steve, reassuringly. "You'll feel a slight tingle, not like an electric shock, so don't worry about it." His skilled fingers were quickly bringing me to the point of no return, and my eyes closed as I felt myself losing control of my body. Now I felt the edger's cold electrodes touching the tender skin behind my balls, and Steve's fingers tightened on my glans.

"He's right there," commented Mike. "I can see how his helmet's gotten deep purple."

"He's right on the edge," Steve confirmed. "His glans feels very hard and hot." As Steve spoke I felt a slight tingle deep in my crotch, and I knew that Mike had turned on the edger. Steve's fist twisted hard around my hard and swollen helmet, and I felt the onset of my orgasm.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" I moaned, bracing myself for the heavy pounding of the ejaculation that accompanied my orgasm, but the edger held me right at the point of balance. Steve's fingers were pouring intense sensations into my glans, and I felt the hot tingle spreading down my shaft to the root, but I wasn't shooting. My body tensed and remained tense, while my mind slipped into the limbo of orgasm.

My entire body was a mass of sensations and my head was rocking from side to side as I trembled uncontrollably. The sensations were so intense and so prolonged that I was moaning loudly, gasping between moans, and tears came to my eyes. I heard voices but my paralyzed mind didn't understand the words. Time had stopped for me.

Suddenly I felt a massive spasm wrack my groin, and a jet of burning hot juice boiled up my shaft and out of my straining glans.

"AHA! AHA! AHA!" I grunted as my hot ejaculations began, and my life-fluid spewed out of me, slamming through the lips of my orifice as more convulsions deep inside me rendered me helpless. I felt my hips bucking as my body reacted automatically, thrusting my hard straining prick through Steve's tightly encircling fingers.

Now my spasms had slowed and gotten weaker, and I knew I was almost drained. A few more jets of semen squirted into my urethra and flowed up my shaft, and then it was over. I became utterly still.

"Wow, he really shot," I heard Steve's voice.

"I think it went two feet into the air," confirmed Mike.

"I was right here in front of his helmet when you stopped the edger and he began," added Steve. "His slit really distended with the first few loads."

"I saw that," confirmed Mike. "It went from a teardrop shape to perfectly round when each blast shot through it."

"He was really throbbing, too," said Steve. "I could really feel it, with my fingers wrapped around his fat helmet."

"He looks like about the same size as you, Steve, a little over six inches." At this point I opened my eyes.

"Hey, welcome back," said Steve with a smile. "Man, you were really dazed for a minute.

"That was... intense!" I said weakly.

"I can imagine. It was the same way for me the first time we used the edger," said Mike.

"I guess sex in the 23rd Century must be a bit different from in my day," I said.

"Did they have electro-sex in your time?" asked Steve.

"Oh, yes we did. In fact, I had a rather sophisticated digital stimulation box. I could adjust the stroke, frequency, power level, and it had 23 different programs for stimming."

"That sounds pretty good," Steve said. "We've got a model that does all that and more."

"What else can it do?"

"Well, you said you could adjust the frequency. Our power unit has a sensor to find the optimum frequency for each individual. You hook it up to your penis and scrotum, or wherever, and it finds the frequency that produces the strongest muscular contraction for a given power level." Steve smiled as he said this.

"If you're interested, you can use it for your next orgasm. Right now, though, I think you're mainly interested in playing with our uncut cocks," Mike said.

"I am, really. I've hardly ever had my hands on a natural penis." I wrapped my fingers around Steve's prick as I spoke, unable to resist the invitation. He was still hard, and as I gently slid his long foreskin up and down, I felt his prick respond by stiffening even more.

"Oh, yes, that's it," he whispered. "I'm so hot from feeling your penis throbbing while you were coming."

"Does your skin go back all the way?" I asked. I was giving him long full strokes, but my fist came down to his pubic bone and I knew I'd have to shift my grip up towards his glans the strip it back.

"It does, but I like it with the head covered," he said. "The build-up lasts longer that way, and if your skinned me back right now I'd pop."

"If you skinned him back you'd stretch his frenulum. You keep stroking Steve just the way you're doing, and I'll use the edger when he starts to come," Mike said as he shifted his position to sit between Steve's spread legs and cupped his scrotum. I sensed the tension building in Steve's body, and saw his legs begin to tremble, as mine had.

"You've got a big helmet under there," I commented as I continued to caress his warm flesh.

"Yes, Steve's got a big one, just like yours," Mike said. "In fact, his prick's almost a duplicate of yours except for the foreskin."

"Damn it! I wish I hadn't been cut," I said. I wished fervently that I had an ample foreskin like Steve's, so that I could enjoy the type of stimulation I was giving him.

"Don't worry about that now," Mike urged. We'll take care of that soon. Right now we'll concentrate on making Steve come." I continued to stroke Steve's long thick foreskin up and down his glans and shaft, feeling the helmet become sharper and more defined as it went into its final swelling. Unlike me, Steve did not close his eyes as his orgasm approached. I stroked Steve's foreskin avidly, knowing that it wouldn't take long until his super-sensitive helmet would spew its liquid prize.

Steve's entire body tightened up and I saw the cords in his neck stand out as I brought him to the peak. Mike was now kneading his sac tenderly, and holding the edger in his other hand.

"WOW! OHHHHH!" Steve cried out as the first shock of the orgasm gripped him. Mike pressed the edger's electrodes into the flesh behind Steve's sac and pressed the button. Steve continued to grunt, but I didn't feel the throbs of orgasm in his prick. He was tense, very tense, and now his eyes closed as he withdrew into himself, overwhelmed by the sensations.

"Okay, now I'll let him come," Mike said as he removed the edger from Steve's flesh. Steve's hips bucked and I felt the hard throb in his shaft as the first ejaculation rushed up his penis. Steve yelled again and I saw a slight dribble of creamy substance appear at the tight opening of his foreskin, and felt his fleshy sleeve distend between my fingers.

OH! AGHHH!" Steve yelled again as another throb filled his penis. His foreskin ballooned out as it filled with his semen, and more thick creamy fluid leaked from the opening. Steve grunted again as I felt another hard throb in his shaft, and now there was a steady dribble from the end of his foreskin, which was widening under the pressure.

"He's really into it," I commented as I kept stroking Steve's prick, feeling more throbs and watching a steady flow drooling from the orifice. I squeezed the end of his straining prick and saw a thick gush erupt from his foreskin's orifice as he continued to cry out helplessly before sinking into the daze that inevitably follows climax.

Mike went to the kitchen and returned with a towel to wipe up the drops of fluid I'd shot all over myself, and then turned to Steve, dabbing at the end of his prick as I squeezed the last of the juice from his softening glans and foreskin.

"Thanks, Jack," Steve said when he opened his eyes a minute later. "That was beautiful. Now let's take care of Mike." He got off the couch and Mike took his place beside me. Mike's prick was also slightly over six inches hard, and his foreskin had retracted somewhat, revealing the dome of his mushroom cap. I closed my finger around it as Steve took the edger from him.

"Now it's your turn, Mike. Just relax and let Jack do you. He's got a really good touch for a natural cock." Steve sat between Mike's legs and cupped his balls, lovingly stimulating his partner.

"I'm so hot now that I might not last as long as Steve did," Mike said. "I really need to get off." I gave Mike's prick the same long strokes as I'd given Steve's, but his shorter foreskin completely uncapped the head on the down-stroke, revealing the large mushroom that adorned the end of his perfectly straight shaft. Mike's long slit drooled natural lubricant, another sign of his arousal, and this served to lubricate the foreskin even more.

"WOW!" Mike yelled as I ran my fingertip over the gee-string under the head on the down-stroke. I was pulling hard, and the taut frenulum pulled the front of his head down. I felt his prick throb in my hand as it reacted to the sudden sharp stimulus. Mike's mushroom had turned darker purple, and I felt its final hardness through the enveloping skin.

"Do it again, Jack," Steve urged. "He really needs that." I pulled Mike's foreskin all the way up, stretching it, and then brought it down while I flicked my fingertip over his naked frenulum. When I brought his foreskin up hard, compressing his corona, his prick jerked hard in my hand. Steve pressed the edger into the tender flesh behind his balls and I watched as a steady drool of natural lubricant flowed from his slit. Mike's eyes were wide open, although otherwise he was paralyzed.

"We caught him right on the edge," Steve informed me. "He'll keep lubing for a few more seconds." Now Mike's body began shuddering, and Steve removed the edger.

"OOOOWWWW!" Mike cried out in joyful agony as the first gush of white cream shot up his throbbing penis and erupted from his long slit to land on his stomach. I felt another hard throb and an instant later saw another long rope of cream fly in an arc.

I was still stroking the wet and slippery foreskin over Mike's straining glans, feeling his cock-throbs, making him shoot more hot liquid discharges. His helpless cries filled the air, and we watched his orgasm avidly, experiencing it vicariously because we'd had ours minutes before.

Mike's climax finally ended with a few weak throbs while the residue dribbled from his slit. Steve wiped his glans carefully, ever conscious that it had become super-sensitive during his orgasm. Now I stroked Mike's foreskin up to cover the shrinking mushroom head, and we settled back to wait for Mike to emerge from his stupor.

"Thanks, guys," he said when he was able to speak.

"We loved doing it," I said.

"Yes, Jack enjoyed it even more than I did," Steve said. "I'm really sure of that." We sat silently for a couple more minutes. Then Mike turned to me:

"You said you didn't like being cut. Well, we can do something about that. Medical science has made real progress in the last 200 years. Today, we can snag a few cells from the inside of your mouth and clone you a new foreskin that's exactly like the one that was taken from you." I sat stunned, amazed at what he'd just told me and wondering if it could possibly be true, at the same time knowing it was.

Next morning Mike Stanmore took me with him to the police office, where he led me to meet with Dr. Eddy. Mike explained to him that I resented having been circumcised, and Dr. Eddy then explained to me:

"There have been a few cases like yours. Although circumcision's been illegal for a century, a few people inflict it on their infant sons. Some of these kids don't like having been circumcised when they get old enough to understand what's been done to them. We have a urologist not far from here who performs reconstructive surgery using a cloned foreskin." Dr. Eddy made a quick phone call and then continued:

"Dr. Simmons will be expecting you at 11 this morning. Just present your card when you get there." At that moment, Wallace came into the room.

"Damn! Something strange happened! I just looked in the locker where we'd put Jack's stuff and found that the remote control's missing. Nothing else. Tell me again what that thing controls." He looked expectantly at me.

"That lets me go back to my own time, in case of emergency. It also allows them to pull me back. If I'd been carrying it, I would have been back in my own time by now."

"That brings up another question, now. Do you want to go back to your own time? If you want to, we have no reason to keep you here."

"I don't know," I replied. "At least, I want to stay here until I'm whole again."

"Well, then let's get you over to Dr. Simmons," Mike said. "It's after 10 now." We went out and walked the few blocks north to Dr. Simmons' office. After showing my card to the receptionist, I ended up in the examining room while Mike waited outside for me.

"Well, let's see what you've got," Dr. Simmons said. I unzipped and lay back on the table while he examined my penis.

"Well, this looks like a typical circumcised penis. The reconstruction should be very straightforward. We'll clone a foreskin from some cells that I'll scrape from the inside of your cheek and then I'll do the microsurgery to attach it."

"Will it leave much scarring?" I asked nervously.

"No, not at all. Today, our surgery doesn't leave scars because we use tissue glue instead of sutures, and you'll be all healed within 24 hours. There won't be any rejection problem because it'll be your own tissue." He picked up a plastic spoon.

"Open wide," he said, and when I did he scraped the spoon along the inside of my cheek.

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's it for now. I'll send this to the lab and they'll clone a new foreskin in about 48 hours. By the way, the cloned foreskin will be exactly what you would have had if you hadn't been circumcised, but at this point I can't tell you whether it will be short or long, thick or thin. Do you have any preference? They can adjust the size while they're cloning it."

"I think I'd prefer a long one," I answered. I hadn't zipped up yet, and Dr. Simmons leaned over and measured my glans.

"All right, Jack. Your glans measures 3.5 centimeters long and about the same wide. Suppose we give you one that's six centimeters long. That should be enough to accommodate your glans growth during erection and still give you a pucker at the end. Without erection, of course, you'll have a nice overhang in front of the glans."

"That sounds perfect," I said.

"Okay, that's it, then. Leave a number where we can reach you and we'll call you in when we're ready." I had to step outside to obtain Mike's number to give to the doctor, and then we left.

"It'll be a couple of days," I said as we walked back to his office.

"You know that you're perfectly welcome to stay with us," he said. "Steve really likes you. For that matter, so do I."

"Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate it."

"Since you seem to be a permanent resident, you may as well get used to things here," Wallace said when we got back. "You probably eventually want to get a job, but first you'll have to find out what you can do. Meanwhile, just relax and get used to our time. We've got a very comprehensive social welfare program here, and for the moment, it's gonna be like being on welfare back in your time. You can buy food and clothing with your card, within reason, pay for housing, and get other things you'll need. You won't be able to buy any big ticket items, such as a house or vehicle, though, until you get a job."

"Let's get one thing clear, though," said Mike. "You're sure you won't suddenly vanish, now that that remote's been sucked back into your time?"

"They told me I'd have to have it on my person," I replied.

"You know what that means," Wallace suggested. "If I'd had it in my pocket, I'd probably be back at the start of the 21st. Century right now."

"As far as they told me, it only works one way," I contributed. "They said I could push the button to get back in an emergency, but they said nothing about going the other way. I guess if you were there right now, you wouldn't be able to come back here unless they projected you back." As I spoke, an older man entered the small office.

"Jack, this is Chief of Police Paul Dexter." I turned and shook hands with the Chief, who greeted me with a warm smile.

"You're a distinguished visitor," he said. "Glad to meet you." Wallace filled in the Chief on the situation, and Dexter said:

"Well, you're certainly welcome to stay as long as you wish, although right now it seems you have no choice." A thought struck me.

"I just realized, you might have another visitor." I explained the situation with John, and that he might be arriving soon with instructions to search for me.

"Okay, how about this as a hypothesis?" Wallace proposed. "We might assume that if John gets sent here, he'll arrive in the same area as Jack did. Do you remember exactly where you first set foot in our time?" He turned to me.

"Near the hotel," I replied. I can pin-point it within ten feet."

"Then maybe you've got a job," Wallace said. "If the Chief wants to hire you as a civilian consultant, you can stand watch to see if your friend shows up." The Chief nodded assent.

"Then go with him, Stanmore," said Wallace. We left as I was wondering if John might actually appear.

End of Part 1