Bridgehead by David Drake Page A

saved itself in your era by turning inward, into time and not to war. You must listen so that you at least know what it is you would threaten if you acted hastily.”
    â€œDr. Shroyer, I’m going back to the office now,” Danny Cooper said in a small voice. It was not certain that anyone even noticed the slim man turn and walk down the hall with his spine rigid. Rice, by contrast, was braced as if to thrust the chairman forward should Shroyer decide instead to leave.
    â€œAll right,” said the chairman. He stepped inside without taking Astor’s hand. “Explain to me why experiments conducted in my department are”—he shrugged—“giving people seizures.”
    *   *   *
    â€œOh, hello, dear,” called Henry Layberg from the living room. His voice was a surprise. Sara Jean had parked in the driveway, so she had not noticed whether or not the Porsche was already in the garage … and besides, it was always a surprise to find her husband home.
    Henry strode into the entryway with a cheerful expression. “Shroyer comes over tonight, doesn’t he? I just wanted to make sure everything’s taken care of. We had some good times back in Michigan, he and I.”
    â€œI’ve got the rabbit marinated,” Sara Jean said wearily. “I was just about to put it on.” She turned toward the kitchen. Normally she would have changed into a housedress first, but she was going to have to change again for dinner. The additional effort did not seem worthwhile to save possible stains on a dress she rarely had a chance to wear anyway. Her husband did not appear to notice anything unusual about her appearance; or to notice her appearance at all, for that matter.
    â€œI switched my phone,” Henry said as he followed her. “Used the call forwarding so that anybody who rings tonight gets the answering machine at my office. After all, with thousands of MDs practicing at the center, they can do without me for one night.”
    They could have done without him for his fifteenth anniversary, Sara Jean thought as she took the pan of incipient hasenpfeffer out of the refrigerator. That had been the night she had called Mike Gardner, even though the kiln was finished.
    She paused in midmotion. Plumping the rabbit down on the counter, she turned and hugged her husband. Dr. Layberg patted her shoulder, though his expression was puzzled.
    â€œHenry,” she said with her face turned so that the pens and beeper in his shirt pocket did not poke her nose, “something happened in the Engineering Department today, and I don’t know if Bob’ll be coming or not. I—I was talking to a man, and he disappeared. And before that…” She raised her eyes to his. “Let’s go into the living room,” she went on. “I need to tell somebody about it or I’ll burst. And make sure that”—she tapped the stainless-steel carapace of the beeper—“is turned off, too. I have to tell someone.”
    Meekly, while his mind tried to recall the private number of a friend in psychiatry, Dr. Layberg obeyed.
    *   *   *
    â€œGood afternoon,” said the tall woman with the attaché case and the motorcycle jacket. “My name is Schlicter, Sue Schlicter. I’ve been trying to find Professor Gustafson’s office, B Two, but none of the rooms have that prefix.”
    She spoke sharply enough, thought Danny Cooper, that she had probably been waiting some time for him to lift his eyes from his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. Christ, she must be six feet tall and built more like a fencepost than a woman. The severity of her dark slacks and white blouse made her lines seem harsher and roused unwelcome memories of the Travelers in black and white.…
    â€œYou’re too late, I’m afraid,” Danny said. Natural amiability overcame the flatness of voice that his present level of