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problem for them, considering that they could take one back to the fifth century B.C.”
    “Not exactly. This was a good deal larger.” Rutherford drew a deep breath. His gaze went to the sword in his display case—the sword that a French peasant girl had found behind the altar of the Church of Saint Catherine of Fierbois in 1429—as it often did when he needed to fortify himself with strength from sources beyond his own. “Now, you realize that neither Asamoa nor anyone on his team is an expert in such matters, which are irrelevant to their expedition’s original purpose. But he thinks the wreckage is that of a small spaceship originating in our era.”
    “ What? ” Jason half shot up out of his chair before forcing his legs to lower him back down and his brain to stop swirling. “But that would have to be a colossal effort even for them. And what would be the point?”
    “We have no idea,” said Rutherford sadly. “We don’t even have a theory. It seems to have no relevance to the creation of one of their secret societies or cults—certainly none that would justify the staggering expense it must have entailed.”
    “All right. Now I see what the excitement is about. But I still don’t understand what you want me for. It doesn’t sound like you have the kind of precise target date we require for Special Ops missions.”
    “No, we don’t. And we need to ascertain one. I therefore want you to lead a research expedition, including Dr. Boyer, back to the late 1660s.”
    “Wait a minute, Kyle—!”
    “This, of course, will be subject to the standard conditions under which such expeditions have always operated, such as the use of TRDs with an automatic, preset activation time, so that you can remain long enough for a thorough investigation. And the usual prohibitions on out-of-period articles, including weapons, will naturally—”
    “Wait a minute! I thought we had an understanding, damn it! I don’t do this kind of thing anymore, now that I’m heading Special Ops. It’s no longer my job to—no offense, Dr. Boyer—try to keep parties of academics alive while they nose around in some of the most violent periods of Earth’s history.”
    “This will hardly be one of your typical academic expeditions, Jason. It will be specifically targeted on detecting Transhumanist activity. Indeed, you may find that you have an opportunity to abort the problem yourself before your return. You will have full discretion in this matter.”
    “But,” argued Jason, recalling the Observer Effect, “if we already know that this cult or secret society or whatever still existed in 1791—”
    “We don’t know that for certain. All we have to go on are rumors of it, which may only reflect old fears. Besides, even if you can’t actually scotch it in the seventeenth century, perhaps you can gather new intelligence on Transhumanist operations in general. And on further reflection I believe that, given the potential danger involved, we can allow certain compromises in the matter of high technology, as long as it is very subtle and well-concealed.”
    Jason’s eyes narrowed. Rutherford was being suspiciously accommodating. “I still don’t know why you want me. I can’t exactly pass as an African.”
    “Nor will you need to. The pirates of the milieu in question were a remarkably heterogeneous group. Anyone whose ancestors came from anywhere around the Atlantic and Mediterranean basins will blend in with them easily. Which reminds me: since this will involve a displacement of only slightly over seven hundred years, you’ll be able to take a larger group than was the case on your last two expeditions, which went back millennia.” Jason nodded automatically; the highly expensive energy requirement for temporal displacement was a function of the total mass displaced and the span of time into the past it was to be sent. “Therefore,” Rutherford continued, beaming, “in addition to Dr. Boyer and one other researcher, you