back?'
'Hardin has found a better use for Argolin tachyonics than those games with which Pangol amuses the holidaymakers,' announced Mena.
'What better use? What's this Hardin fellow discovered?' demanded the accountant. 'He has shown us how to manipulate Time.'
Using the stub of a pencil, the Doctor was trying to work out the various mathematical equations which Pangol punched out on the console of the generator. The equations appeared on the bubble screen.
'Satisfied?' asked Pangol who was growing weary of the Doctor's persistent questions.
'Frankly,' replied the Doctor, 'no.'
'What's wrong? Can't you do the sums?'
Pangol winked at the crowd of holidaymakers, who roared with laughter. Here was an unexpected bonus to their day-the discomfiture of a would-be expert.
'All you're giving me,' said the Doctor patiently, 'is the building blocks of tachyonics. General theory's all very well, but let's have a few specifics.'
'Like what?'
'Temporal ratios. Duration constants. Reduplication fields.'
Pangol's eyes narrowed. This strange-looking visitor was beginning to ask some awkward questions. He seemed to know altogether too much about tachyoaics for his own good. Somehow he had to be headed off.
'One of these days, when we've got more time,' lied Pangol, 'I'll be happy to show you around the machine.'
'Any time you like,' agreed the Doctor. 'The sooner the better.'
But a balding Terran clad in a glimmering smock had other ideas. It had been his wife's idea to come to Argolis. The place was all very colourful no doubt, but personally he was bored stiff. The generator was the first thing he had seen which promised to provide a good laugh.
'Forget theories,' said the Terran. 'What I want to know is-does that thing really work, or is it all a fake?'
Gratefully Pangol turned his attention to the new questioner. 'Visitor Loman,' he said, reading the name badge attached to the man's smock, 'you think we might have been using edited recordings in our demonstration, do you?'
'You're dead right!'
'Rubbish,' snapped the Doctor. 'The whole thing's real —that's what worries me.'
Pangol ignored his intervention. 'Perhaps you'd care to try the machine for yourself, Mr Loman,' hi suggested. 'Take my place inside.'
Mr Loman stared at the generator, his enthusiasm for the prospect waning fast.
'Having second thoughts?' queried Pango maliciously.
'No, of course not,' replied the man witb noticeable lack of conviction.
The watching holidaymakers roared with laughter.
Pangol slid open the doors to the central chambel of the generator and invited Loman to enter. 'There' nothing to it,' he told the Terran. 'The machine does it all. Just stand in the image chamber and try to relax.'
Loman smiled weakly, but he managed a cheery wave to the crowd outside before Pangol closed the doors.
Pangol busied himself at the control console 'First,' he told his audience, 'the projection.'
Suddenly a startled Loman could be sfcen floating upside down in the bubble screen.
The crowd applauded.
'Two temporally coincident Mr Lomans are now in existence,' explained Pangol; 'one inside the imag chamber, the other as you can see-within th bubble.
'Now, he went on, 'we can manipulate the one without injuring the other.'
He began to punch in instructions to sjthe computer. The audience stared at the image of Loman, now right side up, floating in the bubble. Apparently full of confidence, the Terran began to wave at his fellow holidaymakers. He pulled faces and clowned around to the amusement of the audience.
Suddenly a look of agony crossed his face.
His left arm detached itself from his shoulder and floated off into space. But unlike Pangol's earlier demonstration, the amputation was followed by a great fountain of blood from his shoulder. The right leg detached itself from Loman's body. Again it was accompanied by a cataract of blood. The bubble screen was by now spattered with scarlet.
The crowd screamed.
Detecting the change of