The woman of the pair flicked a switch and said over the intercom, “What’s your hurry? Got a hot date waiting?”

“You got it,” Bannister answered. “The date’s May 4, 1970.”

The intercom clicked off loudly. He wondered if the woman was annoyed at his attitude. Maybe she’d been making a pass at him. Maybe he should have said, “No date yet, but when I get back I’ll really be looking for action.” The woman’s lab coat hid her tits and her ass, but the way she moved when she walked, he could tell she was thinking of her body all the time. Feeling it move, tuned in to being sensuous. A night with a woman like that would leave a memory or two.

And all of the psych profiles said he’d be horny afterward. It was sick when you thought about it, but if horniness was natural, it was natural. You didn’t lose sleep if your body wanted to fart after eating beans — you just farted, didn’t you? So if Bannister’s body wanted to get laid after pulling the trigger on four strangers who died three hundred years ago...

The intercom clicked again and the male techie said, “Departure in thirty seconds.”

“Going to be a bumpy one?” Bannister asked. He was trying to sound cool, but the words came out too sharply. It was eagerness, only eagerness. He hoped the woman in the booth wouldn’t interpret it as nerves.

“The sea’s calm as glass all the way back to 2042,” the male techie replied. “Turbulence there, of course, but you’ve got clearance for one of the calmest straits in the area. Someone’s definitely pulled strings on this run — smoothest route we’ve been authorized to navigate since the beginning of the year. The Executive Board must really want these kids dead.”

“It’s crucial to world peace,” Bannister said.

“Yeah, right.” The man clicked off the intercom again.

Bannister wanted to shout back some kind of self-justification.