“All right, all right,” L.M. lifted his hand, satisfied for the moment. “Now what is the plan? Fill me in on the details.”

“We have to make a trial run,” Barney said. “See if the Profs gadget really does work—”

“I assure you… !”

“And if it does work we set up a team, work out a script, then go out and shoot it on location. And what a location! All of history is open to us on wide screen! We can film it all, record it—”

“And save this studio from bankruptcy. No salary for extras, no sets to be built, no trouble with the unions…”

“Watch it!” Dallas said, scowling.

“Not your union, of course,” L.M. apologized. “All of the crew from here will be employed at scale and above, with bonuses, I was just thinking of the savings at the other end. Go now, Barney, while I am still enthusiastic, and do not come back until you have good news for me.”

They footsteps echoed from the cement path between the giant sound stages and their shadows stretched first in back, then in front of them as they walked through the pools of light under the widely spaced lamps. In the stillness and loneliness of the deserted studios they had sudden thoughts about the magnitude of what they were attempting and they moved, unconsciously, closer together as they walked. There was a studio guard outside the building who saluted as they approached and his voice broke the morbid spell.

“Tight as a drum, sir, and no disturbances at all.”

“Fine,” Barney told him. “We’ll probably be here the rest of the night, classified work, so see that no one gets near this area.”

“I’ve already told the captain and he’s passed the word to the boys.”

Barney locked the door behind them and the lights flared from the rafters above. The warehouse was almost empty, except for a few dusty flats leaning against the back wall and an olive-drab truck with the white army star on its door and canvas turtleback.