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meantime, I suggest you all get some rest. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, including the implantation of your temporal retrieval devices.”
    Their faces reflected their distaste, which performed the distraction function Rutherford had intended.

CHAPTER THREE

    The following day, they underwent the biological cleansing process of which Rutherford had spoken—painless, but involving a certain degree of discomfort and indignity. In accordance with his usual policy, Rutherford also hastened them through something he had no desire to let them stew about.
    “The temporal retrieval device, or TRD, is very tiny.” He held up a metallic object no larger than a small pea. “It can be implanted anywhere; we generally prefer to use the inside of the upper left arm. It is a very simple in-out surgery.”
    Landry rubbed his itchy face (Rutherford had ordered all three of the men to start growing beards), scowled, and asked the question they always asked. “Do we have to have it implanted?”
    “The Articles of Agreement you signed state that you consent to it.”
    “Yes, yes, I know. But is it really necessary?” Landry’s uneasiness was reflected in Chantal Frey’s face and, to a lesser extent, in Mondrago’s. They had all grown up in post-Transhumanist society, and to them anything that blurred the line between man and machine was both illegal and flesh-crawlingly obscene.
    “The Authority,” Jason explained, “is responsible for getting you back to your proper time. Yes, we could build the TRD into some in-period object that you could carry. But then you might lose it, by inadvertence or theft. And with no TRD to restore your temporal energy potential, you’d be marooned in the fifth century b.c. permanently.” He saw that he’d gotten through to them. “You can’t lose something that’s inside your flesh.”
    As was often the case, Chantal’s voice was so quiet and hesitant as to be almost ignorable. “But . . . didn’t you say that the third member of your expedition remained in the Bronze Age. How could that be, if—?”
    “That was due to unforeseen circumstances, Dr. Frey.” Jason’s features and tone were carefully neutral. “The Teloi detected Dr. Sadaka-Ramirez’s TRD and had it cut out of her.”
    Chantal’s color didn’t look particularly good.
    “That sort of thing doesn’t normally happen,” Rutherford put in quickly. “In point of fact, that was the only time it has ever happened. At any rate, you now understand the importance of this procedure. And please be assured that the implant is a totally passive one, not involving any kind of direct neural interfacing.” Their expressions combined relief with revulsion at the very concept. “The TRD activates at a predetermined moment, timed by atomic decay, at which moment you will find yourselves back on the displacer stage.”
    “And until that moment,” said Jason, forestalling another question that always got asked, “there is no way to return to the present. You’re going to be in the past for a fixed duration, come hell or high water. This accounts for the stringent health and fitness qualifications you had to meet, and the low-tech survival course you had to pass . . . and also for the non-liability clause the Authority has written into the Articles of Agreement.”
    “But,” Landry persisted somewhat peevishly, “why can’t you take along a . . . er, switch, or whatever, so you can activate the TRDs and bring us back if we find ourselves in difficulties?”
    “Retrievals must be according to a rigid, entirely predictable schedule. That way, the Authority can assure that at the time you are due to return the displacer stage is clear of all other objects—objects with which you might otherwise find yourself sharing a volume of space.” Jason smiled at his listeners’ expressions. “Admittedly, the likelihood of this happening is small. But its consequences don’t bear thinking about.”
    “One problem,