Free Bridgehead by David Drake

and the neck of his jacket, which he still gripped, were dark with sweat. “Did it?” Arlene demanded. She pumped her colleague’s arm in what had to be congratulations on getting back alive.
    â€œEverything here was all right,” put in Mustafa, “though there was some overheating in the main rectifiers.”
    â€œI think you really…” Isaac Hoperin said to Selve as the Traveler frowned. “It seems that you were able to do what you told Louis you could, though I don’t see…”
    â€œI suppose it would have looked all right,” Selve replied. He walked away from the physicist in abstraction rather than discourtesy. There were electronic recorders which would give detailed information on the run, but for the moment he just wanted to check the frequencies indicated by the three-pen paper tape unit hooked to the output board. Over his shoulder he added, “The location Portal was all right, but the duration was much too short. Even with the transfer mass increased by one person.…”
    Someone began pounding on the door to the nearest stairwell.
    â€œAstor,” said Keyliss in a deadly voice, “if you suspect treason affecting the project, then you’d better bring formal charges, hadn’t you?” Her spine was stiff as the gun she held at high port.
    â€œYour device,” said Professor Gustafson as he took the hands of both Keyliss and Astor, “has been successful beyond my dreams.” Tears of joy were close to brimming down his cheeks. He had not been listening to the tense interchange between the Travelers. “You have, you have given our world a focus beyond war and weapons, you three. You have saved our time and yours together.”
    â€œI thought it worked,” said Gardner with a doubtful nod toward the Travelers. “It, there wasn’t any hurt, we got back and—” He looked at his shoes, which should have been muddy and leaf-stained. They were not, though the perspiration from his own body had traveled back—forward?—with him. “Ah, Professor, should I get the door?”
    â€œYes, of course get it!” Astor said. “What sort of incident will there be if you don’t?”
    Keyliss, equally willing to find a subject which did not involve treason and failure, said, “There shouldn’t have been any effects outside the immediate area, unless— Do you use cesium oscillation for lighting? Ah—in this age?”
    â€œPerhaps I should—” Professor Gustafson said.
    Before he more than turned, however, the graduate student had reached the door and opened it himself. The various emotions which had hung in the air of the basement became brittle for the instant of the latch clicking. Sara Jean’s stumbling entry was a surprise and anticlimax to everyone.
    Mike Gardner was too shocked to swear, even under his breath. The others—Gustafson and the other students, at least—had met Mrs. Layberg a time or two, but they almost certainly did not recognize her in this context of panic and confusion. God, he was in trouble.… “Sara Jean,” he said aloud, “what’s the matter?”
    The woman took charge of herself in a way that went beyond standing straighter and brushing a wisp of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry for the way I…” she said. She stepped a little apart from Gardner, though she kept one hand on his waist. Loudly enough to be heard by all those watching, Sara Jean went on, “Upstairs something happened, and I was—with people in another cit—” Her eyes, scanning her audience, froze on the weapon which Keyliss still held at her side.
    Sara Jean’s recovered composure broke again. She pointed and screamed, “Mike, oh, my God, they had guns like that, and they— What’s happening here?”
    Astor snatched Keyliss’s weapon and thrust it back into the locker in which she had