When I reached two billion years, the pressure became almost palpable, and I gripped the handlebars of the motorcycle tighter, as if to assure myself of the material support of some known object. This time I used the classic motorcycle functions and got as close as I could to the object that was smoking and sizzling nearby. I smiled victoriously: I was truly a champion, because instead of bringing the scientists a set of photographs, I was going to bring them something tangible. All I had to do was perform a time-travel for the researchers at the Institute of Time Research, take a few photographs and then I would be exonerated of all charges. I felt a powerful shock, and had I not been forewarned by his brutality, I might have dropped the pistol from my hand. But so I held it tightly, and it was not until I turned around that I plucked up the courage to holster it again. Years ago, after a complete set of tests, McTroy explained to me that I had the
