“Well?” I asked.

Gary shifted nervously from foot to foot, remaining obstinately silent.

“What were you taking from the store room that you had to go create thousands of alternate realities and nearly wipe out the universe for?”

“Uhm, this,” Gary fiddled in his pocket and pulled out an eraser.

“You nearly destroyed the universe for an eraser?”

“Uhm, yea.”

“Go report to your supervisor, while I figure out what to do with you.”

Hang dogged he turned to leave.

“Oh, and Gary, if you leave this room with that temporal translator in your pocket I’m going to slice up your brains, fry them and feed them to the monkeys.”

He paused and, trembling, took the small black box out of his pocket, put it on my desk, then left.

When he was gone I picked up the phone and dialled.

“Les Watson,” Les answered

“Les, Gary Pacemak, Birthdate 5,21,2939, go back, abort.”

“Right on!” Les said eagerly and hung up.

I didn’t want to do it, but Gary was just too dangerous to trust.