The six youngsters and Venger watched as Josef Mueller flew the Starfire-19 through the portal. The Crystal of Cronos flared up briefly, then faded.

"It has begun," Venger muttered, as if to himself. Then he turned to the six. "You may as well give me your weapons now."

"You mean like this?" Diana yelled, tears in her eyes. Her staff had, at her thoughts, turned into a javelin; now, she threw it straight at Venger.

Hank quickly shot off a bolt of energy to deflect it. "Diana! What do you think you're doing?!"

"Face it, Hank, we've got nothing left to lose. Maybe taking Venger out is the last thing we get to do."

Venger mounted his horse, which quickly rose into the air. "I shall return for your weapons when you have ceased to be." The others watched him fly off to the horizon.

"So it has come to this," another voice sadly muttered, suddenly nearby.

"Now what, DungeonMaster?"

"Forgive me, Ranger; forgive me, all of you. I did not foresee this. Venger has succeeded in changing history by changing it here. Josef was supposed to refuse his offer."

"Well, he didn't. Thanks a lot. Now what are you gonna do to help us?"

"Cavalier, it has already been done."

Hank spoke up, with a touch of panic in his voice. "You sound like you don't know what's going to happen."

"Until Josef went through the Portal, I had several choices; now, only one remains: a time paradox. And it is a dangerous chance, but better than no chance at all."

"What Venger said about our parents--will they--"

"I'm afraid it is true, Barbarian; as things are now, they will be born into a very different world, and will never meet."

"Can't we say goodbye or anything?" Bobby was now crying openly, as were most of them, for, in the end, they were children.

"There is no need. If you return to the Realm when summoned, and stop Josef again, all will be as it was."

"Stop him again?" Eric yelled. "We only had one chance, and that's gone!"

"But your other selves shall be your other chance."

"Look, I've had it with sayings that don't make sense, and ways to get home that never get us there. You brought us to the Realm, away from our folks and friends. You owe us big-time."

"And all shall be repaid, but not in any way that I can explain to you."

Tears welled up in Diana's eyes. "I don't want to die!"

"You will not, my child--none of you will. But I must ask you to live in a strange kind of dream world, until your destinies are sorted out."

Uni began to bleat as if she were being strangled. The six looked around apprehensively, but there was nothing to be seen yet.

"You can't just leave it like this, DungeonMaster. At least give us some idea what's going on."

"Venger did what he did to assure that you would never be born. Yet there is a chance that you would have been born in spite of what Venger has changed. By bringing your other selves to the Realm, Venger's plan will have failed. His version of time will disappear, and you and your past will again be as you are now."

The wind rose; the sky over the Crystal of Cronos darkened. "Gather together, pupils; there is no more time to explain!"

"You're not going to vanish on us again, are you?"

"I'm afraid that it is you who must vanish, Ranger--for a time."

The six seemed to be caught in a dizzying cyclone of force. The last thing they were conscious of was DungeonMaster trying to bind them all together with his power.

There is neither need nor time to detail all the changes in world history. Perhaps the least-changed area was Japan. Not to be the victim of atomic bombing, it still struggled through years of post-war starvation and shortage. In the 1950s, it again became the fueling-station for a super-power proxy war in Korea; fought this time between China and Japan's new patron Germany. The latter propped up the Japanese economy as the Americans would have done, and the multinational zaibatsu proceeded apace with their discoveries in autos and plastics, adhesive tape and videotape, robotics and computers.

When the US and the remaining Allied forces were driven out of Europe in the spring of 1945 by the Starfire-19, the US fell to arguing with itself, debating whether to regroup and attack the Nazis again, or to come to an accommodation. This led, after the fall of Europe, to a three-year civil war which was bloodier than the first one, and which so exhausted the American spirit that it was almost with relief that Americans followed the path of least resistance. Aided by a native mistrust of blacks, Jews, Catholics, Asians, Communists and foreigners in general, the US fell, easily and benignly at first, into a homegrown fascism. By the late fifties, it even became chic to Germanize once non-Germanic names. Of course, some far less benign things were also happening.

As the American Reich approached its 35th year, it fought a general sense, shared in Germany and around the world, that fascism had accomplished nothing. It was a mean-spirited dead end that only benefited those who had a place in the Party apparatus. The Japanese had long since abandoned Party ideology to follow its own path, and Nazi client-states such as Spain were making the same moves. Yet everyone seemed to think that it would take another civil war, another bloodbath, to displace fascism in America.

In fact, it would only take six children, pure of heart.

The New Amsterdam State-Beacon published only Party-approved news, and thus it omitted more than a few happenings in its September 10, 1983 issue. It mentioned the Muller Day Parade on the first Monday in September, with a large photospread. It mentioned the start of a new academic year, one in which the teaching of Aryan Eugenics was to be mandatory starting in second grade, rather than fourth. It did not report yet another failed attempt to locate "Sojourner", the most infamous of the underground "freedom schools" circulating through the Harlem Ghetto.

Diana, daughter of that school's founders, tossed her copy of the paper aside. She and other members of the Sojourner "faculty" were in their current safe-house next to what had once been the Cotton Club. She almost took the omission personally. "Sometimes I think it would be nice to see our faces on a wanted poster--"

"Are you nuts?" her little brother Gregory piped up.

"Just to prove that the Reich takes Negroes seriously about something."

"Well, stick your neck out the door if you don't believe it."

"Relax. we've still got to keep grandpa's medals in circulation. Now, where are we tonight?"

Gregory had committed their itinerary to memory; no evidence that way. "First shutdown arcade south of the tower at Coney Island, ten thirty."

Only someone who knew the two children, sitting next to each other in the subway car as it rumbled under Manhattan, would have said they were from the same family. Eva Magdalena (born Sheila) Crispin couldn't have looked less like her brother. The family's roots were in the British Isles, and she bore the red hair and freckles of her Irish ancestry. She followed the family's Catholic traditions, which didn't set too well just then with the Party brass.

Her brother Rutger, however, was a short and wiry blonde; undeniably a Norse-Aryan type. The mere fact of his approved good looks caused a great many people to look the other way when it came to their family. And Eva was counting on that.

"Rutger? Wake up!"

"Huh? Sorry, sis."

They collected themselves and got off the subway near the edge of Central Park.

"You know how important it is to keep up appearances," she whispered. "Mom and dad are trying to make things better for us."

"And that's gonna happen if I call myself Rutger?"

"I know it's stupid. Every--" she looked around quickly before whispering, "everything the Party does is stupid. But mom and dad are trying to change things. If we go along with this act, it'll help everyone."

"I just don't see how."

"Don't worry about it. Just do your best to get on the team."

"Yeah. At least baseball isn't illegal yet."

I wish it were, Eva thought. The Reich was putting a lot of emphasis on physical training for young men and boys, especially sports. Intramural and citywide sports programs were well-funded, at the expense of the arts budgets. Her mother, who was a teacher and who felt these policies from inside the system, had her own theory. "They're putting everything into sports, but ignoring sportsmanship," she said one night after Rutger had gone to bed. "They're trying to foster aggression, to breed a 'win-at-all-costs' mentality. If something doesn't change, the students I've got now won't be fit for anything but the army; which is probably the whole point."

She dropped Rutger (born Robert) off at the Hitler Youth meeting, then went around the corner to a "dissenting" Catholic church, where a lay brother was being dressed down by a Jesuit priest.

"Brother Henry, the whole world, including the American Reich, knows the Church's position on the pretender Reichardt. The Church hardly needs you to explain its position."

A majority of Catholics around the world refused to recognize Reichardt's self-declared papacy. With the death the previous year of Pope Nicholas, Cardinal Reichardt of Vienna--a German prelate and Nazi theoretician--proclaimed himself Nicholas' successor and dared the College of Cardinals to dispute him. The College, exiled from Fascist Italy to a stronghold in Palestine, did just that. This was bad enough, but to outrage the Nazis by electing, as the College had just the week before, Karol Wojtyla, a Polish refugee--

"I didn't explain anything to anyone."

"No, you merely took several lengthy digressions from your Catechism classes to, shall we say, share with the students your personal opinions about the College of Cardinals."

"I don't have a problem with the College's choice, Father."

"Nobody said that you did. But in questioning the College's deliberate speed--"

"Excuse me, Father. If I'm to be indicted here, at least quote me correctly. I said that taking almost a year to pick Nicholas' successor was a waste of time and played right into the Party's hands."

"You forget yourself, Brother Henry. When you took your first Orders, you pledged obedience and submission."

"Because I thought the Church was different from the Party. Now I'm not sure."

The Jesuit Father's face turned nearly purple. He reflexively pulled his hand back, preparing to strike Brother Henry across the face. Then he saw that Brother Henry did not flinch, steadfastly waiting for the blow. He had felt worse than the Father could give him.

Ruefully shaking his head, the Father dropped his arm. "I never understood the passionate conviction of youth. Perhaps, if there had been more of it in the Forties, we would not be where we are today. We will talk later. What we talk about will depend on how you conduct yourself." The Father walked off to write his daily reports; one for the Vatican-in-exile, one for the New Amsterdam Gauleiter.

Brother Henry didn't have much time to reflect on the conversation, since just then Eva gave the secret knock at the church's side door. He ushered her downstairs into a double-locked room. They didn't kiss at once--time enough for that later--but turned immediately to Henry's prized possession, and one of the worst pieces of anti-Nazi propaganda. Banned anywhere the Party was in power, Henry had nonetheless gotten a copy smuggled in, along with one of the new Japanese video recorders. This was their third date; he could finally trust her enough to show it to her.

"Subtitled?" Eva asked.

"No; believe it or not, this is in the original." His voice shook with the illicit excitement as he turned on the tape and they started to watch "Casablanca". An act punishable by death.

Erich Huffman had been poring over the books in his father's study. His father was the second generation owner of Huffman Works, one of the biggest manufacturers on the eastern seaboard. Erich knew he would be expected to take over, and tried diligently to learn the business, but could never follow it for long. He had to struggle to keep up with his high-school math classes; he could make no sense at all of annual reports and stock options.

This business about the business was too much, he decided, especially on an empty stomach. He left the ledger open on the table and went into the kitchen for some milk and a sandwich.

He hadn't been in the kitchen a minute before he heard a noise from the study. His father was in there with a couple of members of the Secret Service, which the president had long since combined with the last of the FBI.

"Heil, Mr. Huffman. Where is your son?"

"You haven't searched the house yet?"

"Save us the trouble. Tell us where he is."

"The crime was mine; he did not pick his mother."

They're here about my mother?

"Have you ever told him? He probably doesn't know, does he?"

"I've been meaning to tell him--"

"Warn him, more like. What did you think; that you could bribe the Party to look the other way for the rest of your life?"

A hand grabbed Erich's shoulder and dragged him into the study. It was agent Kessel who shoved the teenager toward his father. The other, agent Bruner, had been doing all of the talking. He smiled smugly at Mr. Huffman, then looked around the study and saw a rifle mounted on the wall; he plucked it off and quickly threw it at Erich. The boy reached out and caught it.

"Good reflexes, boy. Let's see how loyal you are to the Party. The Party implemented the Fair Home Program to allow the Jews to settle out west. It applied to all Jews; failure to relocate, or harboring fugitive Jews, is punishable by death. You don't think a Party member should consider himself above the law of the land, do you?" Erich knew enough to shake his head no.

"Good lad. But someone here does indeed consider himself above the law." Bruner set his hand heavily on Mr. Huffman's shoulder. "This man's wife was a Jew. Not only that, she was a Schindler Jew. She should have died in the camps in Europe; instead she cheated justice, escaped to America, lived the high life and died a natural death. In doing so, she broke the law, and so did the man who knowingly sheltered her. What's done is done; there's no hope for him, but there is for you. Deal with the traitor according to the laws of the land, and we can recommend leniency for you. Save yourself from his fate, or share it."

Erich weighed the rifle, and didn't hesitate. He raised the gun, squeezed off two shots--one each for agents Kessel and Bruner, hitting them square in the chest. As soon as their bodies hit the floor, Erich tore off his own clothes and began to strip one of the agents.

His father stood in shock.."I--"

"Father, did you think I didn't know? Of course mother told me; five years ago, on her deathbed. And five minutes after she told me, I started planning for this night. Thank God he threw the air-rifle at me. I don't mind shooting them with tranquilizer darts. But I would have put lead slugs between their eyes if I had to. Now hurry up; take your clothes off and put his on!"

Mr. Huffman, who had spent the last minute hearing a death sentence pronounced upon him, stood in a daze, watching his son.

"You want to dress up like this one, then?  I don't think he's your size. Either way, get into his clothes; that's the only way out of this house tonight."

Pietr Friedrich left Hindenburgh Middle School as he did every day, and--just as happened every day--everyone seemed to lose track of him. He had a knack for vanishing into crowds. Of course, he wasn't too noticeable at the best of times--his auburn hair, skinny frame, nasal voice, slight but noticeable overbite and black-rimmed glasses that kept slipping down his nose marked him as one of the school's "nerds". Nobody paid much attention to him in the first place. And that suited Pietr, and his line of work, just fine.

Even though the New Amsterdam State-Beacon didn't publish it, a map was circulated among the officers at New Amsterdam Party headquarters, and was posted in the office of the city's Gauleiter. It was a map of the lower part of Manhattan, that took up the better part of what was once called "Alphabet City". The map started as a single red dot, a pinprick, showing a corner on Avenue C where a Nazi official had had his pocket picked. After a few months, the map held block-long streaks of red. Yet even the SS-FBI agents who were sent into the district as bait never seemed to see anything or anyone suspicious--until it was too late.

Yet if you asked Pietr Friedrich why he only hit Party officials, he'd deny that there was any political motive. "Hey," he'd say, "a pickpocket HAS to hit the Party brass; they're the only ones with any cash."

This makes it sound as if Pietr had a small fortune hidden away; and in truth, he saved a few Reichdollars. But one of the reasons that the people of New Amsterdam who knew Pietr never betrayed him to the Party was his inability to hang onto the money he stole. It almost always found its way to a family whose children were sick, to an immigrant whose work permit was almost expired--to dozens of people Pietr thought needed the money more than he did.

He spent a little of the money on himself--more accurately, on his girl Varla. She had a room in Greenwich Village sector, where Pietr spent most of his non-school hours. He had a home with his grandparents in Queens, but only went there late in the evening, just before curfew. There was something abut Varla, daughter of an Italian emigre, that fascinated him--something dangerous and exotic. She seemed as apolitical as he was--at any rate, she always refused to discuss politics. And she knew how to change the subject. And he let her.

He arrived at her brownstone three-flat a little before his usual time, with the proceeds of no less than three boosted wallets in his pocket. He never liked to be flashy or call attention to himself, but tonight he was ready to throw caution to the winds. There had to be a small--and safe--restaurant in the neighborhood where he could take Varla. It was about time that they went out on an actual date.

Just as he arrived, he heard steps on the building's inside hallway. Instinctively, he ducked under the stoop, hiding while whoever it was left the building. From his hiding place, Pietr could see that it was a policeman.

Once the cop was halfway down the block, Pietr slipped out from under the stoop, and went up the steps three at a time. He silently let himself into the hallway. As he did so, he heard a door close at the top of the stairs. Varla's door. All thoughts of a dinner date vanished as he ran up the stairs to Varla's room, bursting in without knocking.

She was a knockout; he had to admit that. A gorgeous face framed by a wealth of red hair. He almost forgot. Almost. "What was he doing here?"

"There was someone 'ere?"

"C'mon, Varla, old Mrs. Jessup is at the market and you said they arrested Mr. Delvecchio yesterday. You're the only one left."

She sighed in resignation. "Alright. 'E came up to see me. This makes you 'appy now?"

"Was he here on business? I mean, what did he want?"

"'E came on business, but it was my business. I'm sorry, Pietr, but I 'ave to pack. If you stay, you 'elp me. If not, this is goodbye."

"What are you saying?!"

She took his face in her hands. "Listen, Pietr. 'Ow much you know about me, eh? You think I stay away from the Nazis, I am not political?  I show you." She opened one of the suitcases to reveal something like an old Army field phone. It was a confusing paste-together surplus job, a mix of vacuum tubes from the war, transistors from the sixties and the newest Japanese motherboards. "My father, 'e send me 'ere one year ago. I listen to police broadcasts, I gather intelligence, and I give the Party information in return. False information. Now my father tells me to leave. The Nazis, they suspect me. I go to Canada tonight."

Pietr was floored by this revelation. Varla was the last person in the world he had expected to be involved in the Resistance. He sat on the bed, unable to move.

Varla closed up the radiophone and began emptying drawers into a final suitcase. "Pietr, mio caro, you try to 'ave it both ways. You work against the Nazis as much as I do, and you pretend you do not. The time for these games is past. You must choose your side. Quickly. Presto!"

He may have been confused, but Pietr knew enough to know that Varla was the best thing that had ever happened to him. "Why are you going?  What's in Canada?"

"Safety."

Pietr weighed every fantasy he'd ever had about a future with Varla, against the fate of his grandparents--the last family he had left. "Have you got room for three more?"

"Not even for one. But once we are in Canada, I can work to get you out."

"Can I-- When are you leaving?  Can't I at least see you off?"

"This is not a cruise! I run for my life!"

"Varla, please."

Varla, despite her youth, was already used to dealing with people according to whether they could help or hinder her. But she couldn't treat Pietr as part of an equation. She knew the risks, but she'd grown fond of him. "You must leave now. But come to Coney Island tonight, eleven o'clock, by the tower."

The movie was almost over. Bogart was saying goodbye to Bergman on the tarmac. Eva, without taking her eyes off of the television, grasped Henry's hand in her own.

"We'll always have Paris," the shadowy figure on the screen said. Please don't let me cry, Eva prayed, that would be too embarrassing--

There was a hammering on the door. Henry leapt out of the sofa, turned off the machine, then went to the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me, sis."

Eva jumped off the sofa in turn as Henry unlocked the door for Rutger. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, maybe. The group leader was doing a lot of talking this time about the new Pope. Some of the hotheads were saying they'd come over here after the meeting and rough up a few priests. I told them I was going to the bathroom, and snuck over here. I'd better get back before I'm missed."

"No." Henry's statement surprised both Eva and Rutger. "We'd better clear out. Don't go straight home, either. We need to get out of sight for a while."

"Aren't you going to warn the others?"

For an answer, Henry unbuttoned his cassock and sloughed it onto the floor. In blue jeans and a crew-neck pullover, he looked like a thousand other teenaged boys. "They've made their decision about the Nazis; I think I've just made mine."

Eva looked aghast, first at Henry, then at her brother who was clearly ecstatic. "Alright!"

"The subway's right around the corner," Henry went on; "how about Coney?"

In this world, Disneyland never existed. Uncle Walt tried to convince the American Reich that he was just as ardently union-busting anti-Communist as any Nazi, as in fact he was. However, if he hoped the Party would forgive and forget about propaganda films like Der Fuehrer's Face, he needn't have bothered. His studios were confiscated, and it was all Walt could do to escape to Australia and try to start all over again.

In any case, Coney Island suffered no competition, from Orlando or anywhere else. It was the principal amusement zone for the Eastern seaboard, drawing tourists ten months out of the year, and, when it was open, stayed open 24 hours a day.

Some of the sleazier entertainments--the freak shows and the hoochie-koochie dancers--had been sent packing by the Party, under the excuse of "good taste" amd "cleaning up Jewish decadence". Of course, not all these venues were chased out; some remained, to indulge behind closed doors the seamier tastes of some of the Party's upper echelon.

Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs were still sold at Coney Island, even though the Nathan name had been lost years ago. Coney's most famous edible souvenir couldn't be allowed to have an even vaguely Jewish name. But, through changes small and large, the silhouette of Coney Island stayed the same, because the Party knew better than to tamper with its most distinctive feature: the Parachute ride. The tower was the tallest structure for miles around, and was the principal magnet for visitors to the park. It usually meant an hour's wait to be hoisted several stories in a chair, to be suddenly dropped in a controlled but still exhilarating fall back to the earth. And if people said they would meet near the Tower, everyone knew exactly what they meant.

There was nothing unusual about Negroes from the Harlem Ghetto traveling by subway to Coney Island--as long as their travel passes were in order. It was unusual for them to gravitate toward the tower, and then seem to disappear. There was nothing apart from the ride that could have drawn them. The park management and Party officials wouldn't have thought that a shut-down arcade, used as a warehouse, was drawing a crowd for its own purposes.

One of Sojourner's rules was symbolized by a graphic of four hands on top of each other, the arms seeming to form an X. The hidden message, though, was in the hands: never more than twenty people at a gathering. That way, in the event of a raid, there would still be students and faculty left to carry on.

Diana had moved to the front of the room with the medals in a closed case. She had done this a dozen times before, but it was more than just experience that silenced the mutterings in the room. She was only eighteen years old, but her bearing, her self-confidence, her pride set her apart from those who had been hunted and haunted and houded into submitting to the American Reich. Diana would have none of that.

"You know why we're here," she began; "to look at the history that isn't in the books. A history that says Negroes are not genetically more stupid, or more criminal, or anything else the Aryan Eugenics laws say; that it's not our destiny to bow our heads and serve the so-called Master Race. Individually and as a people, we have accomplished wonders. And the proof of one of those wonders is here tonight."

Members of the audience looked at each other and nudged their neighbors. This was what they had come for. Sojourner had what amounted to sacred relics for these people.

"If you look in the history books," Diana continued, "they'll say that the 1936 Olympics in Berlin were disrupted by terrorists, and that some of the track events never took place. It's a lie, and it's a lie the German Party had to tell, and the American Party had to go along with. In here is what really happened."

She opened the wooden box that lay on the table in front of her. Inside were four gold discs. "These are what the Party doesn't want anyone to see: the four Olympic gold medals won by my grandfather, Jesse Owens. He won them by being better than any athlete Germany, or anyone else, had to offer. It's been almost fifty years now, and a lot of people my age never even heard of Jesse Owens, or think he's just a legend. But he was real, and his medals are real, and his victory over white supremacy was real. And it's our victory, too."

With that, Diana stepped aside, so that another of the Sojourner faculty could talk about Negro accomplishments and ancient African civilizations. Before another word could be said, though, a scuffle broke out at the door as someone tried to leave.

"But I gotta go to the can, man," somebody was complaining.

"You know the rules," a cousin of Diana's was saying. "Once we start, nobody leaves."

"But I gotta go!" the voice complained, more loudly now. "I've stayed too long already!"

Diana realized what was happening at once. "A raid!" she yelled. "We've been set up!"

Members of the audience jumped to their feet, looking for an exit, just as a half-dozen New Amsterdam policemen burst through the door. Diana grabbed the case of medals, then somersaulted across the floor into the legs of the policemen, scattering them like ninepins. Her brother Gregory was near the door; she grabbed his hand and ran away from the building, looking for the thick of the crowd, which was easy to find even at 10:45 on a chilly September night. They ran into the crowd, then walked, staying in the thick of people but heading toward the subway platform.

"Wha's gonna happen now?" Gregory asked.

"You're getting on a train back to Harlem, that's what. Take the medals. I'll see if I can hook up with the others."

"By myself?!"

"We don't have any choice. I think we got enough of a head start; they won't stop or search the train."

They reached the subway platform; there were no policemen to stop or search them. Diana waited until Gregory was on the next train back into the city--buried, as he was, in a throng of people heading back home after a long day at the beach. Once the train was out of sight, she dashed back to the park.

Part of the beach near the Tower had been built over. A multi-purpose pier had been built in the late Fifties; it handled commuter boats taking people to and from the park, fishing excursion trips and the occasional private party. This night, two private parties were gathering at the pier.

Erich was right; they only avoided arrest by trading their clothes for those of the agents, and taking the agents' limp bodies out to the waiting car. The Party chauffeur was listening to a baseball game on the car radio and didn't even pay attention, until Mr. Huffman held a revolver to the chauffeur's head, handcuffed him and put him in the back seat with the unconscious agents. They first drove to the house of their butler, instructing him to take a taxi to the pier at Coney Island and prepare a boat. They would try to get to Canada that night, transfer the family funds to a Canadian bank first thing in the morning, and then try to figure out what to do.

Huffman Works had its own boathouse at the pier; it did a lot of business with the American Reich. Unless the SS-FBI had alerted the New Amsterdam Police, they should have no trouble setting sail. They arrived at the pier at exactly 11:00, having dropped the agents and chauffeur off at a Huffman Works factory on Long Island, where the night watchmen agreed to hold the Reich officers until dawn.

In the dim light at the end of the pier, Erich and his father almost got onto the wrong boat; two nearly identical cruisers were moored side by side. The only cue they had was seeing the red and blue flag of the Diplomatic Corps flying above the cabin of the other cruiser. Erich was more than a bit envious; even if they do suspect us, he thought, that boat'll never be touched. He and his father boarded the Huffman cruiser, cast off and started away from the pier.

The moment they did, they saw two other figures race down the pier. They seemed to be no older than Erich, maybe even younger. They each carried a suitcase, but still ran as fast as they could. They no sooner stepped onto the boat when a jeep raced down the beach and stopped at the end of the pier. Four policemen piled out and raced down the pier. They were too late; the second boat had also cast off and was already in open waters.

One of the officers went back to the jeep and barked orders into a two-way radio. The two cruisers continued on their way, only about fifty yards apart, when a Coast Guard cutter rushed toward the second boat from down the coast. It left the Huffman Works boat alone and to the amazement of Erich and his father, turned its guns on the other cruiser.

This is crazy, Erich thought; what happened to diplomatic immunity? At that point, the Coast Guard cutter opened fire on the cruiser. Erich and his father thought they saw someone or something fall overboard just seconds before one of the shots found its mark. The cruiser stopped dead in the water, a column of smoke rising from the stern. The Coast Guard boat didn't even seem to notice the Huffman boat. They decided to slow to a near-crawl, not wanting to waste fuel or call attention to themselves.

About ten minutes later, after they had changed out of the SS-FBI uniforms, they heard a knocking on the hull. Erich went aft to check. There hanging onto the stern ladder were two young people, a boy and a girl. The boy pushed his glasses up on his nose and asked Erich, "Where are you going?"

"You're from that other cruiser, aren't you?  Why were they--"

"Please, just tell me where you're going!"

"Er, Canada. What's it to you?"

"You've got to take her with you!  I can give you money. It's kinda wet, but--"

"Just shut up and get on board." Erich helped the two out of the water. The girl looked a bit older than her fourteen years, and was completely exhausted. The boy seemed to be fighting off his own collapse.

Mr. Huffman brought towels from below for the two. "I suppose you were trying to escape. So are we, actually."

Erich interrupted. "But you had diplomatic immunity! How come they--"

The red-headed girl coughed and spat up some seawater. "There are some things the Reich does not forgive."

"That settles it," Erich said to his father. "We're taking them to Canada."

"No!" the boy interrupted. "I mean, you gotta take her, but I need to get the subway back. My family is in Queens, and I can't go yet."

"Dad," Erich said, "can you stay out here another hour?"

"Only if they don't try to board me. Then I'll have to make a run for it."

"Then get the launch in the water. I'll take--hey, what's you name?"

"Pietr."

"I'll get Pietr back to the beach and onto a subway train, then get back to you."

"Don't do it, son. If they catch you it's certain death."

"Dad, when mom told me who she was, I realized I'd been living under a death sentence since I was born. It's just not a big deal anymore."

Mr. Huffman nodded. "Erich, take Pietr below and see if you have any dry clothes that'll fit him. I'll get the launch ready."

Ten minutes later a motorized launch was bouncing over the waves toward the Coney Island pier.

"Gee, I didn't know who you were," Pietr was saying in amazement. "Seems kinda dumb my offering you money."

"We may need it after all," Erich said, steering the launch as best he could. "The Reich will probably seize all our money."

"I sure never figured you guys for the Resistance."

"Yeah, well, it kind of chose us."

The waves were choppy and slowed down the boat, but Erich guided it expertly to the end of the pier, and under it. He tied the launch underneath where it couldn't be seen. The two boys scrambled onto the pier, then tried to walk casually to the beach. As they started down the pier, they heard some amplified voice, spoken through a bullhorn, echo across the water. They couldn't understand what was said. A minute later, there was a crash and a fiery explosion of a boat far out at sea.

"Is that your dad's?" Pietr asked.

"No offense to your friend, but right now I don't want to know," Erich replied. "Let's get you on the train."

There was literally no way Diana could disguise herself as anything but a black girl, so she simply found a nearly-empty arcade and holed up there, wanting to wait an hour at least before trying to get back to Harlem. But when a couple of New Amsterdam policemen started slowly walking through the arcade, she decided to take her chances on the midway.

Finding a discarded baseball cap on the ground, she pushed as much of her hair under it as she could. The night was turning chilly, but she left her jacket open, hoping that she might pass at a glance for a young man. She didn't want her bust (such as it was) signalling otherwise. Keeping her head down, but constantly looking out from under the bill of the cap, she made her way through the crowd, headed for the subway station.

It was just before midnight when Henry, Eva and Rutger, after an hour on line, were ready to get into the Parachute. In previous years Rutger was too short to be allowed on, but this year he just scraped under the height requirement. He was so exhilarated that he didn't even try to hear what Henry and Eva were saying.

"Please, Henry. You could come back to Long Island with us."

"Your folks won't mind?"

"My folks won't know. But even if they did, they don't think much of the Party either."

"Well, it's getting so I have to do something. The Church is almost all talk."

"Isn't there something in that 'almost'?"

"Not really. If the authorities take too much notice, the Church backs down. I've got to look somewhere else."

"Maybe my folks can help. They--" Eva paused for a minute, lowered her voice and went on; "They know a lot of people in the Resistance."

Henry turned and looked at her in a different way. "And here I was worried whether I could trust you."

They were just settling into the gondola of the ride when they heard the yelling and the shots.

Erich and Pietr were walking toward the subway station when they saw a police car pull up. Both boys froze.

"You think they're looking for one of us?" Pietr asked.

Erich turned his back on the car as he saw agent Bruner, groggy but unshackled, being helped out of the car. Pietr followed, trying to be inconspicuous. That ended when one of the police fired warning shots into the air. There were a couple of screams, but the lines of people waiting for the Parachute ride didn't fall to the ground or dive for cover. They stood resolutely waiting their turn. This hindered both Erich and Pietr and the police, but the boys managed to stay a few yards ahead of their pursuers.

"We can't lose them!" Erich panted. "Now what?!"

"Now this!" Pietr grabbed Erich's shoulder and dragged him parallel to the line, straight for the ride. "Get in that car!" Pietr yelled, shoving Erich ahead of him. He practically landed on top of Rutger, who scooted away in time.

"What's going on here?" Eva asked.

Diana didn't see the policeman until she nearly bumped into him. He was older than she was, and bigger, and he carried his authority openly and menacingly, the way he carried his nightstick. Like many of the second generation of New Amsterdam police, he'd had a checkered past. Still, the Party didn't care what kind of thug was on the police force, as long as he wasn't black or Jewish.

"Let's see your papers, nigger," he growled.

Diana looked him straight in the eye. It unnerved him; he assumed that he always had the upper hand when harassing blacks, but this one didn't seem scared. She held his gaze with her own and said in a perfectly level voice, "They're in my jacket pocket." She'd dealt with this kind of policeman before; if you made a sudden or unexpected move, they'd club you and claim assault.

The cop grabbed the collar of her jacket and spun her around, facing away from him. His left hand held the jacket while the right started fishing into the pocket. "Let's just see about that."

"Fine with me," Diana said, and she took off at a run, leaving the cop holding an empty jacket. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened; then he drew his weapon and gave chase.

She ran back into the crowd, hoping to circle around the far side of the Parachute tower, then get to the subway station before the cop could catch her. But even a fast runner can't fight a thick crowd, and Diana could see the policeman bulling his way through the crowd, firing a couple of warning shots into the air for emphasis. There was nothing else to do. One of the Parachute gondolas was rocking back and forth, ready to be lifted up. She jumped over the short fence separating the lines of people from the machinery, and jumped for the back of the ride just as it was taking off.

At first the passengers thought the lift-off was the only jolt they felt. Then they saw the hands hanging onto the back. Henry and Erich both had the same impulse at the same time--it happened too quickly to call it an idea. Each grabbed one hand, then a wrist, then pulled the stowaway into the gondola. Rutger, meanwhile, was watching and enjoying the whole thing, as if Diana were part of the ride. "Sis, this is neat!"

"Glad you like it," Diana muttered, settling into the seat. She froze when she saw Rutger's Hitler Youth uniform.

"No, don't let that worry you," Eva quickly told Diana. "We don't believe a word of what they say."

"Yeah," Erich added, "looks like you hopped on the Fugitive Express. Seems like we're all wanted for something."

"So what's gonna happen to us when we get back down?"

"Well, at least so far, we're still going up," Hank added.

On the ground an angry cop holding an empty jacket was yelling at the ride operator. "Bring that car down!"

The operator tried to explain that the various cars of the ride operated in sequence, and he couldn't just stop a car in the middle and bring it back.

Other police started converging on the Tower now. "I don't want to hear excuses. Stop it now!!"

The operator shrugged and reached for the power switch. Just then, the ride malfunctioned; sparks started flying, a cable in the works suddenly snapped, and the car the six were riding in suddenly started up at double the usual speed.

"Now what?!" Pietr asked.

"I'll tell you what. We're gonna die!"

"No we're not!" Henry's voice cut through Erich's panic. "I don't know how I know, but I'm sure of it. Everyone hang on!"

There was no time to say anything else. The car hit the top of the tower. Now the parachute was supposed to open for the descent back to the park. Instead, the car broke through the top of the ride and continued up into the sky.

"Well," Pietr tried to joke, "I wanted to get to Canada."

"Look!" Diana was pointing up at the clouds, which seemed to part for them, revealing a vortex of light. They felt themselves grow lighter, and actually floated out of their seats--before being rocketed at an even greater speed into the vortex...

...and in that last moment of consciousness before everything changed, they all knew that the world itself was waking from a long, bad dream; that the year really was 1945, that there was still a war to fight in Europe, but a war that would not be decided by the Starfire-19.

"Welcome, pupils, or should I say welcome back?"

"DungeonMaster, what--what happened?"

"Explanations must wait, Ranger. The Crystal of Cronos still exists. Destroy it before this mad dance can begin again."

Even as he raised the bow, Hank could see the dark spot in the sky; Venger on his flying mount, trying to save the Crystal. But Hank let loose a massive bolt of energy which shattered the Crystal atop its pyramid. The blowback from the explosion sent Venger toward the horizon.

"DungeonMaster," Sheila asked, "did it work? Are we--?"

"Yes, my child, the time paradox worked. Your other selves were ready to come to the Realm when called. Your lives now are again as they were. All has been set right in your world."

"Couldn't you have made some improvements, like giving me better math grades?"

"Er-ric!" the Barbarian began, but Hank waved him to silence.

"But what really happened?" Diana asked. "I have all these weird memories--" She let the sentence trail off; looking at the faces of the others, she could tell that they too carried some images of their alternate lives.

"You went through a great deal, my children, but that is a story for another time. Now, about getting you home..."