The ELI Event B007R5LTNS

asked amiably.
    “As soon as you tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.”
    Finally the male addressed him, directly and politely. “Young man, that’s why we need the privacy.”
    Out of habit, Arty rolled up the vacuum’s cord and hooked it over the handle. He tipped it back and pulled it down the hallway behind him. The couple didn’t move. “This way,” he invited.
    They followed him to a large, cluttered storage room at the end of the hall. He parked the Hoover in a corner, then closed the door behind them and plopped down in a rickety chair behind a battered desk.
    “I’d offer you seats,” he said, “but as you can see…”
    “That’s all right,” the man replied. “We’re quite comfortable.”
    “Okay fine. Look, I’m a little confused here. You obviously didn’t use the elevator to get up here, and those aren’t exactly street clothes you’re wearing. So if you aren’t aliens or asylum escapees, I’m out of ideas.” He opened the desk drawer and reached in. “Oh, and you’ll excuse me,” he added, placing a large, heavy-looking pistol on the desk, “if I reserve judgment on the ‘we come in peace’ part.”
    “Um, is that… a weapon?” the woman asked nervously.
    “Yup. Colt New Service revolver,” Arty said, patting the pistol lovingly. “Model 1909, .45 caliber, Canadian issue. You shoot a guy with this baby and he stays shot, if you catch my drift.”
    The woman swallowed and seemed unable to form a reply. “We do,” the man said evenly.
    “So explain already.”
    “Of course,” the woman said. She cleared her throat. “I am Aurora.”
    “My name is Denes,” the man said. “We are from the future. Your future.”
    Silence.
    Arty rubbed his face with both hands. “Okay, didn’t see that one coming,” he said through his fingers. He thought for a moment, sniffed, took a deep breath. “Listen, naturally I don’t believe you. I’m sure you know that. I’m also sure you know exactly what questions I want answered. So, to save me from asking them one at a time, why don’t you go ahead and do your best to convince me, and I’ll just shut up, shall I?” He placed his palms flat on the desk and looked at the couple. “Or I can just call security and get back to my vacuuming.”
    “Perhaps this will help,” Aurora said, and handed him the publication she was carrying. It was a magazine, after all. Sort of. It was printed on a light, shiny material he had never seen before. Not exactly paper, but not exactly plastic either. The title was Modern Chef , and on the cover was a picture of a woman in pale blue clothing similar to his visitors’, apparently cooking a meal in a gleaming glass-and-metal kitchen. Apart from the paper, or whatever it was, it was not unlike any other magazine.
    Except the picture was moving.
    On the cover, the pleasant-looking woman removed the lid of a clear pot, and white steam billowed out. Smiling broadly, she used tongs to lift and display several stalks of some kind of vegetable, green and crisp and looking quite delicious, actually. Water dripped from them and made little ripples in the pot. Then she put them back and replaced the lid. After a second’s pause the sequence began again.
    Arty thumbed open the magazine cover. It was completely flexible and paper-thin, just as one would expect a magazine cover to be. He suddenly snapped it closed and looked quickly at the cover model as if he hoped to catch her not moving. She just smiled and showed him her veggies again.
    Only then did he notice the cover date. June 2312 , it said beneath the title.
    He slowly placed the magazine on the desk and gingerly pushed it away with the tips of his fingers. “Okay, I was just confused before; now I’m leaning more toward panic. So you’d better get on with the explanation, and I mean right now.” He placed his hand slowly and deliberately on the Colt.
    “Yes, I think we should,” the man agreed.
    Arty sat back, tried to remain calm, and listened.
    “We are here because we need your help,” Denes began. “In our time, nearly three hundred years in your future, North America is ruled by a tyrannical military government whose policy tools include technology control, information suppression, and political assassination.”
    “He means murder,” Aurora put in emphatically, picturing Borok’s face. “Brutal, ruthless murder.”
    “The scientific community has discovered the principles behind time travel and—obviously,