Dennis Jarman knew that someone important lay dead in 7 that came from previous numbers. He ran back the reel of time.
“Nick Barkley of Big Valley,” he spoke aloud, observing the past from a relatively safe distance. “Should’ve known: Big Valley was always pumping out the big V.’s (Villains). Graduate of Chry University like me. Or was it Chry State — never can recall. One’s team wears yellow-green and the other red-violet. Barton — that was it. Nick’s opposite at, yes, Chry State. Ned Barton I believe. Unless it was Nick and Nick was Ned. Barton-Barkley, though. Pretty sure I got that right at least. Better check. If I shout loud enough he may hear it as a tiny whisper. But also, better get ready to amscray if he’s the wrong Chry. He must not know of my past present future in any way. I’ve talked enough; time for action. Time for *time* action. Nick Barkley!!” he cried across the gap of space and time. Barkley lowered his gun and looked around on the ground, as if for a mouse. Good, thinks Dennis Jarman. He doesn’t know where I am. “I’m glad you lowered the gun!! Now lower your *shield*!!” This would be the proving test, because Chry State graduates don’t know what shields are, the tool of a soft and not hard scientist. One who believes in psychics as well as physics. Nick Barkley, who was truly Nick Barkley, lowered his shield. He looked in the direction of Dennis Jarman, saw an outline forming. “Good, good,” spoke Jarman over to Nick and walked toward him, form becoming corporeal for the latter. “Now give me the shield and let’s go home. We have a lot of tape to look at.”