tar. And someone had scrawled a message on the aluminum surface. Analysis revealed traces of flint in the grooves. Howard was summoned and they all looked at the writing on a television screen. It had been computer enhanced. HAD A GOOD LIFE NO REGRE There was another mark, about where the crossbar of a T would have been.

"No regrets?" Howard mused. He looked grim. "I have to say, I cannot imagine a man from our time going back to the Stone Age and having even a tolerable life, much less a good one. God, it must have been a brutal life."

"I agree. Looks like he died before he could finish the sentence."

"He wanted to send a message to someone, if he was ever found."

Matt shivered, thinking of the man from... somewhen? Writing out what had become his last testament as his fingers grew too numb to hold the flint arrowhead.

"I have no idea. What would you recommend?"

She had a lot of suggestions. By the time they were ready to open it, they were equipped to detect dozens of poisonous gases, and to collect any gas or liquid that might come out of the box. Nothing that might provide a clue as to function or origin would be allowed to get away.

Finally the moment came. Matt and Howard stood back and looked on as Marian reached into the glove box and prepared to open the time machine.

She secured it with padded clamps, then opened the first of two ordinary latches that held the top down. It squeaked as it came free, and a brownish fluid began to leak around the rubber seal.

That fluid was collected, and the various monitors were checked. Nothing dangerous seemed to be coming out, so Marian proceeded to open the second latch and lift the lid, and everyone crowded around for the first look inside.

FROM "LITTLE FUZZY, A CHILD OF THE ICE AGE"

Young Temba got pregnant that long-ago summer in what would become Canada. But Canada would not be the young mammoth's home.

Mammoth mothers carried their children for a long, long time.

Human mothers take nine months to make a baby. Elephants and mammoths take almost two years!

Twenty-two months! Ninety-five weeks! Six hundred and sixty-two days!

Temba moved south with the herd and she never saw Tsehe again. We don't know what happened to Tsehe, but we can hope he led a long and happy life up there on the green and grassy steppes.

Temba did not miss Tsehe. Mammoths were not like humans, they did not mate for life, and in fact except at mating season adult males and females did not concern themselves with the opposite sex very much.

This would not be a good way for humans to live, but it was fine for mammoths.

The herd drifted south and west as the summer drew to a close and the rains came. That winter the herd got as far south as the place we now call Arizona. But Arizona was not like it is today, which is to say very hot and dry and barren. Much of the American southwest was lush and green and tree-covered. The grazing was wonderful, and that was a good thing because mammoths needed a lot of food! Each full-grown mammoth could eat as much as three or four hundred pounds of grass and leaves and fruits every day.

Summer came again and the herd moved north, but not so far north as they had the year before. They spent most of the summer in what we would later call Colorado and Nebraska.

Then it was time to move again.

Now the weather turned bad. The herd had to forage hard to find the food it needed, and sometimes went a few days without water.

But Big Mama was old and wise. She had seen hard times before. She had been over this ground, and many other places as well. She knew where the pools and wallows were, the places where the herd could bathe and frolic after a hot and hungry day. And if there were no pools, she knew every spot where a mammoth could dig with her massive feet and find water under the surface, enough for all her sisters and daughters and nieces to drink enough to get them to the next watering hole.

All through the bad winter they moved west, and when spring came they found themselves looking out at more water than any of them but Big Mama had ever seen, so much water that you couldn't see the other side of it.

The water was what we would later call the Pacific Ocean. It wasn't good to drink but it was fun to swim in, and they were in a green and lush valley we would later call the Los Angeles Basin.

The mammoths had come to California.

SUSAN Morgan opened the door in the side of the big trailer box and stepped inside to a familiar smell. It didn't surprise her that the hired attendant hadn't been as scrupulous at cleaning out the traveling stall as he should have been. She'd met the man at the elephant retirement ranch up north and judged him to be one of entirely too many elephant keepers who had no business within a mile of a pachyderm. Elephants frightened him. He relied on a hook to control the beasts, and one day one would squash him like a bug.

Not her problem.

This one was a twenty-five-year-old Indian named Petunia-tu. Most elephants that young would still be working, but Petunia-tu had developed a foot infection a few years back that had left her semicrippled, unable to perform, and a behavior problem when the foot was giving her pain. Little chance of that now; she was doped to the eyebrows with painkillers and tranquilizers for the trip to the big city. The tranks had probably not been necessary. She was a circus veteran, used to traveling to two or three cities a week.

Now she was about to embark on a great adventure, and she would never know it.

The keeper had given Susan one useful bit of information about his charge beyond the basic medical information concerning the missing part of Petunia-tu's left front foot. She had a fondness for watermelon, so Susan had had one cut into bite-sized—for an elephant—chunks in a wicker basket. She approached Petunia-tu slowly, always watching her eyes, reading her body language. Susan felt she could always spot anger in an elephant's eves, and the animal's movements spoke volumes to those who could read them. Petunia-tu was radiating calm. She might even have been enjoying her return to the road. It was sure a more interesting life than the game park.

Susan held out a chunk of melon and Petunia-tu took it and eagerly jammed it up into her massive jaws, which began their unique grinding motion. She didn't spit out the seeds. She didn't even spit out the rind.

When the watermelon was half gone Susan opened the gate that separated the carrier into two halves. She took the end of the rope looped around Petunia-tu's neck and tugged her gently, and the living gray mountain lumbered forward, her trunk probing into the wicker basket.

Outside, the keeper had lowered the heavy ramp in front, put there so the cargo didn't have to back up, which was always chancy with a beast weighing ten thousand pounds and lacking a rearview mirror.

Petunia-tu balked at the top of the ramp, not wanting to put her weight on her weak foot to come down the ramp. The keeper—Susan thought his name was Barry—stepped forward and, sure enough, there was an elephant hook in his hand. Susan scowled at him and waved him away, and coaxed Petunia-tu carefully to the ground. After that it was a piece of cake to lead her into her stall in the cool interior of the big warehouse. She perked up a little and raised her trunk as soon as she smelled the other inmates, and immediately went to the fence of steel girders that separated her quarters from Queenie's on her left. The cows sniffed each other for a while, and neither seemed upset. Susan was sure Petunia-tu was instantly aware that Queenie was pregnant, though it would be many more months before she showed.