Starship Chiron was an ordinary interstellar vehicle, traversing the varied byways of the galactic cosmopolis. It had a Time Warp Factor, designated Rather Warped Factor T, used by the commander at his discretion to set right what appeared to be appalling in the cosmic timeline.

Stardate: March 12, 4193 BC. Starship Chiron had been ordered to the village of Ur and environs. Starship Command has notified Commander Ben Enterman that an instance of child abuse was on the verge of occurring. Enterman's instructions were explicit: "You are, at all cost, to effect the survival of the child."

It was midday when the starship emerged from Rather Warped Factor T onto a scene that could best be described as barren. A bush here, one there, an occasional camel, a few sheep and several tents - one with a quarter moon cut into the entrance flap.

Ben Enterman settled the starship behind a hillock, took his Recording Pack V, and made his way stealthily to a position from which he could observe the tents, camels, sheep and surrounding area without drawing attention to himself. No one was about. People in this part of the world apparently slept around midday, or maybe they were busy begetting, thought Enterman.

He had been keeping a watchful eye on the peaceful dreary scene when an old shabbily dressed man emerged from one of the tents, not the one with the quarter moon cut in the entrance flap. He was talking softly to a pleasant looking youth of perhaps twelve, one arm draped across the boy's shoulders. An old lady was grabbing at his arm.

She was screaming obscenities that would make a camel driver blush, and trying to pull him back toward the tent. She soon gave up, and grabbed the boy instead. The old man, however, gave her a shove that sent her reeling, and left her stunned, but not too stunned to continue a string of epithets.

"Schmuck, G-d isn't talking to you. Even with a capital G, G-d isn't talking to you. How come only you hear voices out here? And now you're going to sacrifice our son. Putz! I waited ninety years to have a child; you were one hundred years old when he was born. What do you think I am? You're not coming near me again, you do this insanity. I'll even tell the sheep you're a crazy person. The camels too. Then what are you going to do come siesta time? You hear me?"

"I hear G-d, or his angel. Sometimes I mix up the voices. And He said, as a token of my obeisance, I have to sacrifice my son. It's that simple. I believe. And I will do..." - and here the old man looks up out of rheumy eyes into the glaring sun - "...what He commands."

The old man and the youth continued in the direction of a huge flat rock. The old lady struggled to her feet, muttering a string of obscenities that would make a sailor blush, if there had been any sailors in that G-d-forsaken patch of earth. But then a camel is the "ship of the desert," so perhaps a camel driver is a sailor of sorts.

By now, the youth was beginning to hang back. Ben Enterman watching from the edge of the hillock definitely got the impression the kid was becoming a bit reluctant to go along with "honor your father."

"You're not really going to sacrifice me, are you pop? I mean, really. This is all some sort of gag. You know, this is now, today, modern times, not the dark ages."

"It will only hurt for a little while, " said the old man. "I will perform the ritual as painlessly as possible - a quick plunge of the dagger into your heart, and an upward twist. It'll be over in a few seconds. You don't even have to keep your eyes open. Holler if you like. It would be braver, however, to suffer the ordeal in silence - for Him." Even at this distance, Enterman knew the old man's eyes had rolled skyward.

"Him, who?" Now the youth was definitely holding back, struggling, and the old man, surprisingly strong for his advanced years, had resorted to a bit of pressure in guiding his son toward the stone-cum-altar.

"Him who commands me to show I believe. Him who says you must be sacrificed as the ultimate test of my belief in Him. Then everything will be all right."

"For you, maybe. For me, definitely not." And now the youth's feet stopped moving forward, and the old man was dragging him, ever more slowly, to the rock. Meanwhile, the old lady had regained her feet and rushed toward the two. Reaching them, she hurled herself at the old man.

"If you kill him, who's going to take care of me in my older age, when you're gone?"

The old man gave her another shove and she fell hard and collapsed, out cold. Now the youth was actually becoming scared. You could tell by the trail of moisture accompanying the drag marks being left by his feet in the sand. "Hey pop, you can't. Maybe the voices weren't real. Maybe it's all in your mind. Maybe you ought to see a shrink."

The old man laughs - a crazy laugh. "A shrink? Here, in Ur? And you think I've gone round the bend."

Ben Enterman, observing from round the bend and the top of the hillock, had to act. His instructions from Starship Command were unambiguous. "You are, at all cost, to effect the survival of the child."

The commander had been, with increasing apprehension, taping all of the events on the W-Band of his Recording Pack V. The old man and his son were some twenty yards from the altar, and the sun was beginning to give Enterman a headache. The wheels started turning in his facile brain. He was pretty much on his own. Having used the Rather Warped Factor T to travel back in time, he was out of contact with Starship Command; it won't even exist for another six millennia or so.

Enterman considered the alternatives. He could kill the old man, thus saving the child, but that seemed rather drastic. He could cold-cock the old man, but that would probably be a temporary solution; the old man would just wake up and resume the trip to the altar. Enterman could help the kid escape, but the youth would probably perish if left on his own. The solution had to be flawless - and Ben Enterman and the kid were running out of time.

The old man had dragged the youth onto the sacrificial stone. He was holding his son down with a powerful knee on the kid's stomach. The dagger was raised high, and the old man's rheumy eyes looked upward to the high blue sky. "Must I do this, oh Lord?"

The old man seemed to hear something, something in affirmation, and the dagger began its descent toward the heart of the struggling youth.

Ben Enterman acted. He grabbed the voice transporter from the Recorder Pack V, and pressed a button marked "Project." He had remembered something the old man had said. "Sometimes I mix up the voices." It was all Enterman needed.

It was Ben Enterman's voice that echoed out from the barren hills just outside of Ur.

"Abraham! Abraham!"

The old man's hand was still descending, but he heard the voice, and stayed the blade inches from Isaac's chest.

"Here I am."

"Do not stretch out your hand against the lad, do not do anything to him! For now I know that you are in awe of G-d - you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me."

"Whew," perspired Isaac. "That was close."

"Hey Sarah," shouted Abraham, "make it three for supper."