could feast his eyes on her forever.
So, part of him chided, you were alone in a room all
night with the girl of your dreams and what did you do?
What happened? You slept. Oh, won't the lads back home
be proud of you . . .
We didn't just sleep , he answered himself, just a
touch defensive. They had . . . well, danced. It had
been quite a satisfactory two-person Union Day
party, complete with low lights, slow music and
cheek-to-cheek dancing towards the end . . . after
which Sarai had pointedly kissed him on the cheek
and retired to her own cot.
And they had talked. They had a lot to talk
about. The advantage of being madly in love with
her was that they had so much of their shared childhood
to talk about. The disadvantage . . . was that
they had so much of their shared childhood to talk
about.
'Hi,' he said.
She smiled sleepily. 'Hi,' she said.
'Time to get up.'
'Yep.'
While Sarai was washing, Jontan wandered idly
into the main chamber and ordered up a breakfast
sandwich from the foodfac. He munched slowly as
he walked into the large dome that dominated
the place, and looked around him. Apart from the
lights that were set in a circle around its highest
point, flush with the metal, it was featureless.
Standing inside it, he could see it was actually a
complete sphere – the floor was a metal mesh that
cut the globe in half. It seemed there was a faint
vibration, a hum, at the back of his mind, only
noticeable when he thought about it. The crates
were stacked inside, put there by himself and Sarai
the previous day.
'Any guesses?' Sarai stood in the wide doorway.
'None,' he said. 'Is it some kind of vault?'
'I remembered something,' she said. 'Look.'
Jontan symbed with her and an image came to
mind of hundreds of shiny metal balls in racked
layers, one above the other, stretching into the
distance. Then he noticed people moving among
them and realized the balls were spheres like this.
The place where this was happening must have
been huge.
'What's that?' he said.
'The transference hall at the College. I saw a
picture of it once.'
'Then this . . .' Jontan did a double take and
looked around, as though expecting the sphere to
have changed somehow. If this was like the spheres
in the picture then it could only be one thing. 'But
if all the transference chambers are in that
room . . .'
'Yeah, I know.' Sarai shrugged. 'Maybe it's a
mock-up or something. We could ask the Register.'
'What's the Register?'
Sarai looked askance at him. 'It's the intelligence
in charge of the College, Jontan. It handles all the
transferences and everything and nothing works
without it.'
'Oh.' Jontan wasn't really listening. It had
dawned on him that Sarai was standing closer to
him than at any time since last night and his mind
was racing with possible ways of rekindling that
romantic mood.
'Impressive, Ms Killin. Tell me more about the
Register.' They both jumped. Phenuel Scott stood
in the entrance to the sphere, arms folded.
'Oh, um . . .' Jontan was pleased to see that
Sarai's assurance fled just as fast as his own in
Scott's presence. 'It's, um, like I said to Journeyman
Baiget, sir. The Register handles all the details of
time travel, and . . .'
'Who created it?'
'Oh, Jean Morbern, sir . . .'
'And no one can travel through time without it?'
'No, sir.' Sarai was beginning to look confident
again. 'The banks were very clear on that, sir. No
one can travel without the Register knowing. It
makes sure no timestreams cross and no one meets
themselves and—'
'So how did Morbern manage it, before he
created the Register?' Scott said. Sarai went quiet,
with the stricken look of an advocate who has
suddenly found a gaping hole in her own case.
'I, um, don't know, sir,' she whispered.
'Nor does anyone, Ms Killin. Morbern was a
genius who worked by luck and intuition and
serendipity; the Home Time was an accident
and Morbern destroyed all his records. Come out
here, you two.'
Two more men were waiting out in the cavern.
One was
So, part of him chided, you were alone in a room all
night with the girl of your dreams and what did you do?
What happened? You slept. Oh, won't the lads back home
be proud of you . . .
We didn't just sleep , he answered himself, just a
touch defensive. They had . . . well, danced. It had
been quite a satisfactory two-person Union Day
party, complete with low lights, slow music and
cheek-to-cheek dancing towards the end . . . after
which Sarai had pointedly kissed him on the cheek
and retired to her own cot.
And they had talked. They had a lot to talk
about. The advantage of being madly in love with
her was that they had so much of their shared childhood
to talk about. The disadvantage . . . was that
they had so much of their shared childhood to talk
about.
'Hi,' he said.
She smiled sleepily. 'Hi,' she said.
'Time to get up.'
'Yep.'
While Sarai was washing, Jontan wandered idly
into the main chamber and ordered up a breakfast
sandwich from the foodfac. He munched slowly as
he walked into the large dome that dominated
the place, and looked around him. Apart from the
lights that were set in a circle around its highest
point, flush with the metal, it was featureless.
Standing inside it, he could see it was actually a
complete sphere – the floor was a metal mesh that
cut the globe in half. It seemed there was a faint
vibration, a hum, at the back of his mind, only
noticeable when he thought about it. The crates
were stacked inside, put there by himself and Sarai
the previous day.
'Any guesses?' Sarai stood in the wide doorway.
'None,' he said. 'Is it some kind of vault?'
'I remembered something,' she said. 'Look.'
Jontan symbed with her and an image came to
mind of hundreds of shiny metal balls in racked
layers, one above the other, stretching into the
distance. Then he noticed people moving among
them and realized the balls were spheres like this.
The place where this was happening must have
been huge.
'What's that?' he said.
'The transference hall at the College. I saw a
picture of it once.'
'Then this . . .' Jontan did a double take and
looked around, as though expecting the sphere to
have changed somehow. If this was like the spheres
in the picture then it could only be one thing. 'But
if all the transference chambers are in that
room . . .'
'Yeah, I know.' Sarai shrugged. 'Maybe it's a
mock-up or something. We could ask the Register.'
'What's the Register?'
Sarai looked askance at him. 'It's the intelligence
in charge of the College, Jontan. It handles all the
transferences and everything and nothing works
without it.'
'Oh.' Jontan wasn't really listening. It had
dawned on him that Sarai was standing closer to
him than at any time since last night and his mind
was racing with possible ways of rekindling that
romantic mood.
'Impressive, Ms Killin. Tell me more about the
Register.' They both jumped. Phenuel Scott stood
in the entrance to the sphere, arms folded.
'Oh, um . . .' Jontan was pleased to see that
Sarai's assurance fled just as fast as his own in
Scott's presence. 'It's, um, like I said to Journeyman
Baiget, sir. The Register handles all the details of
time travel, and . . .'
'Who created it?'
'Oh, Jean Morbern, sir . . .'
'And no one can travel through time without it?'
'No, sir.' Sarai was beginning to look confident
again. 'The banks were very clear on that, sir. No
one can travel without the Register knowing. It
makes sure no timestreams cross and no one meets
themselves and—'
'So how did Morbern manage it, before he
created the Register?' Scott said. Sarai went quiet,
with the stricken look of an advocate who has
suddenly found a gaping hole in her own case.
'I, um, don't know, sir,' she whispered.
'Nor does anyone, Ms Killin. Morbern was a
genius who worked by luck and intuition and
serendipity; the Home Time was an accident
and Morbern destroyed all his records. Come out
here, you two.'
Two more men were waiting out in the cavern.
One was
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