fix. Same station, different time. Or maybe no time at all. The math would all work out, no doubt. The fact that I wouldn’t understand it is mere detail. The station exists— somewhere—and I’m in it. The question before the house is what do I do next?”
The air hung around me, as thick and silent as funeral incense. Everything seemed to be waiting for something to happen. And nothing would hap­pen unless I made it happen.
“All right, Ravel,” I said. “Don’t drag your feet. You know what to do. The only thing you can do. The only out . . .”
I got to my feet and marched across to Ops, down the transit tunnel to the transfer booth.
It looked normal. Aside from the absence of a cheery green light to tell me that the outlink­-circuits were locked on focus to Nexx Central, all was as it should be. The plates were hot, the dial readings normal.
If I stepped inside, I’d be transferred—some­where.
Some more interesting questions suggested themselves, but I had no time to go over those. I stepped inside and the door valved shut and I was alone with my thoughts.