additional order of sensitivity in the discretion and weighing circuitry.”
“Does it?”
“Certainly.” Her slim finger reached past me, tapped out a swift code on the colored keys. The screen twinkled and snapped to brightness.
“The pickup field is on active phase—or should be,” she said. “But there’s no base reading. And I’m afraid to play with a Timecast keybank I don’t understand.”
“You’ve left me in the shade,” I said. “I never saw anything like this stuff. What else is there?”
“There are rooms back there.” She pointed to the end of the hall opposite the glass wall. “Equipment rooms; a power section, operations . . .”
“Sounds like a regulation Timecasting station.”
She nodded. “Almost.”
“A little on the large side,” I commented. “Let’s take a look.”
We went through rooms packed with gear as mysterious to me as a wiring diagram to I-Em Hotep. One contained nothing but three full-length mirrors; our reflections looking back at us were a couple of forlorn strangers. Nowhere were there any indications of recent habitation. No people, no signs of people. Just a dead building full of echoes.
We recrossed the grand hall and found an exit vestibule that cycled us out onto a wide stone terrace above a familiar view of sand and sea. The curve of the shoreline was as I had seen it last; only the jungle growth on the headland seemed denser, more solid somehow.
“Good old Dinosaur Beach,” I said. “Doesn’t change much, does it?”
“Time has passed,” Mellia said. “A great deal of time.”
“There was nothing like this in any projection plan I ever saw,” I said. “Any ideas?”
“Not that I want to verbalize.”
“I know how you feel,” I said, and held the door for her. “By the way: I ought to tell you: I never heard of analog-potential. What is it, a new kind of breakfast food?”
“A-P is the basis of the entire Timesweep program,” she said and looked at me sharply. “Any Nexx agent would have to be familiar with it.” She was frowning at me pretty severely.
“Don’t count on it,” I said. “The lectures I got at the Institute were all about deterministics, actualization dynamics,
“Does it?”
“Certainly.” Her slim finger reached past me, tapped out a swift code on the colored keys. The screen twinkled and snapped to brightness.
“The pickup field is on active phase—or should be,” she said. “But there’s no base reading. And I’m afraid to play with a Timecast keybank I don’t understand.”
“You’ve left me in the shade,” I said. “I never saw anything like this stuff. What else is there?”
“There are rooms back there.” She pointed to the end of the hall opposite the glass wall. “Equipment rooms; a power section, operations . . .”
“Sounds like a regulation Timecasting station.”
She nodded. “Almost.”
“A little on the large side,” I commented. “Let’s take a look.”
We went through rooms packed with gear as mysterious to me as a wiring diagram to I-Em Hotep. One contained nothing but three full-length mirrors; our reflections looking back at us were a couple of forlorn strangers. Nowhere were there any indications of recent habitation. No people, no signs of people. Just a dead building full of echoes.
We recrossed the grand hall and found an exit vestibule that cycled us out onto a wide stone terrace above a familiar view of sand and sea. The curve of the shoreline was as I had seen it last; only the jungle growth on the headland seemed denser, more solid somehow.
“Good old Dinosaur Beach,” I said. “Doesn’t change much, does it?”
“Time has passed,” Mellia said. “A great deal of time.”
“There was nothing like this in any projection plan I ever saw,” I said. “Any ideas?”
“Not that I want to verbalize.”
“I know how you feel,” I said, and held the door for her. “By the way: I ought to tell you: I never heard of analog-potential. What is it, a new kind of breakfast food?”
“A-P is the basis of the entire Timesweep program,” she said and looked at me sharply. “Any Nexx agent would have to be familiar with it.” She was frowning at me pretty severely.
“Don’t count on it,” I said. “The lectures I got at the Institute were all about deterministics, actualization dynamics,