"Hi, Grandma! Good morning, sir."
I said good morning and Hazel kissed both her grandsons in passing, no seconds lost, and we settled down and strapped in. Cas called out, "Report seat belts."
"Passengers' seat belts fastened," Hazel reported.
"Bridge! Ready for launch."
Laz answered, "Launch at will."
Instantly we were out in the sky and weightless. Pixel started to struggle; I caged him with both hands. I think it was weightlessness that startled him... but how could he tell? He didn't weigh anything to start with.
Earth was off to starboard, apparently full, although one can't tell that close up. We were opposite the middle of North America, which told me that Laz was a more than competent pilot; had we been in the usual twenty-four-hour orbit, concentric with Earth's equator, we would have been over the equator at ninety west, i.e., over the Galapagos Islands. I guessed that she had selected an orbit tilted at about forty degrees and timed for ten hundred ship's time-and made a mental note to check it later, if and when I ever got a look at the ship's log.
(A pilot can't help second-guessing every other pilot; it's an occupational disease. Sony.)
Then we were suddenly in atmosphere, down thirty-six-thousand klicks in a tick. Gay spread her wings, Cas tilted her nose down, then leveled off, and we again had weight, at one gee-and Pixel liked this change still less. Hazel reached over and took Pixel, soothed him; he quieted down-I think he felt safer with her.
With her wings raked in for hypersonic, the only way I had seen her. Gay is mostly a lifting body. With her wings spread, she has lots of lift area and she glides beautifully. We were a thousand meters up, give or take, and over farm country on a fine summer day-clear, save for anvil cumuli here and there on the horizon. Glorious! A day to feel young again-
Cas said, "I hope that translation did not bother you. Had I left it up to Gay, she would have put us on the ground in one jump; she's nervous about anti-aircraft fire."
"I am not nervous. I'm rationally careful."
"Right you are. Gay. She does have reason to be careful. The Pilots' Precautionary Notice for this planet on this time line at this year states that one must assume AA weapons around all cities and larger towns. So Gay blinks down below the AA radar-"
"You hope," said the car.
"-so mat we will show up simply as a subsonic private plane on air-control radar, if there is any. None, that is, where we are."
"Optimist," the car sneered.
"Quit hitching. Have you spotted your squat?"
"Long since. If you'll quit yacking and give me permission, I'll take it."
"At will. Gay."
I said, "Hazel, I had counted on getting acquainted with my new daughter about now. Wyoming."
"Don't fret, dear; she will never know we were away. That's the way to handle it until a child is old enough to understand."
"She won't know, but I will. I'm disappointed. All right, let's table it."
The scene blinked again and we were on the ground. Cas said, "Please check to see that you aren't leaving anything behind." As we got out and stood clear. Gay Deceiver disappeared. I stared through the space she had occupied. My Uncle Jock's house was two hundred meters away.
"Hazel, what date did Dora say this is?"
"Tuesday July first, 2177."
"That's what I thought I had heard. But when I thought it over I decided that I must have been mistaken. I now see that she wasn't fooling: '77. Eleven years in the past. Sweetheart, that ratty old barn there is standing where we landed last Saturday, three days ago. You wheeled me from there toward the house in Ezra's wheelchair. Hon, that bam we're looking at was torn down years back; that's just its ghost. This is bad."
"Don't fret about it, Richard. In timejumping it feels that way, the first time you get involved with a loop."
"I've already lived through 2177! I don't like paradoxes."
"Richard, treat it just as you would any other place, any other time. No one else will notice the paradox, so ignore it yourself. The chance of being recognized when you are living paradoxically is zero for any era outside your own normal lifetime... but usually only one in a million even if you timejump close to home. You left this area quite young, did you not?"
"I was seventeen: 2150."
"So forget it. You can't be recognized."
"Uncle Jock will know me. I've been back to see him a number of times. Although not recently. Unless you count our quick visit three days ago."
"He won't remember our visit three days ago-"
"He won't, huh? Sure, he's a hundred and sixteen years old. Or will be eleven years from now. But he's not senile."
"You're right; he's certainly not senile. And Uncle Jock is used to time loops. As you have guessed by now, he's in the Corps and quite senior. In fact he's the major stationkeeper for North America in time line three. Last night's evacuation of THQ was made to this station. Didn't you realize that?"
"Hazel, I didn't even touch second. Twenty minutes ago I was sitting in our stateroom-Dora was parked on the ground on Tertius, so I thought-and I was trying to decide whether to have another cup, or to take you back to bed. Since then I've been running as fast as I can to try to catch up with my own confusion. Unsuccessfully. I'm just an old soldier and harmless hack writer; I'm not used to such adventures. Well, let's go. I want you to meet my Aunt Cissy."
Gay had put us down across the road from Uncle Jock's place. We walked down the road a piece, me carrying packages and swinging my cane. Hazel with her handbag and carrying the kitten. Some years back Uncle Jock had placed a much stouter fence around his farm than was usual in Iowa in those days. It was not yet built when I left home and enlisted in 2150; it was in place by the time I visited in... 2161 ? That's about right.
The fence was heavy steel mesh, two meters high and with a six-strand cradle of barbed wire on top of that. I think the barbed wire was added later; I did not recall it.
Inside the cradle were copper wires on ceramic insulators. About every twenty meters there was a sign:
DANGER!!! Do Not Touch Fence Without Opening Master Switch #12
At the gate was another sign, larger: INTERBUREAU LIAISON AGENCY Bio-Ecological Research Division District Office Deliver Radioactive Materials To Gate Four-Wedns. Only 7-D-92-10-3sc YOUR TAXES AT WORK
Hazel said thoughtfully, "Richard, it does not look as if Uncle Jock lives here this year. Or this is the wrong house and Gay missed her clues. I may have to call for help."
"It's the right house and Uncle Jock did-does-live here this year. If this year is 2177, on which I'm keeping an open mind. That sign smells like Uncle Jock; he always did have funny ideas about privacy. One year it was piranhas and a moat."
I found a push button to the right of the gate and pressed it. A brassy voice, so artificial that it had to be an actor, announced: "Stand one-half meter from pickup. Display your clock badge. Face pickup. Turn ninety degrees and show profile. These premises are guarded by attack dogs, gas, and snipers."
"Is Jock Campbell at home?"
"Identify yourself."
"This is his nephew Colin Campbell. Tell him her father found out!"
The brassy voice was replaced by one I recognized. "Dickie, are you in trouble again?"
"No, Uncle Jock. I simply want to get in. I thought you were expecting me."
"Anyone with you?"