"Yet what is this 'other space' thou, and Yorick and Chomoi, did say we have passed into?"
"Oh." Rod rolled his eyes to the side, pursing his lips for a moment. "Well, you see, dear… uh… Otranto, the planet we're going to, is about forty-five light-years from Wolmar. The distance that light can travel in a year is about five billion, eight hundred eighty million miles—and forty-five times that is something like 265 trillion. And that's roughly how far it is from Wolmar to Otranto."
She turned her head from side to side, wide-eyed. "'Tis inconceivable."
"Totally. We can't even imagine a distance that great, not really. It's just a string of numbers."
"But we do get the main point," said Yorick, "which is that even if we could go almost as fast as light does, it'd still take us fifty years to get to Otranto."
"And I don't know about you," Chornoi added, "but for myself, I have a lot of better things to do, than just sit around aboard a ship playing checkers for that long a time."
"I assure thee, so have I." Gwen shivered.
"But we can't go any faster," Yorick reminded her. "Not if we want to stay solid. No faster than the speed of light."
"So we go around it," Rod explained.
Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I cannot comprehend that."
"Neither can I," Rod admitted. "But there's a gadget in the back of the ship called an 'isomorpher,' and when the pilot turns it on, it makes us isomorphic with H-space. I'm not sure what H-space is, but I gather it's a kind of space that isn't quite part of this universe."
Gwen frowned. "And we are part of that H-space?"
"Well, no, not part of it, really." Rod sat back, staring at the corner of the ceiling, pursing his lips. "Just identified with it—point for point, atom for atom. Which is what we are right now." He looked around at the interior of the cabin.
"But I feel no differently—," she cried, "nor doth aught appear transformed!"
"We aren't." Rod shook his head. "We aren't different, at all—relative to this ship, and relative to each other— because we're all isomorphic with H-space right now. But when the ship's computer pulls out the pattern for what normal space is like, near Otranto, and when it identifies that pattern, it'll turn off the isomorpher, and we'll go back to being ordinary parts of the regular universe."
"Tis magic," Gwen said firmly.
"Personally, I agree," Rod sighed, "but the man who explained it to me, assured me it was all perfectly natural, and thoroughly understandable."
"So," said Gwen, "are my witch-powers."
"Only on Gramarye, my dear." Rod squeezed her hand. "And I suppose all this isomorphism and H-space is normal and understandable out here." He turned to Yorick. "I don't suppose it's possible for Dr. McAran to shoot you the pieces of the time machine while we're in this condition, is it?"
Yorick shook his head. "He can't lock onto us, Major. However his time machines work, it ain't through H-space."
"I thought not," Rod sighed, "which is too bad, because this is going to be at least half the trip—two days, at least. But he can do it once we're back into normal space."
"Well, he can try." Yorick frowned. "But that's what I was trying to signal you about back there at Cholly's, when you were talking to the General-Governor. Locking onto a moving object that's any smaller than a planet, is an awfully tricky operation. If Doc Angus misses, the components he's trying to throw at us are lost for good, and time machine parts cost enough to make even him wince."
Rod just stared at Yorick for a moment. Then he said, "You're telling me that, even though we have a good day or two between our break out point and Otranto, forty-eight perfectly usable hours without any interruptions, you're not going to be able to build us a time machine?"
Yorick shook his head. "Sorry, Major. 'It ain't in the state of the art.'"
"And probably never will be," Rod sighed. "But inside a shed back on Wolmar would have been a moving target, too—and you were so sure you could manage it there!"
"Yeah, but it was a stationary target, relative to the huge mass it was sitting on. It was only the planet that was moving—and all that planetary mass is easy enough to lock onto. Then it's just a matter of aiming at a small target that stays put, relative to the large one." Yorick shrugged. "You know what a planet's gravitational field does to space-time, Major. It makes space curve, so it does most of the focusing for you. All you have to do is lock onto the planet's rotation, and as soon as you have that rate figured out, it's no problem. But here…" He spread his hands, a gesture taking in the whole cabin and the vast ship outside it. "I mean, this whole freighter can't be more than half a kilometer long!"
"Well, what do you expect?" Chornoi snapped. "Bush-league planets don't get the big ships, you know."
Yorick ignored her. "Half a kilometer, two kilometers, what difference does it make? That's just a dust-mote on the planetary scale. It just ain't big enough to have enough mass to have any major effect on the curvature of space!" He shook his head, looking doleful. "Sorry, but I can't get you out of this mess while we're in transit."
"Oh, well, I should have known better," Rod sighed. "All right, if we can't get a portable time machine here, we'll just have to find some quiet place on Otranto where we can set one up."
Yorick nodded. "Shouldn't be any problem, Major."
"It shouldn't have been any problem on Wolmar, either." Rod gave Yorick a jaundiced glance. "I don't suppose there'd happen to be a permanent time machine somewhere on Otranto, all ready and waiting, would there?"
Yorick shook his head. "Not that I know of. In fact, the only permanent installation that I know about, at this point in history…" He frowned. "Well, I can't say I know about it, damn it!"
"Where is it?" Rod exploded.
"All right, all right!" Yorick held up both palms, shielding himself. "Not so loud, okay? We're pretty sure that the LORDS party, the ones who are running the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra, had some Futurian help in engineering their coup d'etat—and they've probably stayed in contact, all the way through their regime. I mean, PEST could have figured out which planet was going to rebel, when—but it is kind of odd that they just happened to always have a naval squadron right nearby."
"Very odd," Rod agreed. "So you're pretty sure there's a permanent time machine somewhere in PEST headquarters on Terra?"
"Yeah." Yorick gave him a bleak smile. "But good luck getting to it. It belongs to the opposition, and it's guaranteed to be very tightly guarded."
"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," Rod sighed. "I always did want to visit humanity's ancestral home, anyway."
"Well, that's great! I mean, you'll love it there, Major, it's…" Suddenly the Neanderthal's eyes widened in horror. "My lord! Chornoi! We shouldn't be talking about this with her around!"
"So I thought," Gwen agreed. "The poor lass was overly wearied. I thought it best that she slumber awhile."
Yorick turned around, craning his neck over the back of the seat, and saw Chornoi slumped in her recliner, head rolled to the side, breathing deeply and evenly. "Well, that's a relief! Thank you, Lady Gallowglass! I really gotta keep a better eye on my tongue!" He frowned. "That didn't sound right…"
"We catch your meaning," Rod assured him.
"Thou hast yet to tell me of this 'Terra' of thine," Gwen reminded.
"Earth," Rod answered. "The place where your ultimate ancestors came from—and mine, too, of course. And everybody's. It's the planet where humanity evolved, the only planet where our bodies really feel at home."
"Not anymore, they don't." Yorick shook his head. "The whole place is concrete and steel now." He frowned. "Well, there are a few parks…"