Free The End of Eternity by Isaac Asimov

whole. Even Eternals sometimes forgot the difference between micro-changes (small “c”) and Changes (large “C”) which significantly altered Reality.
    He said, “Eternity knows what it’s doing. Don’t ask questions.” He said it proudly, as though he, himself, were a Senior Computer and had personally decided that June was the proper moment in time and that the micro-change inducedby skipping three months could not develop into a Change.
    She said, “But then I’ve lost three months of my life.”
    He sighed. “Your movements through Time have nothing to do with your physiological age.”
    “Well, have I or haven’t I?”
    “Have or haven’t what?”
    “Lost three months.”
    “By Time, woman, I’m telling you as plainly as I can. You haven’t lost any time out of your life. You can’t lose any.”
    She stepped backward at his shout and then, suddenly, giggled. She said, “You have the funniest accent. Especially when you get angry.”
    He frowned at her retreating back. What accent? He spoke fifty-millennial as well as anyone in the Section. Better probably.
    Stupid girl!
    He found himself back at the Reflector staring at his image, which stared back at him, vertical furrows deep between its eyes.
    He smoothed them out and thought: I’m not handsome. My eyes are too small and my ears stick out and my chin is too big.
    He had never particularly thought about the matter before, but now it occurred to him, quite suddenly, that it would be pleasant to be handsome.
     
    Late at night Harlan added his notes to the conversations he had gathered, while it was all fresh in his mind.
    As always in such cases he made use of a molecular recorder of 55th century manufacture. In shape it was a featureless thin cylinder about four inches long by half an inch in diameter. It was colored a deep but noncommittal brown.It could be easily held in cuff, pocket, or lining, depending on the style of clothing, or, for that matter, suspended from belt, button, or wristband.
    However held, wherever kept, it had the capacity of recording some twenty million words on each of three molecular energy levels. With one end of the cylinder connected to a transliterator, resonating efficiently with Harlan’s earpiece, and the other end connected field-wise to the small mike at his lips, Harlan could listen and speak simultaneously.
    Every sound made during the hours of the “gathering” repeated itself now in his ear, and as he listened, he spoke words that recorded themselves on a second level, coordinate with but different from the primary level on which the gathering had been recorded. On this second level he described his own impressions, he ascribed significance, pointed out correlations. Eventually, when he made use of the molecular recorder to write a report, he would have, not simply a sound-for-sound recording, but an annotated reconstruction.
    Noÿs Lambent entered. She did
not
signal her entrance in any way.
    Annoyed, Harlan removed lip-piece and earpiece, clipped them to the molecular recorder, placed the whole into its kit, and clasped that shut.
    “Why do you act so angry with me?” asked Noÿs. Her arms and shoulders were bare and her long legs shimmered in faintly luminescent foamite.
    He said, “I am not angry. I have no feeling for you at all.” At the moment he felt the statement to be rigidly true.
    She said, “Are you still working? Surely, you must be tired.”
    “I can’t work if you’re here,” he replied peevishly.
    “You
are
angry with me. You did not say a word to me all evening.”
    “I said as little as I could to anybody. I wasn’t there to speak.” He waited for her to leave.
    But she said, “I brought you another drink. You seemed to enjoy one at the gathering and one isn’t enough. Especially if you’re going to be working.”
    He noticed the small Mekkano behind her, gliding in on a smooth force field.
    He had eaten sparingly that evening, picking lightly at dishes concerning which