throaty voice. But the guns did not lower. "Come out of the ship, Doctor," the woman said.
He did so.
"You found one of those markers?" the man said. "The instructions sent ahead for you?"
Parsons said, "Apparently it had been up a long time."
Going by him, the woman entered the ship. She inspected the meter readings on the panel. "A very long time," she said. To her companion, she said, "Helmar, he went all the way."
"You're lucky it was still usable," the man said.
"Are you going to keep the guns pointed at me?" Parsons said.
The woman came to the doorway behind him and said over his shoulder, "I don't see any shupos . I think it's all right." She had put her gun away already, and now the man did so too.
The man put his hand out; he and Parsons shook.
"Do women shake hands too?" the woman asked, extending her hand. "I hope this doesn't violate a custom of your period."
The man--Helmar--said, "How did the far future strike you?"
"I couldn't take it," Parsons said.
"It's quite depressing," Helmar said. "But remember; it'll be a long time coming, and gradual. And by that time there'll be planets inhabited." Both he and the woman regarded him with expressions of deep emotion. And he, too, felt profoundly moved.
"Care for a drink, Doctor?" the woman asked.
"No," he said. "Thanks." He saw bees at work in nearby vines, and, further along, a row of cypress trees. The man and woman followed after him as he walked in the direction of the trees. Halfway there he halted, taking in deep lungsful of air. The pollen-laden air of midsummer . . . the odors of growing things.
"Time travel works erratically," the woman said. "At least for us. We've had bad luck striving for exactitude. I'm sorry."
"That's all right," Parsons said.
Now he surveyed the man and woman, aware of them more clearly.
The woman was beautiful even beyond what he had already seen in this world of youth and robust bodies. This woman was different . Copper-colored skin that shone in the midday sun. The familiar flat cheek bones and dark eyes, but a different kind of nose. Stronger. All her features had an emphatic quality new to his experience. And she was older. Perhaps in her middle thirties. A powerfully built creature, with cascades of black hair, a heavy torrent all the way down her shoulders to her waist.
On the front of her robe, lifted high by her breasts, was a herald, an intricate design woven into the rich fabric, that rose and fell with the motion of her breathing. A wolf's head.
"You're Loris," Parsons said.
"That's right," the woman answered.
He could see why she had become the Mother Superior of the society. Why her contribution to the Soul Cube was of supreme importance. He could see it in her eyes, in the firm lines of her body, her wide forehead.
Beside her, the man shared some of her characteristics. The same coppery skin, the starkly etched nose, the mass of black hair. But with subtle, crucial differences. A mere mortal, Parsons thought. Yet even so, impressive. Two fine and handsome individuals, returning his gaze with intelligence and sympathy, alert to his needs. A high emphatic order, he decided. Their dark eyes had a depth to which he felt his own psyche respond; the strength of their personalities forced his, too, to rise to a higher level of cognition.
To him Helmar said, "Let's go inside." He indicated the gray stone building nearby. "It's cooler, and we can sit down."
As they walked up the path, Loris said, "And more private."
A collie, wagging its great tail, approached them, its elongated muzzle raised. Helmar paused to thump the dog. As they turned the corner of the building, Parsons saw descending terraces, a well-tended garden that merged with trees and wilder shrubs.
"We're quite secluded here," Loris said. "This is our Lodge. It dates back three hundred years."
In the center of an open field, Parsons saw a second time travel ship and several men at work on it.
"You may be interested in this," Loris said.
He did so.
"You found one of those markers?" the man said. "The instructions sent ahead for you?"
Parsons said, "Apparently it had been up a long time."
Going by him, the woman entered the ship. She inspected the meter readings on the panel. "A very long time," she said. To her companion, she said, "Helmar, he went all the way."
"You're lucky it was still usable," the man said.
"Are you going to keep the guns pointed at me?" Parsons said.
The woman came to the doorway behind him and said over his shoulder, "I don't see any shupos . I think it's all right." She had put her gun away already, and now the man did so too.
The man put his hand out; he and Parsons shook.
"Do women shake hands too?" the woman asked, extending her hand. "I hope this doesn't violate a custom of your period."
The man--Helmar--said, "How did the far future strike you?"
"I couldn't take it," Parsons said.
"It's quite depressing," Helmar said. "But remember; it'll be a long time coming, and gradual. And by that time there'll be planets inhabited." Both he and the woman regarded him with expressions of deep emotion. And he, too, felt profoundly moved.
"Care for a drink, Doctor?" the woman asked.
"No," he said. "Thanks." He saw bees at work in nearby vines, and, further along, a row of cypress trees. The man and woman followed after him as he walked in the direction of the trees. Halfway there he halted, taking in deep lungsful of air. The pollen-laden air of midsummer . . . the odors of growing things.
"Time travel works erratically," the woman said. "At least for us. We've had bad luck striving for exactitude. I'm sorry."
"That's all right," Parsons said.
Now he surveyed the man and woman, aware of them more clearly.
The woman was beautiful even beyond what he had already seen in this world of youth and robust bodies. This woman was different . Copper-colored skin that shone in the midday sun. The familiar flat cheek bones and dark eyes, but a different kind of nose. Stronger. All her features had an emphatic quality new to his experience. And she was older. Perhaps in her middle thirties. A powerfully built creature, with cascades of black hair, a heavy torrent all the way down her shoulders to her waist.
On the front of her robe, lifted high by her breasts, was a herald, an intricate design woven into the rich fabric, that rose and fell with the motion of her breathing. A wolf's head.
"You're Loris," Parsons said.
"That's right," the woman answered.
He could see why she had become the Mother Superior of the society. Why her contribution to the Soul Cube was of supreme importance. He could see it in her eyes, in the firm lines of her body, her wide forehead.
Beside her, the man shared some of her characteristics. The same coppery skin, the starkly etched nose, the mass of black hair. But with subtle, crucial differences. A mere mortal, Parsons thought. Yet even so, impressive. Two fine and handsome individuals, returning his gaze with intelligence and sympathy, alert to his needs. A high emphatic order, he decided. Their dark eyes had a depth to which he felt his own psyche respond; the strength of their personalities forced his, too, to rise to a higher level of cognition.
To him Helmar said, "Let's go inside." He indicated the gray stone building nearby. "It's cooler, and we can sit down."
As they walked up the path, Loris said, "And more private."
A collie, wagging its great tail, approached them, its elongated muzzle raised. Helmar paused to thump the dog. As they turned the corner of the building, Parsons saw descending terraces, a well-tended garden that merged with trees and wilder shrubs.
"We're quite secluded here," Loris said. "This is our Lodge. It dates back three hundred years."
In the center of an open field, Parsons saw a second time travel ship and several men at work on it.
"You may be interested in this," Loris said.
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