21

"What on earth are you doing?" Captain Kamateros snaps. "Don't just grab it now! We're only going to be on the Specular for a few minutes. Tell one of the girls what you want and she'll write it down! We'll arm ourselves when we get back."

"Let's not waste any more time," Dr. Sabbatine says before the Captain can berate you further. "There's less of it than you think!"

A controller writes down your weapon preference and then leaves to load a few crates onto the Specular as her sisters get everyone positioned. Soon the Specular's circular viewing platform contains almost fifty people, including scientists, journalists, and guards like yourself. The atmosphere is festive, the people curious but skeptical.

You too would be skeptical if not for the weird ease with which the doctor's soldiers, including yourself, conduct themselves, despite not knowing one another. Even a neophyte like you has made only one mistake, trying to procure that carbine.

You find yourself between Cyril and Captain Kamateros, beneath the chronometer of the Specular. It reads "0000000000000" and is intended to go backward. A switch adjusts the chronometer's precision down to the second.

"Remember," Dr. Sabbatine says as the controllers work with the efficiency of a naval crew, "this journey will be as brief as possible. Then the real…difficulty…will begin."

She and Stralchus share a look.

"You're not coming with us this time," Stralchus says. You can tell he's suspicious of Dr. Sabbatine, and you're not sure exactly what their personal or professional relationship is. Byzantine politics are…well, they're so Byzantine.

"Not with so many," the doctor says. A controller fastens a pair of brass goggles over her eyes. "Control will join you to manage the return trip. Journalists, now would be a good time to check your cameras. You will have…" She checks a brass clock sticking out of the wall. "…four minutes and eighteen seconds at the dawn of time."

Both journalists and scientists ready their investigative apparatuses. The controllers file into the Specular, working huge knobs along its perimeter.

"Please don't stick your hands outside the perimeter," Dr. Sabbatine says, throwing a knife switch. "The reason why will be obvious in a m—"

The doctor's voice fades as a kind of silver ripple spreads out across the Specular. The controllers throw switches, their coordination perfect. Then you have a sensation of falling back, back, into an unimaginable abyss.

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