Time and Again

uncharted one."
    "A black hole." She no longer felt like laughing. His eyes were absolutely sincere. He believed it, she realized as she folded her hands tightly in her lap. His concussion was obviously much more serious than she had originally thought.
    "That's a compressed star. Very dense, very powerful. Its gravity sucks up everything-stellar dust, gas, even light."
    "Yes, I know what a black hole is." She had to keep him calm, Libby reasoned. She would humor him, express a friendly interest in his story, then get him back into bed. "So you were flying your spaceship, ran into a black hole and crashed."
    "In simple terms. I'm not sure exactly what happened. That's why I hooked my wrist unit up to your computer. I need more information before I can calculate how to get back."
    "To Mars?"
    "No, damn it. To the twenty-third century."
    The small, polite smile froze on her face. "I see."
    "No, you don't." He rose to prowl the room. Patience, he told himself. He could hardly expect her to accept in a moment what he still had trouble believing himself. "There have been theories about time travel for centuries. It's generally accepted that if a ship could get up the needed speed and slingshot around the sun it could pass through time. It's only theory at this point, because no one's sure how to keep the ship from being sucked into the sun's gravity and frying. The same holds true for a black hole. If I'd been pulled in, the power and radiation would have ripped the ship apart. It had to be blind luck, but somehow I hit on the right trajectory-the precise speed, distance, angle. Instead of being pulled in, I bounced off."
    He flicked the curtain aside to look out at the darkening sky. "And landed here, over two and a half centuries back in the past."
    Libby rose to lay a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "You should lie down."
    He didn't look back at her, didn't need to. "You don't believe me."
    She opened her mouth, but she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. "You believe it."
    He turned then. There was sympathy in her eyes, the warm golden glow of it. "How would you explain it?" He reached in his pocket for his unit. "How would you explain this?"
    "There's no need for explanations now. I'm sorry I pressured you, Caleb. You're tired."
    "You have no explanation. For this-" he dropped the unit in his pocket again "-or for me."
    "All right. My theory is that you're part of an intelligence operation, perhaps some elite section of the CIA. You were probably burned out-stress, tension, overwork. When you crashed, the shock and trauma of your head injury pushed you over the edge. You don't want to be a part of what you were, so you've chosen to give yourself a different time, a different history."
    "So you think I'm crazy."
    "No." The compassion was back, in her eyes, in her voice. She touched her hand to the side of his face in a comforting gesture. "I think you're confused and you need rest and attention."
    He started to swear, but he caught himself. If he continued to insist, he would only frighten her. He'd already caused her a great deal of trouble that she didn't deserve.
    "You're probably right. I'm still shaky from the crash. I should get some rest."
    "That's a good idea." She waited until he reached the door. "Caleb, don't worry. It's going to be all right."
    He turned back, thinking this would be the last time he saw her. Purple twilight filled the window at her back, and she seemed to be standing at the edge of a mist. Her eyes were dark and full of compassion.
    He remembered how rich and sweet the flavor of her lips was. Regret struck him like a fist.
    "You are," he said quietly, "the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
    She stared, speechless, at the door he closed behind him.
    He didn't sleep. As he lay in the dark he could only think of her. He switched on the television and watched the figures move like ghosts over the screen. They were, he realized, more real than he.
    She hadn't believed him. There was little surprise in that. But she had tried to comfort him. He wondered if she knew how unique she was, in this age or any other. A woman who was strong enough to live on her own yet fragile enough to tremble in a man's arms. His arms.
    He wanted her. In the pearly-gray light of early dawn he wanted her almost more than he could stand.
    Just to hold her would be enough. To lie beside her with her head settled on his shoulder. In silence. He could think of no other woman he would be content to spend hours of