“Whathowwherewhy does it work?” asks Eynar, pouring a beer. “I’m not sure,” says Olaf, “but that archaeologist, oh, you know, what’s her name, told me it was like this—”

The smallslenderneatdainty boat worker takes two empty glasses and a packetpocket of nuts and steers these subtle engines through the warp of time, now rings of spirit on

the bentdented aluminium bar. “The drive makes a packetpocket, see, of hyperspace to reachtravelachieve through, to exceed relativistic constraints.”

“Yes, but,” says Eynar, “I thought the problem was more ontological restrictions than technological limits. Whathowwherewhy can they avoid catastrophic

temporal paradox, eh?” Olaf takes a draught of his beer and says, “Yes well. Gods know. And gods know they must because it’s bad enough to lose

the last bit of the last bit of our shipping without messing with fucking multiversal anomalies as well.” And Eynar, not drinking, says,

“I’ll drink to that,” looking over the empty plasticpolymer chairs and tables, Olaf’s greying hair, and weighing the worth of his business, the size of his savings,

the price of a ticket to Ross or Mars or Proxima Centauri B, and running the numbers again, and wiping the trails of the hyperdrive from the bar.

Higgie the Codd at her screens

Aence sheu wis a packer: whan the Lights cam in

sheu wirked the spectral refractors, prismatic acceleraetors,

containment dykes, brissan somtheen skare an lowse

intae somtheen birnable. No a coorse wark –

buttons an levers, mosstleens – sheu jeust needed care

an the canny gy o timeen. But sheu an her pals wis aye

tae loss the unavoydable race wi aatomaetion.

Higgie wis lucky: sheu wis keepid on at the skeul

tae ken the maths tae tak the coarse tae qualiefy

fer maintenance, so sheu wis the body lukkan eftir

machines lukkan eftir Lights, an than the body

lukkan eftir machines lukkan eftir machines.

Thir aalder noo, an only Higgie bade tae be

a elder. Dagmar’s maed a faimly on Wolf; Kari

teuk a Martian job in maet; Torsten deed

an naen o them ivver spaek aboot hid; Higgie, back

croppenan more wi ivry year, dellt wi codd

an solder intae machines, missan the clashan, thinkan

in script an circuit. Sheu monietors: here at the plant,

by screen, an eftir, i’the back pew o the kirk. Sheu maks

peedie adjustments: wha sits whar, whit wirds is needed,

whan tae apply comfort an whan tae chide or spaek

a truth. Sheu isno alaen. She kens sheu disno sing

in tune, but at the plant an wi her screens sheu sings.

Higgie the Coder at her screens