“George? George?” Seven yelled—mentally, since he was out of his body. No one answered. Instead the hand flipped open the journal and began to write with a fountain pen. “George, what do you know about the Codicils?” Seven cried, again getting no response.

At the same time almost, Seven gasped as he saw what was happening. The effect was somewhat like looking at a round television screen, whose stations automatically synchronized places and times. That is, the round circle in space shimmered. George’s hand and the journal disappeared. There were wavy lines and warps in the circle, and then George’s hand appeared again, only this time it was obvious that the hand was part of a statue—one of George that must stand in the twenty-fifth-century museum.

Seven’s head was swimming. He concentrated as hard as he could on George in the 1890s, and after some more wavy lines, the circle in space changed. There was George’s hand again, already having written several sentences in the open journal.

The picture stabilized. As quickly as he could, Seven began to read the sentences even as George’s hand wrote on in neat script:

June 2, 1892

Tonight, having finally achieved an out-of-body condition, I first found myself in the western bedroom, only the time seemed to be somewhere in the future. I’m convinced that some electrical devices were in evidence, far superior to our current knowledge of that new field; though I wasn’t quick enough to discover their workings. In a strange vision, I also saw a man sleeping in a bed where my bed should be. My intuitions told me that be was a future relative, and surely there was a family resemblance. This episode reminds me that a few days ago, in an altered state of consciousness while sniffing gas, I encountered a man who told me I bad a grandson. Obviously I do not, and my son isn’t married. Yet … Is it possible that I actually saw a future grandson sleeping in the room that is now my bedroom (when I use it)? When Sarah is away of course, I practically live in this attic hideaway except for handling my patients very nicely I must admit, in the morning hours.

Seven frowned. That was as far as George got on the page, and his hand was now in the way. What about the Codicils? And where was Cyprus? It was obvious that she’d simplified his mission considerably. He was worried about everything.

George’s hand moved down a few lines. Impatiently, Seven read: