“Just Gavin.”

“He lives down our street,” said Shazza. “The corner shop won’t let him in because of all the stealing, and I know for a fact that he gets beaten up at school at least once a day simply for being Gavin.”

“Figures.” I looked at the kids who were entering in ones and twos. All of them were in their late teens. “Any idea of attendance numbers?”

“It’s not packed, I must confess,” said Shazza, regarding the small group, “but I’m willing to bet he’ll take careful note.” She indicated a middle-aged man in a turban who was standing by the door.

“And he is?”

“Mr. Akal Chowdry. He’s Swindon’s rep for the Asteroid Strike Likelihood Committee.”

“Oh.”

The ASLC relied heavily upon statisticians like Chowdry to compute an Ultimate Risk Factor for HR-6984.

“Any significant data from a meeting of ex-timeworkers,” added Jimmy-G, “might allow the ASLC to update the Ultimate Risk Factor.”

We were currently at 34 percent likelihood, and this figure was derived from many sources—astronomical observation, computer modeling, level of divine concern, guesswork and archaeology—future archaeology. Artifacts from the future had been found, but dating was contentious, as it is difficult to say when something was to be invented or built. Of course, something with a date on it beyond 2041 would be conclusive, but the fossil record—both forward and back—is sketchy at best, and so far nothing like that had turned up.

Three other members walked in. They were all clutching their Letters of Destiny and didn’t look too happy. We waited another five minutes, but when no one else turned up, Jimmy-G called the meeting to order.

“I was hoping for more than fifteen,” he said, scanning the small group. “Perhaps we’ll see more as the weeks go past.” He cleared his throat and began.

“A fortnight ago the future was the undiscovered country. None of us knew what we would do or how we would do it. As part of the Union of Federated Timeworkers severance package, we now have a clear idea of what might have happened and what will. If anyone in here is in any doubt over the truth of these summarizations, I bring your attention to Gerald Speke, who received his papers three days ago. They predicted he would lose an arm to a gorilla in Swindon Zoo, and within six hours he had.”

There was some murmuring at this.

“His name was Bongo,” said Gerald, who was sitting at the back with a large bandage wrapped around his upper body. “But if I hadn’t received the Letter of Destiny, I never would have gone to the zoo to see if there was a gorilla.”

“That’s how it works,” said Jimmy-G. “the Letters of Destiny and the effect they have on you are now included in your Letter of Destiny. But we’re sorry for your loss nonetheless. I suggest we begin with introductions.”