The computer, with its awkward box screen and its quaint keyboard, sat on the desk, surrounded by books and papers. Cal sat in Libby’s chair and grinned at it.

“Engage.”

The screen remained blank.

“Computer, engage.” Impatient with himself, Cal remembered the keyboard. He tapped in a command and waited. Nothing.

Sitting back, he drummed his fingers on the desk and considered. Libby, for reasons Cal couldn’t fathom, had shut the machine down. That was easily remedied. He pushed through a few papers and picked up a letter opener. He turned the keyboard over, preparing to pry off the face. Then he saw the switch.

Idiot, he said to himself. They had switches for everything here. Calling on his remaining patience, he turned on the keyboard, then searched for more switches on the unit. When it began to hum, he had to muffle a cry of triumph.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Computer—” He caught himself with a shake of the head and began to type.

Computer, evaluate and conclude time warp factor—

He stopped himself again, swore, then pried off the plastic cover to reveal the memory board. His impatience was making him sloppy. And—worse—stupid. You couldn’t get anything out of a machine that hadn’t been put in. It was delicate, time-consuming work, but he forced himself not to rush. When he was finished, it was jury-rigged at best, but his wrist unit was interfaced with Libby’s computer.

He took a deep breath and crossed the fingers on both hands. “Hello, computer.”

Hello, Cal. The tinny words beeped from his wrist unit as the letters flashed across Libby’s screen.

“Oh, baby, it’s good to hear from you.”

Affirmative.

“Computer, relay known data on theory of time travel through force of gravity and acceleration.”

Untested theory, first proposed by Dr. Linward Bowers, 2110. Bowers hypothesized—

“No.” Cal dragged a hand through his hair. In his hurry, he was getting ahead of himself. “I don’t have time for all of that now. Evaluate and conclude. Time travel and survival probability on encounter with black hole.”

Working . . . Insufficient data.

“Damn it, it happened. Analyze necessary acceleration and trajectory. Stop.” He heard Libby coming up the stairs and had time only to shut down the unit before she stepped inside.

“What are you doing?”

Trying for a look of innocence, Cal smiled and swung out of the chair. “I was looking for you.”

“If you’ve messed with my machine . . .”

“I couldn’t help glancing at your papers. Fascinating stuff.”

“I think so.” She frowned at her desk. Everything seemed in order. “I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone.”

“No one here but you and me.” He smiled again. If he could distract her for a few minutes, he could disengage his unit and wait for a safer time. “I was probably mumbling to myself. Libby . . .” He took a step toward her, but she thrust a tray at him.

“I made you a sandwich.”