He smiled, immeasurably relieved. She believed him. Perhaps she didn’t fully realize it herself, but she believed him. “That’s right, or at least that’s what I think. I’m going to need my computer. My instruments went berserk when we hit the gravitational field, so I went to manual and managed to bank east. I remember the force. It must be what a fly feels like when someone gives it a good solid bat. I passed out. When I came to, I was free-falling toward Earth. I switched back to computer and thought my troubles were over.”

“That doesn’t explain how you ended up here—or should I say now.”

“There are a lot of theories. The one I lean toward deals with the space-time continuum. It’s like a curved bowl.” He cupped his palm to demonstrate. “Mathematically, the bowl isn’t space and it isn’t time. It’s a combination of both. Everything in it moves through space and time. Gravity’s the curve of the bowl, drawing everything down. Around the Earth it’s not much of a curve. You don’t really feel it unless you, say, fall off a cliff. But around the sun, and around a black hole . . .” He deepened the cup of his palm.

“And you’re saying you were caught in that curve?”

“Like a marble being spun around the lip of the bowl. And somewhere, somehow, along the spin, I was flicked off. The speed, the trajectory, sent me tunneling not just through space but through time.”

“It sounds almost plausible when you say it.”

“It’s the only theory I’ve got. Maybe if we look at it, it’ll sound more plausible.” Leaning forward, he turned a dial. “Computer.”

Yes, Cal.

Libby lifted a brow at the soft, sultry voice. “Since when do they make computers tall, blond and busty?”

He just grinned. “Intergalactic runs can be lonely. Computer, play back log date 02–05. On screen.”

Cal swiveled in his chair and leaned forward as a small viewing screen rose out of the console. Sound filled the cockpit. Impassive, he watched his own image flicker on. From her chair, Libby stared mesmerized, as the playback progressed. She could see him sitting precisely where he was sitting now. But there were lights flashing, buzzers sounding. While the cockpit vibrated, he reached up to secure a safety strap. She could see the sweat beading on his face as he fought the controls of the bucking ship.

“Widen image,” Cal commanded.

Then Libby saw what he had seen through the shield. There was the vastness of space, seductive and compelling. There were stars, clusters of them, and what was surely a distant planet. There was a blackness, an absolute blackness, that spread for miles. The ship seemed to be hurtling toward it.

She heard Cal swearing—or rather the image of Cal was swearing as he pulled on a lever. There was a sound, a screaming rip of metal that seemed to vibrate all around her. The cockpit began to roll, end over end, with sickening speed. And then the screen went blank.