She could only stare. Before her were the forest, the distant mountains and the sky. Strong sunlight poured through. You could hardly call it a windshield when it spanned twenty feet.

“I don’t understand.” Because she needed to, she moved quickly to one of the chairs and sat. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“I felt the same way a couple of days ago.” Cal opened a compartment, scanned through some material, then took out a small, shiny card. “This is my pilot’s license, Libby. After you read it, take a nice long breath. It might help.”

His picture was in the corner. His grin was as attractive and disarming as it was in the flesh. The ID claimed that he was a United States citizen and licensed to pilot all A to F model ships. It listed his height as 185.4 cm, his weight as 70.3 kg. Hair black, eyes blue. And his birth date was . . . 2222.

“Oh, my God,” Libby whispered.

“You forgot to take that breath.” He closed a hand over hers on the card. “Libby, I’m thirty. When I left L.A. two months ago it was February, 2252.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Maybe, but it happened.”

“This is a trick.” She pushed the card back into his hand and sprang up. Her heart was racing so hard and fast that she could feel it vibrating between her temples. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it’s all some kind of elaborate trick. I’m going home.”

She rushed toward the hatch just as the door closed. “Sit down, Libby. Please.” He saw the wild, trapped look in her eyes and forced himself not to step toward her. “I’m not going to hurt you. You know that. Just sit down, and listen.”

Because she was angry that she had tried to run, she walked stiffly back and sat down. “So?”

He sat opposite her, steepled his fingers and thought it all through. There were times, he supposed, when it was best to treat an abnormal situation as if it were normal. “You didn’t have any breakfast,” he said abruptly. Pleased with the inspiration, he opened a small door and took out a glossy silver pouch. “How about ham and eggs?” Without waiting for an answer, he swiveled, opened another door and tossed the pouch inside. He pushed a button, then sat smiling at her until a buzzer sounded. Taking a plate out of another compartment, he opened the door and scooped out a heap of steaming eggs loaded with chunks of ham.

Libby locked her icy hands in her lap. “You’re full of tricks.”

“No trick. Irradiation. Come on, taste.” He held the plate under her nose. “They’re not as good as yours, but they’ll do in a pinch. Libby, you have to believe what’s in front of your eyes.”

“No.” Very slowly, she shook her head from side to side. “I don’t think I do.”