“It’s not the time, or not just the time it takes to walk. It’s that nobody does it. There aren’t roads with places for pedestrians.”

“Can’t we work somewhere for a few days and earn passage?” asked Noxon. “Loaf and Umbo did that on a riverboat.”

“You have to have a certified identity to get hired anywhere, for any job,” said Ram. “And we don’t have any.”

“How do we get them?”

“Be born on Earth, and don’t have a duplicate of yourself running around getting resentful when you claim to be him.”

“How do we get identities?” asked Noxon.

“We don’t,” said Ram Odin. “We sneak aboard public transportation and ride in discomfort, for free.”

Fortunately, Noxon’s time-slicing was now so effective that they could get on a bus and walk slowly up the aisle and back to the door during the five-hour ride to Huntsville. To them it took only three minutes and a few steps.

“I warn you,” said Noxon, as they walked through town. “We can’t steal food while we’re slicing, because our hands just go right through anything we’re picking up.”

“Why don’t we sink into the ground?” asked Ram Odin.

“Because we don’t,” said Noxon. “For the same reason that paths stay in a fixed position relative to a spinning planet. I don’t understand the rules, but we stay on the surface.”

Noxon was used to walking hundreds of miles in a row, stopping only for sleep and meals. Ram Odin was not. So when they reached the door of the house Ram was looking for, miles from the bus station, he was sweaty and exhausted, while Noxon wasn’t even tired.

“Why do you think these people will help us?” asked Noxon.

“Because we have something to trade,” said Ram Odin.

“What do we have?” asked Noxon.

“Time travel,” said Ram Odin.

“This already sounds like a bad idea,” said Noxon.

“It’s a brilliant idea, and I think you’ll enjoy every minute of it. Well, maybe not the first few minutes, but all the rest of them.”

“What happens in the first few minutes?”

“We have to prove to them that we’re not insane.”

The door was answered by a young woman wearing large opaque glasses. “I don’t think I know you. Do you have an appointment?”

“A long-standing one, and you do know me, Deborah Wheaton. I’m betting you left your glasses in reading mode.”

“I did. But it can’t be you, Cousin Ram, because you’re in Houston training and competing to be pilot of the first starship.”

“Oh, I’m definitely there right now. I remember it well. But to me that was nine years ago, I think. And I’m quite sure your father wants to talk to me, with or without an appointment.”

“That’s always true,” said Deborah. “And with or without your right mind.”