The question surprised him. Passengers, especially passengers of the Lady Berenice's status, did not usually concern themselves with the exigencies of space travel. They took it for granted, unless otherwise apprised, that such exigencies did not exist. "There is always a chance of a time storm," he said. "But don't worry, my lady. If the conditions for one are present, we will be contacted by the port authority in time to avoid it."
"But suppose something should go wrong. Suppose we weren't informed in time and did get involved in one. What would happen then?"
He could not keep his eyes averted forever, and he forced himself to meet her gaze. He was mildly shocked to see that a quantity of her composure had left her, that there was a certain diffidence in the expression on her face.
Presently: "As you may know, my lady," he said, "A Priori is merely the result of the separation of pure space and pure time from the thing-in-itself, or from basic reality. Once separated, pure space can be contracted to the extent where a parsec equals .59 kilometers. Usually pure time contracts accordingly, but sometimes there is a slight discrepancy, and certain phases of A Priori contain more time than space. If we should become involved in one of these phases—or storms, if you like—we would lose our awareness of our objective reality and proceed to relive a subjective and sporadic playback of our pasts. So all that could happen to us, actually, are the things that have already happened to us—with the difference that we would relive not only our own experiences, but one another's as well; in pure time, individuality does not exist."
"But wouldn't our objective reality be affected?"
He nodded. "It could be," he said, "since, in the absence of any real passage of time, it would be in temporal ratio to our involvement in our pasts, which might force it into a different time plane altogether."
She dropped her eyes. "Then—then in spite of what you said before, something could happen after all—something that hasn't happened before."
"I suppose so, my lady . . . Will that be all?"
"Yes—for now."
"I'll be in my cabin . . ."
"Cabin" was a euphemism for "cubicle." The cramped compartment adjoining the
