to remain in Centra are from Earth, but not all.”
“So what’s your story, Randolph? How did you get here?” Steven asked.
Randolph smiled as they turned a corner and walked down another long dirt lane toward a small lake. “It’s nothing terribly fascinating,” he replied. “As I said, I was about thirty years of age, a rather cosmopolitan bachelor of New England, having served as a Lieutenant in the Union Army for four years during the War Between the States — Lieutenant Edwin J. Randolph, at your service — and rather proud, I’m now sad to say, of the fact that I had managed to avoid seeing any actual combat the entire time, ensconced as I was at a desk job in New York City,” he said with a twinge of sadness.
“I was in the countryside one beautiful spring day, riding my horse, when I came over a rise and saw a peculiar green swirling light of the type with which you obviously have become somewhat familiar.” He smiled and paused as if remembering. “I dismounted, curious as to what this phenomenon might be. It emitted light, but no heat, and when I ventured to touch it, my gloved hand seemed to pass through it, into… somewhere else . Well, I am certain that I don’t have to explain to you what happened next, as you clearly were adventuresome enough to do what I did, though you obviously came somewhat more prepared than I. Perhaps I was simply in a spontaneous mood, I don’t know, but I walked through the Gate and, as I said, found myself in Gatespace, unable to propel myself about, for what was apparently the better part of a millennium, until I happened to encounter another Gate which deposited me here in Centra.”
“And you’ve been here for 40 years? Was there already a town here when you arrived?” Steven asked.
“Yes, indeed. There were a dozen or so people living here at that point. Since then, many, many people have arrived through that portal; some elect to remain rather than attempting to find their way home. There are fifty or so living here in Centra at this point.”
A flash of light caught the attention of both men. They looked up as a brilliant meteor streaked across the sky and disappeared beyond the horizon. Steven thought of wishing upon a shooting star, and silently hoped that he’d be able to see his family again.
“Do you ever wish that you had tried to find your way home?” Steven asked.
“I had no family,” Randolph replied, “No wife, no siblings, and my parents were both gone. It’s been a grand rollicking adventure living on another world, son, like something from H.G. Wells.”
Steven cast a sideways glance at him. “H.G. Wells was well after your time, wasn’t he?”
“Indeed, this is true,” Randolph chuckled. “However, you’ll be surprised what a well-stocked library we have here. As I said, we have had many visitors over the years. Would you like to see it?”
Steven nodded, and Randolph led the way to a small building near the center of town. Inside there was a single large room, lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves filled with hundreds of books and magazines which appeared to be from every era since the invention of movable type.
Much to Steven’s amazement, there was also a small desk, upon which sat a small device that distinctly resembled a laptop computer, although it was definitely in the category of “concept design.” It looked like a translucent grey clamshell standing open, the lower half housing a keyboard that he was relieved to see bore the usual QWERTY layout. The upper half, however, didn’t seem to have a screen as such, which puzzled him.
Randolph saw the confusion on his face. “I’m sure this unit is probably somewhat more advanced than what you are familiar with, although the concept will be much the same,” Randolph said. “The typewriter, for example, was an entirely new invention in my time, but over the years I have seen a number of people come through Centra with various types of portable computing
“So what’s your story, Randolph? How did you get here?” Steven asked.
Randolph smiled as they turned a corner and walked down another long dirt lane toward a small lake. “It’s nothing terribly fascinating,” he replied. “As I said, I was about thirty years of age, a rather cosmopolitan bachelor of New England, having served as a Lieutenant in the Union Army for four years during the War Between the States — Lieutenant Edwin J. Randolph, at your service — and rather proud, I’m now sad to say, of the fact that I had managed to avoid seeing any actual combat the entire time, ensconced as I was at a desk job in New York City,” he said with a twinge of sadness.
“I was in the countryside one beautiful spring day, riding my horse, when I came over a rise and saw a peculiar green swirling light of the type with which you obviously have become somewhat familiar.” He smiled and paused as if remembering. “I dismounted, curious as to what this phenomenon might be. It emitted light, but no heat, and when I ventured to touch it, my gloved hand seemed to pass through it, into… somewhere else . Well, I am certain that I don’t have to explain to you what happened next, as you clearly were adventuresome enough to do what I did, though you obviously came somewhat more prepared than I. Perhaps I was simply in a spontaneous mood, I don’t know, but I walked through the Gate and, as I said, found myself in Gatespace, unable to propel myself about, for what was apparently the better part of a millennium, until I happened to encounter another Gate which deposited me here in Centra.”
“And you’ve been here for 40 years? Was there already a town here when you arrived?” Steven asked.
“Yes, indeed. There were a dozen or so people living here at that point. Since then, many, many people have arrived through that portal; some elect to remain rather than attempting to find their way home. There are fifty or so living here in Centra at this point.”
A flash of light caught the attention of both men. They looked up as a brilliant meteor streaked across the sky and disappeared beyond the horizon. Steven thought of wishing upon a shooting star, and silently hoped that he’d be able to see his family again.
“Do you ever wish that you had tried to find your way home?” Steven asked.
“I had no family,” Randolph replied, “No wife, no siblings, and my parents were both gone. It’s been a grand rollicking adventure living on another world, son, like something from H.G. Wells.”
Steven cast a sideways glance at him. “H.G. Wells was well after your time, wasn’t he?”
“Indeed, this is true,” Randolph chuckled. “However, you’ll be surprised what a well-stocked library we have here. As I said, we have had many visitors over the years. Would you like to see it?”
Steven nodded, and Randolph led the way to a small building near the center of town. Inside there was a single large room, lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves filled with hundreds of books and magazines which appeared to be from every era since the invention of movable type.
Much to Steven’s amazement, there was also a small desk, upon which sat a small device that distinctly resembled a laptop computer, although it was definitely in the category of “concept design.” It looked like a translucent grey clamshell standing open, the lower half housing a keyboard that he was relieved to see bore the usual QWERTY layout. The upper half, however, didn’t seem to have a screen as such, which puzzled him.
Randolph saw the confusion on his face. “I’m sure this unit is probably somewhat more advanced than what you are familiar with, although the concept will be much the same,” Randolph said. “The typewriter, for example, was an entirely new invention in my time, but over the years I have seen a number of people come through Centra with various types of portable computing
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