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The trouble is, two identical matrices can’t exist in the same time. And that other fellow has priority. It’s his world, his time. He’ll wake with the others and go out. I’ll sleep on until the way is clear. That means, of course, until he dies.
I wish I knew more about him. He had no record in the vast files of the galactic government. He was dressed in ragged clothing when I saw him. That indicates he’s some wanderer of the outland planets, living a dangerous life—if he goes back to it. He may not. Waking with Paynter, Belem, Topaz, he may be drawn into another kind of career entirely. I’ll know someday. But not until he’s dead. Not until I wake again.
And when I wake, who knows how many years will have elapsed since Topaz stepped out of the time-axis into her own world again? She may be an old woman before I see her. She may be only a few years matured. She may have been fifty years dead. Perhaps I may never be sure. You see, I don’t even know her name.
She was Topaz that week in which I wakened. Next week, and the week after and the year beyond that—do you think any records are kept of the whims of a girl like Topaz? Not even she will remember by the time I wake, if she’s alive then. Time moves too fast for that.
Well, all this belongs to the future. And so do I. Even before the cosmic cleavage altered all history I was a misfit in this civilization. And now it just isn’t my world anymore. I don’t belong here. So I think I’ll take my chances in that other place, where I won’t have to get used to the little things that keep bothering me here and bother nobody but me—
Like Washington being the capital of the United States—now!