Ching-Mei’s voice over the radio speakers: "Fifty-five. Fifty-four. Fifty-three."

Anyway, nobody ever calls it His Majesty’s Canadian, Etc. Instead, our timeship is almost universally known as the Sternberger, because to most people it looks like a fat hamburger. To me, though, it looks more like a squat version of the Jupiter 2, the spaceship from that ridiculous TV series Lost in Space. Just like the Space Family Robinson’s vehicle, the Sternberger was essentially a two-level disk. We even had a little dome on the roof like they did. Ours housed meteorological and astronomical instruments; there was room enough for one person to squeeze into it.

"Forty-eight. Forty-seven. Forty-six."

The Sternberger was much smaller than the Jupiter 2, though — only five meters in diameter. Our lower deck wasn’t designed for people; it was just 150 centimeters thick and consisted mostly of our water tank and part of the garage for our Jeep.

"Forty-one. Forty. Thirty-nine."

Our upper deck was divided into two halves, each semicircular in shape. One half contained the habitat. Along its curving outer wall was a kidney-shaped worktable, our radio console, and a compact laboratory unit crammed with geological and biological instruments. The straight back wall, marking the ship’s diameter line, had three doors built into it. Door number one — does anybody remember Monty Hall? — led to a little ladder that angled up into the rooftop instrumentation dome and to a ramp that went down the meter and a half to the outer entrance door. Door number two led to the Jeep’s garage, which took up the height of both decks. Door number three gave access to the washroom stall.