“But you did something terrible, you said?”

Ponter looked out the window, out at his world. “Yes.”

“Over there? In the other world?”

“Yes.”

“And you do not accept the existence of this God of theirs?”

Ponter made a derisive sound. “Of course not.”

“And so you believe that you will not ever be judged for this bad thing you feel you did?”

“Exactly. I won’t say it’s the perfect crime. But there is no reason why suspicion will ever fall on me in that world, and no reason why anyone here would ever have cause to demand to see that portion of my alibi archive.”

“You called it a crime. Was it a crime by the standards of this other world you were in?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And would we have considered it a crime, had you done it here?”

Ponter nodded.

“What did you do?”

“I—I am ashamed to say,” said Ponter.

“I told you, I will not judge you.”

Ponter found himself surging to his feet. “That’s the whole point!” he shouted. “No one will judge me—not here, not there. I have committed a crime. I enjoyed committing the crime. And, yes, to indulge in your thought experiment, I would do it again if I had the opportunity to relive the event.”

Selgan said nothing for a time, apparently waiting for Ponter to calm down. “I can help you, Ponter, if you’ll let me. But you have to talk to me. You have to tell me what happened. Why did you commit this crime? What led up to it?”

Ponter sat back down, swinging his legs over the saddle-seat. “It began on my first trip to the other Earth,” said Ponter. “I met a woman there, named Mare Vaughan…”