Afraid of me, Jack Breton thought in mild surprise. This being I created in my own image, this creature who changed my name to John, is afraid of his maker. As he entered the familiar, orange-lit hall, Jack noticed the richness of the carpet underfoot and the almost-tangible feel of money about the old house. The work he had done in the library that day, going through directories and files of local newspapers, had suggested that John Breton was considerably better off than he had been nine years ago, but this was even more pleasant than he had expected. Well done, thou good and faithful servant… “This is far enough,” John Breton said as they reached the spacious living room. “I would like some explanations.”

“Well, good for you, John.”

Jack surveyed the room as he spoke. The furniture was all new to him, but he remembered the clock and one or two small ornaments. He particularly approved of the deep, high-backed armchairs which had been chosen with no consideration other than comfort in mind. They seemed to extend a welcome to him. Make a mental note, he thought. In spite of the fact that he experiences zero spatial displacement, the time traveler undergoes a substantial psychological dislocation which may manifest itself by the personalization of inanimate objects, e.g. armchairs will extend welcomes to him. Be careful!

He returned his attention to John Breton, his natural curiosity reviving now that he was adjusting to the miraculous reality of Kate’s existence. His other self was heavier than he ought to be, and dressed in expensively tailored slacks, a maroon sports shirt and cashmere cardigan. Nine years, nine divergent years had made differences, Jack thought. I don’t look as sleek as that, or as well fed — but my time is coming. My time.

“I’m waiting,” John Breton said.

Jack shrugged. “I’d have preferred Kate to be here before I went into the spiel, but I guess she’s gone upstairs…?”