Chapter seven
The head gibbered and drooled as the old man wired the sphere into the control panel of his time ship. A nest of tubes rose and fell in the panel's center. Blood began to form around the head's mouth looking like smeared lipstick. The room was jostled around, and Joan desperately hung on to the panel till her knuckles turned white.
"You're killing it," asserted Joan as the skin on the head's withered face turned white.
"I'm using its cybernetic system to track down their base of operations, " said the old man working the motley controls on the panel.
"Where are we going?" asked Joan.
"It looks like a space station, a distribution center or habitat module by the looks of it. It's the year twenty-seven, no, twenty-five sixty-three. Entering temporal orbit, and teleporting over."
In a flash, the world around Joan transformed into what looked like a television studio. A talk show host was interviewing a man with a horse.
"Space station?" asked Joan. "Really?"