* * *
In reality, the Grantville Disaster was the result of what humans of the day would have called criminal negligence. Caused by a shard of cosmic garbage, a discarded fragment of what, for lack of a better term, could be called a work of art. A shaving, you might say, from a sculpture. The Assiti fancied their solipsist amusements with the fabric of spacetime. They were quite oblivious to the impact of their “art” on the rest of the universe.
The Assiti would be exterminated, eighty-five million years later, by the Fta Tei. Ironically, the Fta Tei were a collateral branch of one of the human race’s multitude of descendant species. Their motive, however, was not revenge. The Fta Tei knew nothing of their origins on a distant planet once called Earth, much less a minor disaster which had occurred there. The Fta Tei exterminated the Assiti simply because, after many stern warnings, they persisted in practicing their dangerous and irresponsible art.
Part One
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
Chapter 1
“I’m sorry about my parents, Mike.” Tom gave the two people in question a look of resentment. “I’d hoped—” He broke off, sighing faintly. “I’m sorry, I really am. You spent a lot of money on all this.”
Mike Stearns followed his gaze. Tom Simpson’s mother and father were standing near the far wall of the cafeteria, some fifty feet away. Their postures were stiff; their faces, sour. Their very expensive clothing was worn like suits of armor. They were holding the cups of punch in their hands by thumb and forefinger, as if determined to make as little contact with the surrounding festivities as possible.
Mike repressed a smile. Ah, yes. The dignitaries from civilization, maintaining their savoir faire among the cannibals. They’ll hold a cup of blood, but damned if they’ll drink it.
“Don’t worry about it, Tom,” he said softly. Mike’s eyes moved away from the haughty couple against the wall and surveyed the crowd. The gaze was filled with satisfaction.
The cafeteria was a very large room. The utilitarian gray and cream walls had been festooned with an abundance of decorations, which made up in cheerfulness and festive abandon whatever they lacked in subdued good taste. Many of the cafeteria’s plastic chairs had been moved against the walls, providing a bright orange contrast—those few of them that were not holding someone. Long tables ranged near the kitchen were laden with food and drink.
There was no caviar, and no champagne. But the crowd which packed the room wouldn’t have enjoyed the first—fish eggs, yuk!—and the second was prohibited by high-school regulations. Mike was not concerned. He knew his folk. They would enjoy the simple fare which was piled on the tables, thank you, even if it was beneath the contempt of wealthy urban sophisticates. That was true of the adults, even, much less the horde of children swarming all over the place.
Mike gave the younger man standing at his side a little pat on the shoulder. It was like patting a slab of beef. Tom was the first-string nose guard for West Virginia University’s varsity squad, and looked the part. “My sister married you, not your parents.”
Tom scowled. “Doesn’t matter. They could at least— Why did they even bother to show up at my wedding, if they were going to act like this?”
Mike glanced at him. For all Tom’s immense size, Mike didn’t have to look up. Tom was barely over six feet tall, about Mike’s own height, even if he outweighed him by a good hundred pounds.
Tom was back to glaring at his parents. His own face was as stiff as theirs. Unobserved, Mike studied his new brother-in-law.
Very new brother-in-law. The wedding had been held not two hours earlier, in a small church less than a mile away from the high school. Tom’s parents had been just as haughtily rude at the church as they were being now at the reception. Their son should have been married in a properly discreet ceremony in a proper Episcopalian cathedral, not—not—
This yahoo preacher! In this yahoo—shack!
Mike and his sister had abandoned the stark faith of their ancestors in favor of quiet agnosticism. Years ago, in Mike’s case. But neither of them had even once considered having Rita married anywhere else. The pastor was a friend of the family, as his father and grandfather had been before him. The Calvinist fundamentalism of the ceremony had bothered them not in the least. Mike choked down a laugh. If nothing else, it had been worth it just to see the way the pastor’s fire and brimstone had caused obvious constipation in Tom’s sophisticated parents.