About This Book
Martin knew what a Time jump felt like. It was fast, blip blip, that was it. This was different. It reminded him of the Time Blaster, an emergency, get-me-the-hell-out-of-here device. It had a rushing, mad, sped-up film look. Then he lost consciousness. Martin was dressed in a frock coat, a vest and trousers. A maid came in, said, Good morning, Sir. Lord Burnside would like to see you, Sir. She led him down wide stairs, down a long corridor with paintings and candles, to a study. A blond man with blond sideburns looked up from his desk, smiled broadly, came to shake his hand. Welcome, Mr. Fahy, he said. I'm Lord Burnside. Have a seat. We have much to talk about. I'm sorry, but I don't know you, Martin said. I don't know where I am. I know, Martin, Alan said warmly. It's alright. You've earned a rest from labors, a chance to do what you love in this quiet place. No more fighting, no more wars. I am truly proud and happy, my friend, to give you sanctuary from the end of the world.
