'Very different. You won't be in SO-27. In fact, there won't be any SpecOps at all. The Second World War will finish in 1945 and the Crimean conflict won't last much beyond 1854.'
'I see. No Crimean war? Does that mean Anton will still be alive?'
'It does.'
'Then let's do it, Dad.'
He laid a hand on mine and squeezed it.
'There's more. It's your decision and you have to know precisely what is involved. Everything will be gone. All the work you've ever done, all the work you will do. There will be no dodos or Neanderthals, no Willspeak machines, no Gravitube—'
'No Gravitube? How do people get around?'
'In things called jetliners. Large passenger aircraft that can fly seven miles high at three-quarters of the speed of sound – some even faster.'
It was plainly a ridiculous idea and I told him.
'I know it's far-fetched, Sweetpea, but you'll never know any different – the Gravitube will seem as impossible there as jetliners do here.'
'What about mammoths?'
'No – but there will be ducks.'
'Goliath?'
'Under a different name.'
I was quiet for a moment.
'Will there be Jane Eyre?'
'Yes,' sighed my father. 'Yes, there will always be Jane Eyre.'
'And Turner? Will he still paint The Fighting Temeraire?'
'Yes, and Carravaggggio will be there too, although his name will be spelt more sensibly.'
'Then what are we waiting for?'
My father was silent for a moment.
'There's a catch.'
'What sort of catch?'
He sighed.
'Landen will be back but you and he won't have met. Landen won't even know you.'
'But I'll know him. I can introduce myself can't I?'
'Thursday, you're not part of this. You're outside of it. You'll still be carrying Landen's child but you won't know the sideslip has ever happened. You will remember nothing about your old life. If you want to go sideways to see him then you'll have to have a new past and a new present. Perversely enough, to be able to see him, you cannot have any recollection of him – nor he of you.'
'That's some catch,' I observed.
'It's the second best there is,' Dad agreed.
I thought for a moment.