To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis

“The drop’s ready. Get in place.”
    “Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Dunworthy?” I asked.
    “I have nineteen drops scheduled, not to mention another priority jump for Mr. Dunworthy, and—”
    “All right, all right,” I said. I gathered up the satchel, portmanteau, Gladstone, and wicker basket, and went over to the net. The veils were still only a foot and a half from the floor. I set down one armful on the floor, lifted the veil, ducked under, and began pulling the bags in after me.
    “The Victorian era was a time of rapid technological and scientific change,” the headrig said. “The invention of the telegraph, gas lighting, and Darwin’s theory of evolution were significantly altering the fabric of society.”
    “Pick up your luggage and stand on the X,” she said.
    “Travel in particular was changing rapidly. The invention of the steam locomotive, and, in 1863, the first underground railway, made it possible for Victorians to go faster and farther than ever before.”
    “Ready?” she said, her hand poised over the keyboard.
    “I think so,” I said, checking to make sure everything was inside the veils. One corner of the covered wicker basket was sticking out. “Wait,” I said, and scraped it inside with my foot.
    “I said, ready now?” she said.
    “Easy and affordable travel had the effect of broadening the Victorians’ horizons and breaking down the rigid barriers of class which—”
    The seraphim flung the veils up, yanked the headrig out of my ear, and went back to the console.
    “Ready now?” she said.
    “Yes.”
    The seraphim began tapping keys.
    “Wait!” I said. “I don’t know where it is I’m going.”
    “June seventh, 1888,” she said, and resumed tapping.
    “I mean, after that,” I said, trying to find an opening in the veils. “I didn’t hear all of Mr. Dunworthy’s instructions. Because of the time-lag.” I pointed at my ear. “Difficulty in Distinguishing Sounds.”
    “Difficulty in evidencing intelligence,” she said. “I don’t have time for this,” and flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
    “Where’s Mr. Dunworthy?” I heard her say in the corridor, probably to Finch.
    Mr. Dunworthy had said something about Muchings End, and about a boat, or was that the headrig? “It’s a perfectly straightforward job,” he’d said.
    “Where is he?” I heard the seraphim say again, and her voice sounded uncomfortably like Lady Schrapnell’s.
    “Where is who?” Finch said.
    “You know perfectly well who,” she said in stentorian tones. “And don’t tell me he’s in hospital. I’ve had enough of your wild goose chases. He’s here, isn’t he?”
    Oh, Lord.
    “Come away from that door and let me pass,” Lady Schrapnell roared. “He is here.”
    I dropped the luggage with a thud and looked wildly about for somewhere to hide.
    “No, he’s not,” Finch said bravely. “He’s over at Radcliffe Infirmary.”
    There was nowhere to hide, at least in this century. I ducked under the veils and sprinted for the console, praying the seraphim had truly made all the necessary preparations.
    “I said, let me pass,” Lady Schrapnell said. “Badri, make him come away from the door. Mr. Henry’s here, and I intend to see that he goes to look for my bishop’s bird stump instead of malingering in the present, pretending to have time-lag.”
    “But he does have time-lag,” Finch said. “A very serious case. His vision’s blurred, he has Difficulty Distinguishing Sounds, and his reasoning faculties are severely impaired.”
    The console screen said, “Ready. Hit ‘send.’ ” I measured the distance to the net.
    “He’s in no condition to make any drops,” Finch said.
    “Nonsense,” Lady Schrapnell said. “Now come away from that door this instant.”
    I took a deep breath, punched “send,” and dived head-first for the net.
    “Please believe me,” Finch said desperately. “He’s not here. He’s over at Christ Church.”
    “Get