She was pale of skin and her great mass of intricately braided hair was of a softly radiant silver hue. The simple garment of golden-hued cloth covered her adequately—but no more than that. Even her sandals were simple, accessories of comfort and utility rather than fashion.
"I am Ayna of Globe 64BA," she told them briskly. "I wish one or both of you to escort me to Ivath's headquarters."
She was eyeing Orth's zippered shirt and glassid trousers curiously.
"Ivath must be slipping," she said. "You are definitely out of the wrong century. More likely the Twenty-first. I cannot be mistaken for I have majored in Ancient American Mythology."
"I was born in 1960!" Orth snapped, "and I definitely must be in the wrong century. Or I'm out of my head! That's more like it. All this pother about the Civil War and the World Wars going on at the same time. Maybe just the names are the same. Or—what?"
"There must be a short circuiting of your memory cells," said Ayna soothingly, "but Ivath and his helpers will soon set that right. Take me to him and I will help you." She looked at Horgan.
Horgan was shaking his head. "Sorry," he said, "but until the Civil War is ended—here I stay."
The girl frowned. She turned to Orth. "How about you?" she demanded. "Are you part of the local scenery too, or can you travel?"
"I have no idea what this is all about," Orth told her, "but I go where I please. Maybe you can set me right on a few things, Ayna. Then I'll go along with you."
"Fine!" Her teeth flashed.