They came to the year 7000. Traveling slowly now.
Then Lea had an idea. In the automobile, coming from Staten Island, she had been wrapped in Nanette's cloak. It was discarded now; but it lay here in the tower room. She picked it up and stood before Alan. Fragile, beautiful little creature! The soft folds of the sky-blue drapery fell about her figure; the golden tresses lay in a mass over her shoulders. Her eyes, clear pale blue as a morning sky, were fixed on Alan. A wave of emotion swept him; it seemed that he had never seen a girl so beautiful.
"Nanette," she said, lifting the cloak.
"Yes," he responded. "Nanette's cloak. I understand. But what—"
She took Alan's finger and moved it over the dial. Aimlessly. She said: "Nanette—Turber—Edward—"
And shook her head. She did not know where we were. But then she indicated the cloak again, and smiled, and said, "Yes—yes."
What could she mean by that? Was she trying to convey that with Nanette's cloak they would be able to learn where Nanette was? It seemed so.
A tenseness had come to San. He was alert at his mechanisms. He spoke sharply to Lea. Her hand went to Alan, steadying him. Alan braced himself. San flung a switch-lever. The tower seemed almost to lurch physically.
They had reached their destination. Alan's senses had suddenly reeled; but they cleared at once. The tower room was vibrationless; the hum was stilled. San opened the door. A warm sunlight streamed in.
The Space of Central Park, five thousand years in our future!