Station XIII
TheTime Travellers Guild
.;. The Ffilm is begun
Three doors stand open. One is a room. One is an instrument. One is locked, and does not open for knocking — it opens for knowing.
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Standing addresses
Where the Guild keeps itself
Two doors are open to anyone who walks up. The third is not on any map. It is assembled from three things scattered through what follows — read carefully, or don't bother.
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The instrument
It does not predict.
It computes.
Instrument №13 takes the true positions of the bodies overhead at any moment named — behind us or ahead — and puts them where they actually are. There is nothing mystical in the arithmetic. The solar system is a clock, and clocks run both ways if you know their gearing.
The instrument is numbered. Not the Guild's founding year, not a house number — the number worn on its own nameplate, the one printed at the top of every page you've read tonight. Say it as a word, in English, not a numeral.
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The work
The Field
Everyone who passes through gives a temporal signature: not your fortune, not your character — your position, where the machinery of the solar system stood at the moment you began.
When a field is complete, it is transmitted. Not stored. Not sold. Sent — at a moment fixed by the sky, to nobody in particular, in the cause of peace.
Left on the transmission log. A simple hand — each letter moved three back. Click to try, or work it by eye.
The Guild's second word for the hill above the Station — the one the valley calls by a different, older name. Enter that older name below.
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Posted
Ministry notices
Cable-tied to railings and lamp posts. They explain nothing and ask for nothing.
Notice
Any time traveller caught interfering with the local time line will be sent back to the Palaeozoic Era for a period of up to five years.
By Order of the Ministry of
Time Travel, August 2235
Every notice above is signed with a Ministry date, always in a year not yet arrived. But the Ministry itself keeps its actual desk somewhere ordinary, in this century, in Wales — the city the Guild files its papers in, one door up from the Station. Where the Guild's headquarters — the Station — is actually addressed, in the here and now.
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The Archive
Found leaves
14th of the ninth, and the sky wrong again over the Giant.
Third night I have taken the readings and third night they do not agree with the tables. The instrument is not at fault. I checked her twice and she is honest.
I do not say this to anyone but I think it was a person.
UNSIGNED · CRIBARTH
They tell you the Guild is for the sending. It is not. Anyone can send. The whole of the work is in the receiving — nobody trains you for that, you simply stand where you are told and wait.
Tonight something happened.
UNSIGNED · UNPLACED
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The vault
Three fragments, one door
You've resolved what you've resolved. Set the combination below — order doesn't matter, spelling does.
The dial gives. A fourth address, unlisted, unlinked — kept for those who did the reading rather than the knocking.
Enter Cardiff →