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When you look into a night sky, you see the stars far away. You're seeing them because of the light which travels from them to you. Now, it takes time for light to travel here, so what you're doing is seeing the stars as they were in the past - the amount of time it has taken for the light to reach us - and the further and further away those stars are, the further back in time you are looking.

Now you are seeing a star that is, say, "six thousand years ago"; imagine somebody on that star looking at us. They would be seeing us as we were six thousand years ago.

Which of those two is Now?

--Alan Parsons,The Time Machine

"I had the Medicine Dream again."

In the darkened, steamy space of the small sweat lodge, the scent of sage heavy on the air, the old Medicine Man simply nodded, his muzzle gray-whiskered, his black eyes glinting by the low light of the central fire pit, his expression knowing, his smile soft and welcoming. "The arrow."

"Yes."

"This comes when you need direction."

"It has always been so." The Appaloosa 'taur shifted slightly. He had quite the lather from his time in the lodge, but he acknowledged that it was necessary, and beneficial, for various reasons. The old coyote would not let him become ill from it. Each knew his limits.

"Which of the Seven Directions calls you?"

After a very long moment, the equine said softly, "All."

The Medicine Man waited.

"Grandfather, am I not listening?"

"You are," the coyote nodded. "We walk all of the paths in our lifetime, and beyond our lifetime. We walk in this world and in the Dreamtime. We may focus on one direction or another, at certain times, but we must walk them all."

"And to walk all at once?"

"Is to be fully alive."

"Where will they lead?"

A twinkle in his eyes, Grandfather softly said, "Ask your Grandmother."

* * * * * * * * * *

The sweat lodge was not made to accommodate a 'taur of his general size. He had to crawl out, forepaws to the ground, the knees of his front legs bent, more or less walking on forelimbs and front legs ahead of his hind legs, which he dragged as carefully as possible. His instinct, born of centuries of genetics, urged him to get up onto his hind hooves quickly, to guard against danger, and he had to concentrate against the temptation. He felt grandfather's considerate forepaws helping to guide his rump out of the flaps of the lodge; wouldn't do to tear the hides, his own or the ferals' who had given themselves to this purpose.

The night air was cool, fresh; his nostrils flared to catch the more subtle scents of the nearby woods. He cleared the lodge opening and moved to stand on his hooves, careful not to shake himself too much - he needed the lather to help cool him, although not too quickly. The young coyote who assisted Grandfather brought his cloth covering to him; he let it drape his shoulders, and the pup made sure he was covered across the body to the tail. That would help keep in enough heat to prevent damage from rapid cooling. The helpful pup was too polite to ask, but the horsetaur remembered what it was like to be that age.

"Thank you. We met here to talk, not to Dream tonight."

"I did not ask," the pup said softly, ears splayed, a little embarrassed.

"We are always curious," the 'taur smiled at the yowen. "Being polite means not asking; being curious means keeping your heart open."

"You have learned much,_Niizh Dibik-Giizis"_Grandfather said, rising to his hindpaws outside the lodge.

"Two Moons?" the pup repeated.

Another smile crossed the equine's velvety lips. "Grandmother Moon blessed me with her face twice, once on each of my flanks. Look, if you wish. I do not mind."

The older coyote lifted the cloth from Two Moons' rump so that the yowen could get a glimpse of the full moon on the 'taur's left flank, the growing moon on his right. The two patches of white were all that were different from the rest of the hide on his lower portions; he was otherwise jet black, in mane and tail as well. Only his upper torso was colored with the piebald markings of his breed. The pup seemed somewhat wide-eyed, clearly impressed by the markings on his haunches. "You are a Shaman?"

"Hunter. Seeker." He offered his forepaw, palm up in the traditional way. "What are you called?"

The pup reached out his forepaw to take the horsetaur's arm at the wrist, the 'taur gripping his wrist gently in return - a greeting of trust and fellowship between males and equals."Wokaihwokomas."

Two Moons blinked, doing his best not to be rude. "I do not believe I know that name."

"It is Cheyenne," the older coyote explained. "He came to us, young and orphaned." He made hand signs that the 'taur understood.

"Delgay Yáhto ... White Deer." He nodded slowly. "You too have been blessed by a strong Spirit."

"It's how I was found."

The Medicine Man put his arm around the younger canine's shoulders. "He stayed the winter in a cave, tended by a stag, his doe, and two fawns. They treated him as one of them. They found berries on the trees for him, and the doe nursed him, despite his seeming to be a predator. When the season began warming, a few of our older hunters were tracking the stag, but when they found him, something made the leader stay all their paws. He said the stag spoke to him, not with words but pictures. The stag led them to the cave, and this young pup came out to meet them. The stag and his family lived that day, and we have pledged never to go to that cave again. No one knows if they are still there."

"But you are now here," Two Moons smiled at the pup. "I am glad to know you, White Deer." He reached into the pouch around his neck and withdrew a smaller pouch, which he handed to the Medicine Man. "Thank you, Grandfather. I will do as you suggest."

The older coyote nodded, smiling. "Will you tell me, when you know?"

"When I know," the horsetaur smiled back, "you'll have known already."

The shaman's eyes twinkled, and he and his charge tended to the proper stilling of the lodge flames before they went to their sleeping place.

Two Moons collected his bow and quiver of arrows, his cloth robe still around him against the slight chill in the air. The Grass Moon was full above him; Grandmother shone down on the promise of a full growing season recently begun. His hooves were quiet in the low undergrowth, and the light of the moon above him was easy to see by. This area of plains land had been in his tribe's care for many years longer than he had been alive; the woodland nearby was tended by respect for its natural state, and his people intruded as little as possible. Not all were hunters, as he was; not all tended the land, as some of his tribal family did. The had what they needed, and they took no more. They held all that lives in reverence, to leave unsullied and untouched all that is beautiful That was how it should be.

His shadow moved with him, a lean figure, solid, well-kept, the bow and quiver seeming to be a part of the chiaroscuro of his hide. The walk helped to cool him down also, the cloth keeping him from losing too much heat too quickly. He should have been tired, but as often happened when Grandmother's face was full and smiling upon the world, he felt a certain restless desire. He took himself deep into the wooded area and found the small clearing that he had felt was his Sacred Place. There, he let his hind and front legs relax upon the ground, shucked the bow and quiver from around his neck, reached into his pouch again, and took a pinch of tobacco to offer to the Seven Directions. Breathing slowly, he held wide his forearms, palms upward, letting the light of the moon trickle quicksilver through his forepaws. He closed his eyes and raised his muzzle to Father Sky and, smelling the Standing People on the breeze, he opened himself to Spirit and made ready his prayer.

"Grandmother." He spoke softly, with familiar reverence. "I have had the Medicine Dream. The Arrow calls to me again. I feel the pull of the Seven Directions, and I know not where to turn. Help me to know what the Dream is telling me. Help me to know the Mystery's design for me. Let me feel the Spirit's Paw guide from Within.Mahrsi."

Long moments passed, and he did not lower his arms, did not speak, did not open his eyes. When the feeling came over him, he opened himself for the Mystery to imprint its Paw upon his heart. The Standing People whispered to him as the wind brought a scent to his flaring nostrils. It was unfamiliar, strong, sharp yet cleansing. It told him that its intentions were true, benevolent, helping. With it came a sound, like a word that was no word he had heard or felt, save in a dream. It was not Word, but it was true. He had sensed it before, even Grandfather had sensed and spoken it aloud with him, and now it was even more clear, yet it was still nothing that he knew. His mind tried to grasp it, each part of it, to hold to himself._Kwa'antu'uhmlaysa'arparta'ahl._He did not know, but his closed eyes did see - a path through Nothing that led to Something.

Slowly, he lowered his arms, breathed evenly, ears back, eyes opened to the clearing around him. Grandmother had continued her journey across the sky, further beyond than before. Tiny sounds around him told of small feral creatures, nothing dangerous, only there from some shared curiosity. He must have been still for quite a while for some of the dwellers amid the Standing People to have come so close to investigate him. At the edge, a feral fox sat properly, its tail about its paws, looking upon him. Above, an owl called for someone or something that he longed for and might never see again. A small herd of rabbits seemed too curious to sleep and came to lend their message to him who sought guidance.

Fox, he thought. Blend in; be subtle; listen and know. Owl - discernment; following your first feelings. Rabbit - the Fear Caller; fight against fear, listen to Within Voice.

Two Moons reached for his quiver and took from it a single white arrow. He had honed the wood carefully, straightened, smoothed, polished it to a careful shine. He had put two sacred Symbols upon it, blessed it with his blood and spirit, saved it for many turns of season. Tonight. He looked up at Grandmother, still hovering above the trees, and knew that it was tonight. It was Now.

Willing his heart, he let his lips kiss the arrow, put a bit of himself into it. He stood on his hind and front legs, his forepaws taking up the bow, fitting the arrow carefully. He tested the strength, the line, the bend, and he knew it was time.

"Kwa'antu'uhmlaysa'arparta'ahl," he whispered, matching the sound as best he could. He drew back, aimed. "For my love, Grandmother."

The arrow flew in perfect flight to the moon...

* * * * * * * * * *

"I had the Medicine Dream again."

The Appaloosa 'taur and the old fox sat alone in the dim light of the small sweat lodge, the scent of sage joining that of the cedar chips that the vulpine preferred. The shaman simply nodded, smiling softly, his black eyes seeming to sparkle with the embers of the central fire pit. "The arrow."

"Yes."

"This dream comes to you when you need direction."

"Always." The 'taur shifted slightly. He was quite lathered by this time, although not in a bad way. It would have been rude to carry drinking water into the lodge; he knew it waited for him just outside, and he knew that his Medicine Man wouldn't keep him a moment longer than necessary. This not his first sweat; he knew his limits.

"Which of the Seven Directions calls you?"

After a very long moment, the equine said softly, "They all do. All at once."

The Medicine Man waited.

"Grandfather, what am I not hearing?"

"You're hearing what you need to hear, Two Moons." The old fox smiled. "It always sounds crazy, to say that you walk all directions at once, but it's only the truth. Head, heart, spirit, all moving along the spokes of the Medicine Wheel, not always at the same pace, but always moving. East, West, North, South, Above, Below, Within. Seven Directions. We walk them all."

"All at once?"

"Helluva trip, enit?"

Two Moons chuckled. "Enough to make me dizzy. I guess I just need to know: Where will they lead?"

A twinkle in his eyes, Grandfather softly said, "Ask your Grandmother."

* * * * * * * * * *

By its nature, a sweat lodge is made to force those entering or leaving to crawl, as if to reenter then exit the womb, reborn. Such symbolism wasn't lost on the 'taur as he tried to lengthen himself, forepaws to the ground, the knees of his front legs bent, more or less walking on forelimbs and front legs ahead of his hind legs, which he dragged as carefully as possible. He felt the old fox's forepaws on his rump, helping him to avoid tearing the hides of the ferals who had given themselves to this purpose. His teasing nature wanted to ask if the fox were just copping a feel, but there's such a thing as respect to the old ways. He accepted the help without complaint.

The night air was cool. He cleared the lodge, regaining his hind and front legs, shaking out his tail a bit, gratefully accepting the plastic bottle from the young badger who had another one ready for the shaman. The temptation to guzzle was immense, but he'd made that mistake only once; it astonished him just how far projectile vomit could hurl. He moved slowly to the wooden tables nearby and gathered his robe. He'd change into "ordinary" clothes later. Right now, it felt good to stay connected, at least a little bit, to the old ways. The badger helped him spread the cloth smoothly over his rump. The young mustelid was a little shy around nudity, it would seem, or perhaps it was just Two Moons; he was lean for an equine 'taur, but he was reasonably well-muscled where it counts. It was nice to be complimented, even silently.

"Thank you... I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Just call me anything but late for supper."

Two Moons laughed. "Must be one of those really embarrassing names then." He stretched out his forepaw, palm up, in the old traditional manner. "Johnny Two Moons."

The badger took the offered paw in his own, the way the public schools had taught him. "You can call me Bill."

"More like Free Willie," the old fox joked, putting a robe around himself. He stepped over to give a side-to-side hug to the mustelid. "It's okay, Bill. It's not like we worry about it these days. We didn't in the old days, either. That's the problem with what they called 'civilization' when the Europeans began arriving - the first thing they had to do was make sure no one was having any fun."

Releasing his grip on the badger's paw, Johnny chuckled softly. "That's the truth. Good to meet you, Bill." He turned to the shaman and, from a pocket in his robe, he gave him two pouches of tobacco. "The traditional expression of gratitude," he said. From the same pocket, he also produced five twenty-dollar bills. "And that's to keep modern times from biting your tail."

The old fox chuckled. "Tough making a living, telling folks what they may not want to hear. Thank you, Johnny."

The badger started to say something, then stopped himself.

"No Dreaming, this time," Johnny remarked. "Just some advice, and a good sweat."

"I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Curiosity is what keeps us moving forward." Johnny made a slight double-take, blinking. The words_Being curious means keeping your heart open_had been on his tongue, or should have been, or... he wasn't quite sure what. "I do Dream, sometimes. Even in this scientific age."

"I guess I don't know what that's like."

"What makes you say that?"

"I... I guess..." The badger stopped, visibly pulling himself together. "I get teased a lot, in school."

"What about?"

"Everything. Being First People. Being gay. Being a hot-head. I guess I sort of stereotype myself for that one."

"We all fall prey to stereotypes sometimes, my young friend." Johnny considered a moment. The badger was barely halfway through his teens, and he seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Would you spend a little time with me? No, not like that," the Appaloosa 'taur smiled. "There's a clearing here that I've always thought was a good place to Dream. I'd like to show it to you."

"You makin' fun of me?"

"No. I can show you a Dream."

Bill looked at his mentor, who smiled at him. "I trust Two Moons with my life. That sounds corny, these days, but it's still true. I'll wait for you."

Johnny waved his forepaw. "Come on up. Ride me." He gave the young badger a warning eyebrow, smiling. Blushing a little, the yowen accepted. The 'taur knelt to make it easier, even though he was only about 140cm or so at what, on feral horses, would be called the "shoulder." He reflected that, before the metric system, feral equines were measured in "paws," as if there were a standard paw width across species. Just to make it more confusing, the scale was measured as 13.0, 13.1, 13.2, 13.3, and then 14.0 (for example), the idea being the four fingers on each forepaw. It was more scientific now, which was both more accurate and, somehow, more removed.

"You balanced?" he asked his charge. "I'll go slowly; just grip with your knees. Not too hard."

The 'taur walked slowly, the yowen more sack-of-potatoes than rider, but it wasn't like Johnny was trying to teach him how to ride ferals. The cub was as a feather, even to Johnny's modest musculature. How easy to bear the future when all it asks of you is to tell it the truth. "I worked up a pretty good sweat," he said observed. "I hope I don't stink."

The badger said nothing.

"Did I embarrass you?"

"I... I didn't..."

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I overpowered the smell of the sage."

"No, it's not... I mean..." Almost too quietly for Johnny to hear, the pup said, "I didn't think you'd want me to tell you I like it."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not gay."

"I'm not?"

"You are?"

"Actually, no." Johnny reached behind him and pulled the badger close to his back. "But that's no reason not to share a kindness. Put your arms around me; you might be more stable that way."

Tentatively, then with a surprisingly tender affection, Bill wrapped his arms around the 'taur's chest and held him close. Two Moons put his forearms over the badger's, and the embrace was good. Love, in its True Form, was never bad. He could almost feel the yowen's heart beating, and he offered a quick prayer to his own Totems that he might be able to help the pup. "Is there anything about school you like, Bill?"

"I used to like English class."

"Used to?"

The mustelid's voice tasted bitterness. "I hate Hemingway..."

Two Moons laughed loud enough to disturb some of the night birds. He pulled back the braying cry a bit, glanced back over his shoulder to see that the badger seemed embarrassed. "It was Fitzgerald for me. Blecth! How about science?"

"Science fiction?"

"That counts," the 'taur smiled. "How much do you know about lasers?"

"A good strong one can cut through anything!"

"Could be," Two Moons allowed. "It can do a lot more, too. I work with them."

"You do?" The badger sounded impressed.

"Communication research. Laser beams can carry information, too, and light travels faster than radio waves. I'm hoping to make contact with someone or something very far away. Ah... here."

Johnny entered the small clearing and heard the yowen catch his breath. The 'taur felt it also, a sense of déjà vu that was stronger here than anywhere else on the globe. He had been here many times, of course, but the very first time that he had found this place, it was as familiar to him then as now. He had asked the old shaman about it, wondering if it really were his first time there, and the fox's answer was about as mystical as he could make it. Stripped of the shiny bits of what the fox himself called "good old Injun bunkum," it boiled down to the idea that this wasn't the 'taur's first time at the rodeo. More than that, Johnny felt, this body - one just like it, somehow - had been here before also. By science, that was ridiculous, but the 'taur felt sure that not all answers were scientific.

"It's old here," the young mustelid whispered.

"Yes." Holding the cub's arms close, Johnny knelt there on the grass, then helped the badger from his equine shoulders. Bill now stood a few centimeters taller, and the 'taur smiled softly at him. "What know you of the Old Ways?"

"Whatever Grandfather has told me. I'm not sure what it is that I'm supposed to learn." The badger lowered his eyes. "School tells me that I'm supposed to believe in facts and figures and science and someone who walked on water then turned it into wine. I don't understand."

"Come lean against me, Bill." Two Moons patted his flank as he lay his lower body a little more on its side, unshod hooves touching air more than earth. A little shyly, the young badger did as he was told. "Now," the 'taur said softly, pointing to Father Sky. "Look up and tell me what you see there."

"The moon, the treetops..."

"Breathe deeply, and look again."

The unspoken message was received. "Grandmother. The tops of the Standing People."

"Feel your blood there, brother badger. Feel back across the years, and remember."

They sat for a long moment in silence, and Johnny felt himself creating something like a prayer within himself, something about the Great Mystery and the guidance of Spirit. About an arrow that had defined more than this life. About how and what and who needed to be guided.

"Do you know what I hope to do with my laser, Bill?"

"Please tell me."

"I hope to kiss Grandmother's cheek, and have her return the kiss. I hope to send a message out beyond even Grandmother's reach, and hope that someone hears it. I hope to guide others like us to be able to explore the stars, to see each echo of our own Grandfather Sun, and find other worlds like our Mother, and discover what those worlds gave birth to. I want to shoot my arrow, straight and true, and find where it lands, and who might catch it... and who might bring it back."

The yowen was quiet for a time, watching the slowly moving face of Grandmother moon, as Johnny did. Softly, he asked, "You love her, don't you?"

"Always have."

"And you really hope to touch her."

"In some way, yes. She has reflected Grandfather's light for so long. It's time that we, her grandchildren, learn how to bring that gift of light back to her."

"You learned that in school?"

"No. I learned how to build lasers in school. My tribe taught me my Self, and Grandmother touched me from birth, loved me enough to put her face on my haunches. Sometimes, you have to be who you are quietly. But you're always who you are, not who they say you are. Love is about being your True Self. Keep that in mind, Bill."

"You come here to Dream."

"Yes."

"Can you show me how to Dream?"

"Yes." Johnny moved his arm slowly in the air, his forepaw brushing the space between the young badger and Grandmother's light. "A Dream is a shadow of something real. When you Dream, you will be one step closer to finding the real, or making it yourself. You are your first Dream, because you were made real at birth. Keep remembering to be yourself, your real Self, and your Dream will find you and help you to build."

"Is it really that easy?"

"Yes. And that difficult." The Appaloosa horsetaur sighed a little. "I am called Two Moons, and it is in two worlds that I live. It's so much easier for so many, the ones who don't seem to care, who give up trying to know themselves. It's not their fault, young badger. They don't know any better. It makes it difficult to be your real Self, but you must. It is a duty to Dream. It is blessing and curse, but the Truth will only make you Real."

The turning quicksilver light held them in the silence for a long time. Neither moved, neither spoke. Johnny thought, at first, that the yowen had fallen asleep against his warm side, the badger slightly covered by the 'taur's robe, his nose still taking not-so-secret whiffs of the 'taur's hide. It was barely a whisper when the cub said: "My name is Dragonfly."

Johnny nodded. "I will honor you, Gatekeeper. Illusion-Breaker. Knower from the Direction of Within. Tomorrow, my laser will be tested. The device will be renamed. It will be Dragonfly that reaches forth to kiss Grandmother's cheek."

The badger moved to cuddle closer to the 'taur, and Johnny put an arm around the cub. The future must be seen without illusion; it must be Dreamed into being by remaining True. The future, like the past, was to be embraced, cared for, protected. And there, in the small clearing, Johnny's heart reached backward and forward, and he knew that it had always been this way... that he had always been this way... and he helped keep it this way... for the sake of a lonely Dragonfly.

* * * * * * * * * *

"I had the Medicine Dream again."

The coyote nodded slowly. "That's why you called to me. Brought me to you."

"Yes."

"What Dream is this place?"

"It is both a Dream and a True Place. I am both Dream and True Being. Look into my heart and know that I speak true."

The coyote, not yet 15,000 days old by the 'taur's reckoning, looked at him and smiled a little. "I think I have seen you,Niizh Dibik-Giizis. It is difficult not to notice one of your kind. You are older in this dream than when last I saw you."

The Appaloosa horsetaur shifted slightly in the heat of the improvised sweat lodge, the scent of sage strong, the steam real, the burning light low and quiet. Speaking the Algonquian tongue was difficult; it took him nearly a day to make his mind accept it fully. He wasn't sure how wise it would be to be Activated during this meeting. "You need to know what Truth is spoken to me - part of me - in another place. The place where you know me is far from this one, but it is the same as this one. You will see that other me in your own lodge. There is something that you need to say to me. Listen to the sounds; know them." He breathed slowly and spoke. The coyote strained as the 'taur repeated the words, carefully, several times.

"Kwa'antu'uhmlaysa'arparta'ahl," the coyote tried.

The 'taur nodded, smiling a little. "That's what I remember. It's what you will tell me, when you hear of my Medicine Dream. I will have heard it in the Dream, but you will help remember it for me."

"I will remember this Dream."

"Our Dream."

"Yes." The coyote twitched a little; his fur seemed to ruffle a little of its own volition, beginning to stand on its end. The canine's eyes flicked, a touch of fear. "Is this... supposed to be?"

"It is as it should be. It is well. You may feel some sickness when you awaken, but it will pass, quickly. I promise you."

"I rode the lightning."

"Yes."

"Did I live?"

"Yes. And you will again. And again, and again, and again. Dreams are shadows of something Real. Shadows will never hurt you. You will know Light." The aura around the coyote was growing stronger. The time was almost here. "Dream. Travel. Remember. I will find you."

"I will know you, Two Moons."

"You already do."

A gigantic snap shook the space inside the sweat lodge. The 'taur felt it as well, like a massive static electric charge that, if he didn't know better, he'd have sworn singed hairs where none should ever be singed. He rubbed his arms with his forepaws, thought better of rubbing much of anything else, and issued the verbal commands to deal with the created scenery - the tri-dimensional printer equivalent of "Erase." The physical components were atomized swiftly, the elements and compounds stored for recreation and use in another formation at some future time. When the deconstruction was finished, the 'taur rose easily, the floor surface below his unshod hooves designed to keep him from sliding out from under himself. Fresh tiles of the specialized surface appeared around him as he walked, accommodating even sharp turns in direction. It would undoubtedly be simpler if he wore specially designed hoof-covers, but everyone else was bare-pawed, so he used that as a good excuse. Besides, he'd designed this reproduction program; might as well let it work, if only to test how well it could keep up.

He took his tunic from the wall space where it hung. The sweat lodge was no illusion; its components may have been constructs, but the heat and steam were plenty real enough. He actually relished the lather he'd worked up; it was all too easy not to sweat enough in the comparatively sterile environs of the Chronochambers and associated facilities of Project Watch Dogs. Nothing was required to be biologically sterile, but everything was designed with form following function, and cleaning solvents had not changed much over the centuries; they still smelled sharp, strong, but cleansing. The researchers, including himself, would bring things to their desks, their system processing areas, their various pods and places to work; even that didn't always seem to do the trick. They all knew what was at stake here, and despite the banter, the camaraderie, the genuine joy of success and discovery, there was still that undercurrent of wondering just what they might be playing with.

The 'taur knew well enough - more than most, perhaps. He wasn't able to see Grandmother Moon's face nearly as often as he'd like, but he knew her heart. It was a notion that many did not understand, some few were actually uncomfortable with, but he held it close. The old calendar, the one that the coyote belonged to, might have called this era part of the 43rd century CE. What the 'taur knew all too well was that there was so much more to what they were working with. One day, science will climb to the pinnacle of the mountain of knowledge, and at that epic location, that capstone of accomplishment, science will meet Coyote Himself, who will ask only, "What took you so long?"

"Johnny?"

The 'taur looked up to see the large brown wolf smiling at him. "Sorry, Marcwolf; I'd say I was woolgathering, but I know a few ovines who might be offended."

Grinning, the wolf waved the equine toward another chamber nearby. "Got a rec firing up. Thought you'd want to be there."

"Right behind you, my friend." Johnny stretched a little, remembering how difficult it had always been to enter and leave the sweat lodges over the years, the many, many years. He felt them now, as he always had. Even before his Dragonfly, his quantum laser portal device, he knew who and what he would be. He was the hunter. He was the seeker. He was the archer who made the perfect Arrow, whether it flew through air, or space, or the Dreamtime. He was the one who dreamed the world back into itself. He was the Lightbringer, from Grandmother's quicksilver to the piercing light of the laser that turned back time.

As the horsetaur moved to the chamber several hundred meters down the hall, he reflected on his conversation with the coyote. He had already overseen the recovery mission where the nanochip had been recovered from the body after the old dog had passed. It was Johnny who requested Drummond for the mission, knowing that he would honor the body as best he could. The chip had been placed sometime after that (in the current frame of reference), enabling Johnny to have his conversations that were already part of history. The chip helped the coyote to remember his Dreaming - what better to call it, as the future is only a dream until it is the past, and dream becomes memory? This was the last of his meetings with the coyote; all five of them had been scheduled for the same day; since Johnny wasn't travelling, he wasn't exhausted, and for the coyote, the dreams happened singly over a span of years. Today was just history fulfilling itself.

Johnny Two Moons entered Chronos 7, having the feeling of entering that clearing that he wasn't even sure still existed. As he often did, he checked himself for his bow and quiver and, finding none, brought himself back into this Now rather than the others. All around him, techs called out information, the traditional go/no-go of centuries long past. He clopped softly on the ever-renewing padded tiles, moving toward the lean white Borzoi who appeared to be togged in period costuming. "You ready, Drummond?"

"Why did I draw a rec?" the canine grumped gently.

"Next one in the barrel."

"One day, I'm going to get you to tell me what that means."

The equine grinned. "Old Injun story. How's the Dragonfly treating you?"

"About the same. Wish we could find an easier way to do this."

"Easier? No. And unfortunately, there's no good way to prevent the nausea, other thananticholinergic antiemetics . You've had your scans?"

The Borzoi nodded. "All layers present and correct."

"Final Countdown; Drummond, beams ready - in position."

"Don't forget to send me a postcard."

"Hah bloody hah." The canine seemed to shrug a little as he padded to an area of the chamber floor where, already, lights began to gyre, gimbal, and opalesce in quicksilver patterns. Drummond stood in the center of the visual maelstrom, low-level calibration lasers confirming his physical parameters, all patterns verified and ready.

"Mission ID Rec 4277-048/1934-228 ready, Dragonfly in three... two... one..."

SNAP. Drummond disappeared. Every fur in the control room itched, but no eyes left their consoles; after all, only ten seconds would pass here while Drummond did his job over twenty-three centuries ago.

"Delphi telemetry uploading, confirming two targets, recovery in three... two... one..."

With a horrendous popping noise, Drummond and his charge - a middle-sized dhol dog who wobbled for a moment, blinking - appeared. Both of them seemed desperately to be holding onto whatever might have been in their stomachs. Quantum transport will do that to you.

With a joke that never ceased to amuse him, Johnny Two Moons moved slowly toward them and said, "About time you got here."