Timeshift

The cab rolled to a gentle stop in front of the Theater. Thorndyke and Sharla stepped out and headed into the building where they were met by an attractive young woman seated at a wrap-around desk.

"Welcome," she smiled brightly. "Have you been here before."

"Yes," Thorndyke replied.

"Good. Then you know how things work. Please don't walk around once you've been seated. The size of the room will not change, but depending upon which Beta Light image you select, it may appear to take on greater proportions. Will you be seeking entertainment, wholesome images, voyeuristic pleasures, or dining?"

"Dining."

"Excellent. Any particular time period?"

"Is King Henry the Eighth accepting guests this evening?" Thorndyke smiled.

"Just a moment and I'll see," the woman said as she consulted a small monitor recessed in her table. "Yes, you're in luck. Booth 9."

A young man dressed in waiter's garb led them to a row of rooms, each nine- by-twelve feet, lined with metal cloth that glittered in a soft, seamless sheen. They entered the featureless area and sat at a non-descript table slightly to the left of the door.

"Tonight you'll be feasting on representations of boar, goat, pheasant and lamb, with select seasonal vegetables indigenous to sixteenth century England. And of course fresh brewed ale and mulberry wine. The food will emerge from within the table as soon as the hologram begins. If you have need of any other services, please throw a resin-polymer rib bone at the candelabrum in front of the King. You'll strike a sensor pad behind that spot that will signal someone from customer services. Enjoy."

The man left, sealing the door shut. A soft whine built into a higher pitch, soon disappearing into the clamor of voices, song and ambient clutter as the dining room of an old English castle encompassed them. Their table became an extension of the King's table, Henry the Eighth appearing to wink and nod their way as he welcomed the assembled guests to his feast. Emerging before them were plates of food fashioned to resemble the meats, fruits and vegetables of the time. Biting into a rack of lamb, Thorndyke looked at Sharla and chuckled, his comments almost lost amid the noisy revelry around them.

"I'll bet this stuff really had some taste. Can you image the sensations in this room? Smells, tastes, the stifling air, the grimy dirt on some of those plates."

"Please," Sharla grimaced theatrically. "Ours may not have much flavor, but I doubt if we'll risk getting any of the diseases they got from their food. I can't imagine really living in a time like that, but it's fun to pretend."

Soon the banquet was in full force with minstrels playing and jugglers entertaining the crowd. King Henry and one of his wives were enjoying the diversion, filling their cups with wine and ale while they accepted an endless stream of toasts, each one more saccharine and fawning than the one before it. Sharla raised her glass in mock approval, clearly enjoying the festive occasion, when she noticed that Thorndyke had suddenly become very pensive. She stopped and set the cup of wine back down on her table, speaking to him softly.

"Elizabethan England not your favorite time strata?"

"No, I'm sorry," Thorndyke replied sheepishly. "This is really wonderful. I guess I'm still pretty shook up about what happened earlier today."