Time works in the same way

At the end of a long room filled with whispers and handshakes sits a man fondling a small, dark object. The ancient wooden benches along the room's perimeter are full, mostly of women and children, leaving the men to mingle. The man sits firmly offering avoiding eye contact which could be misinterpreted as an offer of his seat. He clutches the object nervously. Through a forrest of arms, legs, and coattails a small child wanders towards the man, drawn by curiousity and free of her unattentive mother's eye.

"What you got there, mister?", queries the girl.

He pauses for a moment, considering plots which might've employed this child as a spy, paid in food, to inquire. Exhausted and drawn to the child's innocence, the walls of secrecy melt for a moment.

"This, my darling, is a device. A device many men and many women have died to see, to understand, and to own. In many ways it is like one of your toys, but a toy for adults. This, darling, is The Zybourne Clock."

Suddenly, barely visible in the dim light, the child's eyes change. The hazelnut brown tones are ungluing into silver, melting into swirls of pearl and mechanical shades. Her body loses its shy posture and rapidly conforms to a rigid, upright stance. Her mouth opens slightly and with programmed precision, she moves her wrist slowly towards her tiny lips.

"Orange Fox to Deitrus. Orange Fox to Deitrus. The Golden Egg has been located. I repeat, we've got it. Over".

Frozen with guilt, the man slowly begins to run through the crowd. The girl screams, "Rape! Rape! He tried to touch me! Help!".

For Dirk McLauren, Wedesnday January 19 2381 has begun very poorly.