Page 112 of The Paradox Club

“We can trace the hour all the way back to ancient Egypt. And while the Egyptians used twelve constellations to divide the night into twelve hours, our modern hours are unrelated to astronomical events.”

“If I had a bedtime in ancient Egypt, this information would be extremely useful.”

“Right. You wanted to know the time. Until less than two hundred years ago, every community kept its own time, based more or less on the movement of the sun through the day.”

“So even if it was my bedtime in Madison, we could keep different time on the island and I could stay up another twenty minutes?”

“But sadly for you, when railways and other forms of rapid transportation came along, we needed to standardize our time, so we divided the world into twenty-four time zones, one for each hour of the day. But that was completely arbitrary. We could have created thirty-six times zones, or forty-eight time zones. Or three hundred and sixty time zones. But now we agree that, even if, for instance, Terre Haute, Indiana, and Bangor, Maine, are separated by almost twenty degrees of longitude, it’s the same time in both places, because they’re both in the Eastern Time Zone.”

“But it’s not really the same time?”

“It takes the sun four minutes to move through one degree of longitude, so noon in Bangor, according to the sun, happens almost eighty minutes before noon in Terre Haute.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It is. We should have three hundred and sixty time zones, one for each degree of longitude. Then the difference within one time zone could never be more than four minutes.”

“That makes more sense.”

“But of course, you would have to change the time on your watch every time you traveled east or west sixty-nine miles.”

“That’s ridiculous, too.”

“Both scenarios are ridiculous, but you’ve got to choose one or the other.”

“Which one gives me a later bedtime?”

“Let me put it this way, Tess. In New York it’s past your bedtime. In San Francisco it’s before your bedtime. But here in the Maxwell’s Island time zone, it’s exactly your bedtime.”

THE BULLY ARRIVES ON MAXWELL’S ISLAND

“Pilgrim 3?” shouted Richard. He had paddled the canoe to within sight of the boat landing, knowing that Pilgrim 3 and Montag 5 couldn’t get to the island without the canoe. On the other hand, Tess couldn’t get home without the radio. Still, for the moment he held the upper hand.

“Calvin 4, is that you?” said Pilgrim 3.

“Do you have the radio?”

“I’m not giving it to you.”

“I’m not asking for it. But you’ll need it on the island for what you want to do.”

“I have it,” said Pilgrim 3.

“Tess Maxwell sends greetings and welcomes you to Maxwell’s Island. She is less welcoming to your companion.”

“This is Mr. Anderson Tait of Scientific American.”

“Not that companion,” said Richard.

“He means me,” said Montag 5, stepping from the shadows.

“Toss your gun into the lake,” said Richard, “and I’ll be happy to ferry you across. Otherwise, you can watch tonight’s events from a mile away.”

Richard watched as Pilgrim 3 and Montag 5 conferred in whispers. After a minute, Montag 5 stepped forward and held his gun in the air.

“How do I know that’s your gun?” said Richard. “I’m a hundred yards away.”

A bang rent the air as Montag 5 discharged his weapon and then hurled it far out into the lake where it landed with a splash. Five minutes later, Richard had escorted three passengers and an antique radio into the canoe and was paddling back toward Maxwell’s Island. As soon as he landed the canoe on the island, Richard scrambled up the bank to where Tess and Vivian stood bathed in moonlight, determined to get a quick word with them as the others disembarked.