I read the first of Ford’s stories in which a small group of men and women, ever hopeful of
finding their Homeline, march through a narrow tube where hatches to alternate worlds and
alternate times appear every 100 kilometers. I think that most of the Earthlike worlds have a
corporation—Alternities, Inc.—which has tried to turn a profit on the tubes.
Clever people he worked for.
But not clever enough to preven the Fracture, when
Augustan Romans had tumbled into the waters of the Spanish Main and bandannaed urban
guerillas shot the hell out of the Sun King’s palace at Verasilles. Not clever enough
to point the way to Homeline, except as a hundred-kilometer march from line to line
through a hexagonal sewer in Space4.