It should have been a happy time, with humanity pressing forward into a future in which the world would be healed, in which a comfortable life could be lived without the shame of knowing that it came at someone else's expense. And for many--perhaps most--it was. But many others could not turn their faces from the shadows of the past. Too many creatures were missing, never to be restored. Too many people, too many nations now lay buried in the soul of the past. Once the world had teemed with seven billion human lives. Now a tenth that number tended the gardens of the Earth. The survivors could not esily forget the century of war and plague, of drought, flood, and femine, of desperate fury leading to despair. Every step of every living man and woman trod to someone's grave, or so it seemed.

So it was not only forests and grasslands that were brought back to life. People also sought to bring back the lost memories, the stories, the intertwinning paths that men and wemon had followed that led them to their times of glory and their times of shame. They built machines that let them see into the past., at first the great sweeping changes accross the centuries, and then, as the machinery was refined, the faces and the voices of the dead...

TO BE CONTINUED...
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