Such a defeat, she knew, would be even worse than a defeat by the Revisionists, for if the Revisionists had won, there still would be a book, there still would be the teaching of Man's own destiny. And that, she told herself, was better than no inkling of destiny at all.
Behind her, the visaphone purred, and she spun around, hurried across the room.
A robot said, "Mr. Sutton called. He asked about Wisconsin."
"Wisconsin?"
"It's an old place name," the robot said. "He asked about a place called Bridgeport, Wisconsin."
"As if he were going there?"
"As if he were going there," the robot said.
"Quick," said Eva, "tell me. Where is this Bridgeport?"
"Five or six miles away," said the robot, "and at least four thousand years."
She caught her breath. "In time," she said.