"Yeah," said Patawanyme, rubbing her forehead, "Trouble was, burned down some of my memory, too. They had written down all these stories from my grandmother. No, it wasn't all bad. Better than those time black-holes, the Res."
   "Reservoir?" asked Barry.
   "Reservation-like a time ghetto-as if Indians could be frozen in time like metal one a nickel."
   "Frozen, like Han Solo," thought Barry. Patawanyme frowned. He had forgot she was a seer.