In the nineteenth century, a girl was born in a man’s world. When she told the men she’d like to write books, they laughed because books were not a woman’s business. But the girl had no trouble imagining things other people couldn’t fathom: time travel and laser guns, moon landings and invisibility, so she conceived a world where literature wasn’t under the dominion of men. It turned out she was right about things like gene engineering and interplanetary communication, but wrong about the commerce of books. So she published stories under her brother’s name and went to work for a warehouse where all the mysteries of time and space were contained inside mystical artifacts.

In the twentieth century, a girl was born in a man’s world. When she told her father she’d like to sell books, he laughed because books were not a woman’s business. He named his bookstore “Bering & Sons,” though he had no sons, and the girl learned that though the commerce of books fell under the dominion men, they could claim no sovereignty over the province of knowledge. So she taught herself four languages, fencing, martial arts and went to work for a warehouse where the universe’s full enlightenment was contained inside mystical artifacts.

The girl from the nineteenth century lost her daughter to senseless murder.

The girl from the twentieth century lost her partner the same way.

One was bronzed, the other was born, and they stumbled into each other on equal footing inside the man’s world. Helena G. Wells and Myka Bering.