Jenna checked the moveways. She stared in fascination at the hourglass, at the phosphorescent crystals in the thick globe which gave each infant its birthright- the radioactive timeflower. She stared at her own hand, blinking red-black red-black... she'd received her crystal in a room like this; it had imbedded the flower into her right palm, and the crystal had decayed on schedule, in the same way the celcium atom decays in a radium clock, turning the stigmata inexorably from yellow to blue to red- and now, soon, to black.