Chronica (29 page)

She and Max reached Charles and Porter. But the young British doorman, with half a dozen club members who had been in the bar, entered the room.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

Charles tried to explain, as did Bertram, who was at the door.

Sierra tackled Porter. The scroll, which had been in his hand, fell to the floor in front of the fire.

Max went to get it. But the club members, not yet understanding what was going on, wanting only to end the violence, took hold of him by his shoulders to restrain him.

Porter had a free hand, and used it to grab the scroll.

"No!" Sierra screamed, as Porter threw the scroll into the flames.

She, too, was now restrained by several men from the bar.

Astor and the two Teslas entered the room, having at last reached the first floor by yet a third route, more circuitous than the other two. Their presence only added to the confusion.

By the time Bertram and Charles managed to explain what was happening, the original scroll of the
Chronica
, written in Heron's hand, had at last found its intended resting place, and was a nest of cinders in the fire.

Chapter 20

[New York City, June, 1899 AD]
 

Sierra, Max, Astor, the two Teslas, Bertram and Charles braced for whatever impact the destruction of the
Chronica
might have. There was none – or nothing immediately discernible.

"What do we do now?" Max asked.

Porter was the one who replied. "You have no authority to keep me here," he said mainly to Bertram and Charles, who made no response. Porter looked at the assembled group, adjusted his jacket and his vest, and left.

"We have to report Mr. Woodruff's death to the police," Bertram said, quietly.

The British doorman was calming the members of the club who had accompanied him, and urging them to go back up to the bar, where "drinks would be on the house".

"Yes," Astor agreed. "What do we say happened to him?"

The younger Tesla chimed in. "I say the best explanation is a maniac came through the front door, knife in hand, and stabbed the first person he encountered, who happened to be Detective Woodruff." He shrugged. "It happens."

Max nodded. "But will the forensics in this day and age be able to determine that he was stabbed dozens times by not one but two people?"

"You mean, will the police physicians be able to see that?" Astor asked.

"Yes," Max replied.

"Who knows," the younger Tesla said, "but we have more important things to worry about now, do we not?"

"Speaking of physicians, you should have that tended to," the older Tesla said to Bertram, gesturing to the doorman's arm.
 

"Thank you," Bertram replied. "I will."

"We still have the problem of what to do about Appleton in 2096, and Heron, too, wherever he is . . . ," Max said.

"Which might also be in 2096," Sierra finished the thought, which was heading towards Heron going after Appleton.

"To make sure there are no longer any copies of the
Chronica
," Max picked it up, "which there well might be, in Appleton's possession or elsewhere now, since we've seen nothing changed since that
Chronica
's been in ashes." He looked again at the fire. Its flames seemed to sneer at him, like his brother, after he'd swiped a cupcake off the table and eaten it right before dinner.

"And you would know if there was a change in our very . . . timeline?" Astor asked.

"Yes," the older Tesla said. "I can testify to that: I remember my life before I came back here and met my younger self – that is, what my life was like for the past two decades – even though it also seems to me now as if I had always come back here."

Max and Sierra nodded in agreement and understanding.

"And as far I can tell, nothing has changed in the past two decades of my life – the next two decades for you," the older Tesla said to his younger self.

"So the logical thing to do now is go to 2096 to protect Appleton," Max said.

"Yes," Sierra said, "but we still have the problem of just the one Chair."

"There are other Chairs in London and in Athens," Astor said. "Yes?"

"Yes, perhaps," Max said, "but it would take weeks to cross the Atlantic now, and that kind of wait would be excruciating, even though it wouldn't matter how long we took to find another Chair to get to Appleton, because we'd make it our business to get catch up to him in time."

"Just a little more than a week," Astor corrected. "You're behind the times, Max."

Sierra and Max looked at each other.

Sierra made a decision. "You should go," she said, to the older Tesla. "Your being back here now with your younger self could well unhinge your mind."

The younger Tesla laughed.

The older one said, "if it hasn't already."

Max nodded slowly.

"You," she said to the older Tesla, "are still our best bet for actually constructing a Chair, whatever happened to the
Chronica
. We need to safeguard that – safeguard you."

Now Astor agreed and nodded.

The older Tesla hugged his younger self. "Life won't be easy for you," he said. "Don't let the retrogrades all around you slow you down." He smiled broadly and waved at the others. "The
Chronica
has had its impact, whatever may become of it," he said. "A major one of your holidays has been named after it," he looked at Astor and Max.
 

Both men looked like they had no idea what the older Tesla was talking about.

"Chanukah, the Festival of Lights?" Astor hazarded a wild guess.

"Yes," the older Tesla replied.

"How?" Astor asked. "That holiday has nothing to do with time travel – it celebrates the miracle of lights continuing to burn, after all the oil had been depleted."

The older Tesla smiled slightly. "There are many holidays in history which have been celebrated for reasons having nothing to do with the original reasons for their celebration. There is a field of study known as anthropology, burgeoning already, which tells us that. In the case of the
Chronica
, the connection of the miracle of lights burning on no oil and travel through time may be more direct than you think - the candle burning no oil today may be burning on oil that existed yesterday." He bowed to the group.

"I'll take you to the Chair," Charles said.

"I'm going to miss him," the younger Tesla said, as his older self walked up the wide stairs with Charles.

***

Charles came down the stairs a few minutes later.

"So now that that's taken care of, we do, what, wait?" Max said.

"A Chair or two or three could arrive any moment," Charles said. Bertram had gone to the small infirmary the club kept on its premises, to get his arm treated.

"Or it could take a year," Sierra said.
 

"Or never," Max said. "We can't be sure of anything not right in front of us."

Charles nodded. "True. But for reasons I and no one who knows about the Chairs understands, there has never been a time when any of the places with Chairs were too long without them."

"Heron's doing?" Astor asked.

"Perhaps," Charles replied.
 

"How long has 'too long' been?" Max asked.

"Months, never years," Charles said.
 

Max shook his head.

"But there is another option," Charles said.

"Yes?" Sierra, Max, Astor, and Tesla all said, almost in unison.

"I could take an ocean liner to England," Charles said, trying not to look at Astor, because he, too, knew all about Astor's appointment with the bottom of the sea on the Titanic. "Then take a Chair to the future there, at a time in the 21
^st
century when air flight across the Atlantic is fast, safe, and easy. I would travel that way to New York, proceed to the Millennium, recruit another doorman or two, and take those Chairs back here. For all of you, it would seem that I hadn't been gone any longer than I was when just escorting the senior Mr. Tesla up the stairs."

"Why didn't you suggest that sooner?" Max asked.

"Because it ages me in real time," Charles replied. "If I did that all the time, I would reach my 150-year lifespan with much less productive time, spent out on the ocean and cut off from most of the world."

"I see your point," Astor said.

"And there's also always the possibility that something could happen to me and prevent me from completing the journey," Charles said. He thought again of the Titanic, but didn't say it. "I could be murdered in London by Jack the Ripper, before I had a chance to get to the Parthenon Club."

"Wasn't Jack the Ripper at large a decade ago?" Tesla asked.

"I was just using him as an example," Charles replied. "There are no doubt other fiends at large right now in London."

"I think it's a good option," Sierra said, "just this one time."

"All right, then," Charles said. "I will walk out that front door, go to the Hudson River, book passage on the first available liner to England, and, if, all goes well, I will be walking down that staircase from above in just a minute or two."

Astor pulled out a billfold. "You'll need this to purchase your tickets."

"Thank you," Charles said and took the money. "I have access to funds at the Parthenon, but this is very helpful."

"Off like Phileas Fogg, then," Astor said, and clapped Charles on the back. "For you it will be 80 days, for us just 80 seconds until we see you again."

"Closer to 8 days to get to England, a little more than 80 seconds before I come back down the stairs, and I won't be traveling around the world, just back and forth across the Atlantic, but, yes," Charles said, and shook everybody's hand, except Sierra's, whose hand he kissed. Then he whispered in her ear, "in case I do not return, Mr. Appleton is at the Foster Square Facility in Brewster, Massachusetts as of June 27, 2096 – it's a nondescript little building at the far end of the square -- that is where he was when I left him."

[
RMS Campania
, North Atlantic Ocean, July, 1899 AD]

The trip across the North Atlantic was rough. Not only was the water choppier than usual, but Charles developed a croupy cough about three days into the voyage. He was supposed to be immune from all of these diseases, but, as the geneticists of later centuries said, new strains were always emerging.
 

Charles was glad to arrive in Liverpool only four days later, where he caught a train down to London and the Parthenon Club.

[London, July, 1899 AD]
 

Charles was not happy to see Hakam at the door of the Parthenon. He was suspected of harboring sympathies for Heron. At the very least, Hakam would not have been pleased with what Charles was now doing.

"You grew bored of Athens?" Charles asked, with a smile, and then succumbed to a hacking cough.

"Are you ill?" Hakam asked. "You look as if you could use some rest."

Charles waved the suggestion away, but coughed.

"They were short-handed up here," Hakam continued in his Turkish accent, enjoying the phrase, which was new to him. "Franklin had a death in the family. I came here to help."

Charles nodded. "Are there any Chairs?"

"There have been none for the past 19 days," Hakam replied.

Charles nodded, cleared his throat, and coughed again. "I think I'll take you up on your suggestion to get some rest. I assume there is an available room?"

"Of course," Hakam said, and bowed slightly, even though he was in no way inferior in rank to Charles. "Come," he said, and showed Charles to his room.

***

London in 1899 was at the height of its power and allure. Ordinarily, Charles would have relished a few days or even weeks at large in this city. But he had two reasons to want to get to the future as fast as possible. One, although it would make no difference to his friends if it took him two days or two years in his lifetime to get back to the Millennium Club in June 1899, Charles would feel the difference, and he wanted resolution on this as soon as possible. Second, although he was slowly recovering from his croup, he knew the doctors in the future could likely eradicate his infection in a matter of hours.

But the days and then weeks passed, with no Chairs in the room in the Parthenon's cellar. Charles looked at the room when Hakam wasn't around, just to make sure he wasn't lying about the lack of Chairs.

One night, Charles heard a pounding on his door. Before he could get out of bed, Hakam, Heron, and Woodruff broke through. Each man had two guns in his hands and began firing all six weapons at Charles—

He awoke. There was a knocking on his door, but it was morning.

"Just a second," Charles called out and put on his robe. He opened the door.

"There is a Chair," Hakam, who had been knocking on the door, said with a smile.

"Thank you," Charles said. "I'll be there presently. Please make sure no one else uses it."

Hakam bowed slightly and left.

It had been 42 days since Charles had arrived here. Although this amount time was less than the months he had spoken of to Max, Charles wondered if the scarcity of Chairs both here and in New York indicated that Heron was gaining the upper hand.

***

Charles sat in the Chair. He needed to choose a time that was sufficiently in the future that he could travel swiftly and easily by air across the ocean, but a time in which he was not likely to cross paths, especially in New York, with anyone that he knew, including, especially, himself. 2096, for that reason, seemed like a bad idea. Charles considered further. 2050 seemed like a nice round number.

He set the Chair and initiated the go sequence. A bubble ascended. The cosmos kissed him on the forehead. The bubble receded.

Charles got out of the Chair and walked up and down the flights of stairs. His croup was gone, but he was still coughing a little.

He saw no one he knew at the door of the Parthenon. He walked out into the street and hailed a hydrogen-powered cab. "Blair Annex," he told the cabbie. If Charles remembered correctly, there were HST's leaving every hour in this year right in the middle of the 21
^st
century.