Read Online The Far Time Incident by Neve Maslakovic - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Neve Maslakovic
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machine’s memory. It had been left by an uninformed gentleman who was
certain
our scientific experiments would destroy the world’s past; this even though the school had gone to great pains to explain to anyone who cared to inquire that changing the past was impossible because History always protected itself.
The real problem, I thought, hitting the Delete button, was that we now knew
more
about History, more about its warts and scars and soiled undershirts. Stuff that up until now had been glossed over by the passage of time and the vagaries of the pen, as deeds and accomplishments got exaggerated and the lucky and the successful became valiant and brave—and the unlucky, for whom the inevitable coin toss had landed on the wrong side, sank into oblivion. Much of what used to fill history textbook pages now had an asterisk next to it.
I shook the thought out of my head. A pensive mood had come over me after Dr. Mooney’s accident. I sent off a bunch of e-mail replies, finished off the sandwich and the now-lukewarm hot chocolate, and headed to the Rosalind Franklin Biology and Genetics Complex, next on my list. Once I was done there, I moved on to the TTE building, briefly chatted with Oscar about roses (the ones in his garden were covered for the season, of course, but the ones in his greenhouse were flourishing, he reported), and then went inside.
I left my goose-down jacket hanging on the coatrack just inside the building’s front door, having stuffed my hat and gloves inside a sleeve. Unlike the compact, brick Hypatia of Alexandria House, which was as old as the school itself, the one-floor, balloon-roofed cement building that housed Time Travel Engineering was a modern affair, built to house an ambitious chemistry experiment that had never gotten off the ground because of funding difficulties. The main hallway of the building followed the angular bends in the lab walls; from it sprouted the offices of the TTE professors, postdocs, and grad students like petals on one of Oscar’s roses. Intermixed with the offices were two classrooms, the conference room, the printer and office supply room, and the travel apparel closet with its changing area.
Dr. Rojas was not in his office, the first on the right, but I had expected that. He had been holed up in the TTE lab for the past week, endeavoring to find out what had taken away his longtime colleague and friend, only making an appearance for the memorial service. I turned away from the closed door to his office and went past the first bend in the hallway, raising my hand to type in the lab entry code. Then I changed my mind and turned instead toward the open door of Dr. Mooney’s office across the hall. I could hear the movers joking around as they packed up his things. It sounded like they were dropping them into boxes.
They were. Books.
“Please be careful with those,” I called out from the doorway. “Some of them are very valuable.”
Two young, muscular guys looked up. Their jackets lay on the floor in a heap and they both sported crew cuts, jeans, and white tank tops. “No problem, lady,” the one at Dr. Mooney’s desk said. “We’re always careful with the fragile stuff—we double wrapped the desk lamp.” He tossed one of Dr. Mooney’s books across the room to the other mover, who dropped it into an open box.
“Never mind the lamps,” I said. The lamps and the rest of the office furniture weren’t supposed to have been packed at all. “The books are probably more valuable than anything else in this room.”
He shrugged, as if used to dealing with overprotective home owners. “The insurance will cover any damage.” He tossed another book across the room, a bound photographic copy of a Maya codex. Its pages fluttered as I stepped in and caught it. “Someone went to a lot of effort to obtain these.”
They gave me a blank look.
“Never mind,” I said, gently lowering the Maya codex into the open box. “Just—well, you are packing away
certain
our scientific experiments would destroy the world’s past; this even though the school had gone to great pains to explain to anyone who cared to inquire that changing the past was impossible because History always protected itself.
The real problem, I thought, hitting the Delete button, was that we now knew
more
about History, more about its warts and scars and soiled undershirts. Stuff that up until now had been glossed over by the passage of time and the vagaries of the pen, as deeds and accomplishments got exaggerated and the lucky and the successful became valiant and brave—and the unlucky, for whom the inevitable coin toss had landed on the wrong side, sank into oblivion. Much of what used to fill history textbook pages now had an asterisk next to it.
I shook the thought out of my head. A pensive mood had come over me after Dr. Mooney’s accident. I sent off a bunch of e-mail replies, finished off the sandwich and the now-lukewarm hot chocolate, and headed to the Rosalind Franklin Biology and Genetics Complex, next on my list. Once I was done there, I moved on to the TTE building, briefly chatted with Oscar about roses (the ones in his garden were covered for the season, of course, but the ones in his greenhouse were flourishing, he reported), and then went inside.
I left my goose-down jacket hanging on the coatrack just inside the building’s front door, having stuffed my hat and gloves inside a sleeve. Unlike the compact, brick Hypatia of Alexandria House, which was as old as the school itself, the one-floor, balloon-roofed cement building that housed Time Travel Engineering was a modern affair, built to house an ambitious chemistry experiment that had never gotten off the ground because of funding difficulties. The main hallway of the building followed the angular bends in the lab walls; from it sprouted the offices of the TTE professors, postdocs, and grad students like petals on one of Oscar’s roses. Intermixed with the offices were two classrooms, the conference room, the printer and office supply room, and the travel apparel closet with its changing area.
Dr. Rojas was not in his office, the first on the right, but I had expected that. He had been holed up in the TTE lab for the past week, endeavoring to find out what had taken away his longtime colleague and friend, only making an appearance for the memorial service. I turned away from the closed door to his office and went past the first bend in the hallway, raising my hand to type in the lab entry code. Then I changed my mind and turned instead toward the open door of Dr. Mooney’s office across the hall. I could hear the movers joking around as they packed up his things. It sounded like they were dropping them into boxes.
They were. Books.
“Please be careful with those,” I called out from the doorway. “Some of them are very valuable.”
Two young, muscular guys looked up. Their jackets lay on the floor in a heap and they both sported crew cuts, jeans, and white tank tops. “No problem, lady,” the one at Dr. Mooney’s desk said. “We’re always careful with the fragile stuff—we double wrapped the desk lamp.” He tossed one of Dr. Mooney’s books across the room to the other mover, who dropped it into an open box.
“Never mind the lamps,” I said. The lamps and the rest of the office furniture weren’t supposed to have been packed at all. “The books are probably more valuable than anything else in this room.”
He shrugged, as if used to dealing with overprotective home owners. “The insurance will cover any damage.” He tossed another book across the room, a bound photographic copy of a Maya codex. Its pages fluttered as I stepped in and caught it. “Someone went to a lot of effort to obtain these.”
They gave me a blank look.
“Never mind,” I said, gently lowering the Maya codex into the open box. “Just—well, you are packing away
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