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Authors: Mike Smith
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Celeste?” he asked confused.
“The name of the ship.”
“ Céleste ,” my father replied, rolling the name on his tongue. “So the Professor named it after his late wife, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“The Professor?” I replied, my turn to be confused.
“Professor Henry Alcubierre,” he clarified.
I could only stare at him. If he’d told me that he was actually a High-Lord in disguise, I would have been less surprised. “You know Professor Alcubierre?” I gasped.
“I knew him.”
“He’s dead?”
“I certainly hope so,” my father replied absently, lost in the past. “After all it was me that buried him.”
*****
I trudged after my father in silence, as he refused to elaborate after making that startling announcement. I couldn’t get my head round it, that my father knew one of the greatest minds of the past few hundred years, or the fact that he had buried him.
I didn’t realise how long it had been, before I looked up from the overgrown trail that my father had been following and noticed the darkness starting to recede. Dawn was fast approaching. My father meanwhile had come to a halt and I gathered that we must have arrived at our intended destination. He stepped around a large grey mausoleum, not giving it a second glance, but I instantly recognised it as the tomb of my father’s predecessor, Lord Greystone. He passed a couple more gravestones, before stopping in front of one set slightly back from the rest. This plot seemed to be better tended than the rest, with the grass cut back and few weeds or moss in sight. I realised that someone, my father I assumed, must have been maintaining this one. My eyes came to rest on the gravestone and as the sun slowly peeked above the horizon it cast its first rays upon the headstone, illuminating the dedication on it, and my mouth dropped open in amazement.
Professor Henry Alcubierre, 2446 – 2509,
Husband, and beloved, of Céleste Alcubierre,
“Your only limit is your imagination.”
“You did this?” I gasped, unable to believe that Alcubierre had been buried here all this time and I had never known. “How?” but I don’t think my father heard me as instead he was touching the headstone, his face raised to the first rays of the morning sun, his eyes closed and as those rays hit his face, I could see the glisten of tears on his eyelashes and for the first time wondered just what sort of relationship he’d had with Henry Alcubierre.
For a long time my father was silent and I wondered if he’d even heard my question, when he started to speak. Slowly, hesitantly at first, but before long he was recounting their first meeting.
*****
The notebook crashed onto the table with a jarring impact and Alex had to keep a tight grip on his glass, to stop the contents spilling across the desk. With papers spread everywhere, this would have been of significant detriment to the Professor and his work. Not that Alex thought that the man particularly cared, as the Professor stumbled to his feet, pacing backwards and forwards, cursing in frustration.
“It just doesn’t make any sense,” he grumbled, waving his hands about wildly. With his wrinkled face, piercing grey eyes and long, shoulder length silver hair, he was the epitome of the mad professor.
Having spent an inordinate amount of time with the man over the last few months, Alex was more than used to his mercurial moods. Taking the remains of his half-eaten sandwich between his lips to free both of his hands, he spun the notebook around flipping it to the last page, running his eyes over the jumbled numbers and letters.
They were complete gibberish. As if a five-year old had gone mad, writing upside down, right to left, bottom to top. The way the Professor was ranting and raving, most people would have had the man carted off to the nearest asylum for the insane. Still Alex wasn’t most people, having spent the past few months closely
“The name of the ship.”
“ Céleste ,” my father replied, rolling the name on his tongue. “So the Professor named it after his late wife, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“The Professor?” I replied, my turn to be confused.
“Professor Henry Alcubierre,” he clarified.
I could only stare at him. If he’d told me that he was actually a High-Lord in disguise, I would have been less surprised. “You know Professor Alcubierre?” I gasped.
“I knew him.”
“He’s dead?”
“I certainly hope so,” my father replied absently, lost in the past. “After all it was me that buried him.”
*****
I trudged after my father in silence, as he refused to elaborate after making that startling announcement. I couldn’t get my head round it, that my father knew one of the greatest minds of the past few hundred years, or the fact that he had buried him.
I didn’t realise how long it had been, before I looked up from the overgrown trail that my father had been following and noticed the darkness starting to recede. Dawn was fast approaching. My father meanwhile had come to a halt and I gathered that we must have arrived at our intended destination. He stepped around a large grey mausoleum, not giving it a second glance, but I instantly recognised it as the tomb of my father’s predecessor, Lord Greystone. He passed a couple more gravestones, before stopping in front of one set slightly back from the rest. This plot seemed to be better tended than the rest, with the grass cut back and few weeds or moss in sight. I realised that someone, my father I assumed, must have been maintaining this one. My eyes came to rest on the gravestone and as the sun slowly peeked above the horizon it cast its first rays upon the headstone, illuminating the dedication on it, and my mouth dropped open in amazement.
Professor Henry Alcubierre, 2446 – 2509,
Husband, and beloved, of Céleste Alcubierre,
“Your only limit is your imagination.”
“You did this?” I gasped, unable to believe that Alcubierre had been buried here all this time and I had never known. “How?” but I don’t think my father heard me as instead he was touching the headstone, his face raised to the first rays of the morning sun, his eyes closed and as those rays hit his face, I could see the glisten of tears on his eyelashes and for the first time wondered just what sort of relationship he’d had with Henry Alcubierre.
For a long time my father was silent and I wondered if he’d even heard my question, when he started to speak. Slowly, hesitantly at first, but before long he was recounting their first meeting.
*****
The notebook crashed onto the table with a jarring impact and Alex had to keep a tight grip on his glass, to stop the contents spilling across the desk. With papers spread everywhere, this would have been of significant detriment to the Professor and his work. Not that Alex thought that the man particularly cared, as the Professor stumbled to his feet, pacing backwards and forwards, cursing in frustration.
“It just doesn’t make any sense,” he grumbled, waving his hands about wildly. With his wrinkled face, piercing grey eyes and long, shoulder length silver hair, he was the epitome of the mad professor.
Having spent an inordinate amount of time with the man over the last few months, Alex was more than used to his mercurial moods. Taking the remains of his half-eaten sandwich between his lips to free both of his hands, he spun the notebook around flipping it to the last page, running his eyes over the jumbled numbers and letters.
They were complete gibberish. As if a five-year old had gone mad, writing upside down, right to left, bottom to top. The way the Professor was ranting and raving, most people would have had the man carted off to the nearest asylum for the insane. Still Alex wasn’t most people, having spent the past few months closely
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