Mar 26

Mar 26 Langue[dot]doc 1305

Langue[dot]doc 1305 - book excerpt

Chapter One - Arithmetic

“You have to say something.” Harvey had said this to Luke six times before and he would say it six times more if he had to. He relaxed back in his ostentatious black chair and explained patiently, “We need a ceremony to mark the moment. We also require words for the great unwashed. If you don’t want the floor, just say so: I’ll cobble something together.” Behind him, the Melbourne skyline stretched towards the bay.

Luke grunted and fidgeted. He wanted to leave the ceremony behind and get on with changing the world.

“Something that we can translate into a press statement,” Harvey continued, gently and implacably. “That Timebot is new. That Timebot is part exotic matter, part mechanical and part computer. That Timebot will set up a platform so we can travel into the Middle Ages. That there are many questions that Timebot will answer, but one is very dangerous: is Timebot reliable?”

“Oh God, that’ll make everyone happy, won’t it?” Luke interrupted, his voice gruff with frustration. “More doom and gloom. I’ll do the talking. You can stay behind the scenes. Pay the bills, or flutter some paper.”

“I’ll be glad when you’re gone, you know,” Harvey said, leaning forward and posing his elbows on his oak desk, confidentially. His posture reminded Luke that every time Harvey won Luke ended up doing something he hated.

~~~

“No chance of another contract?”

“None,” the Chair was polite but firm. “You’re good, but we simply don’t have the money. It’s not just the Department of History — the whole university has been hit by these budget cuts. No three-year teaching contracts. Not even a one-year one.” Artemisia found her eyes had crept over the Chair’s shoulder, to the bridge beyond. The coathanger shape of the bridge dragged her mind ahead of her body.

“Back to Australia, then.” Artemisia stood up, ready to leave at once.

“There’s no hurry. Your visa gives you a bit of time.”

“I have that research booked in France.” Artemisia was almost apologetic. “If I’m to go back to Melbourne straight from there, I’ll need to rearrange.” She moved towards the door, determinedly dragging leaden feet.

“We could fix something . . . help you get research contracts, see if the London group are taking editors . . . it will only take a few weeks.”

“I wish I could take you up on that,” Artemisia turned fully back and smiled, her face brittle.

“Damn it, woman, sit down!” Artemisia’s obedient feet lost their lead, and she returned and sat. “Now tell me what’s changed. Two weeks ago you would have turned this into a career opportunity.”

“It’s my sister.”

The Chair nodded. “She needs you?”

“She needs money. Her cancer’s returned and all that the experts can promise is that they’ll spend a great deal of money.”

“And?”

“Lucia says she’ll cope. She says she’ll never forgive me if I don’t finish my research project. I’m so nearly done, and I’ve a grant to cover it.”

“But if you stay past that last bit of research, then you’re not earning any money to send her.”

“Right. If I go back sooner, I can get a job as a check-out chick or something. I can help.”

“That email address you use for friends, it’s still active?” Artemisia nodded. Every microsecond her face became tighter with tears. She just wanted to hide in the toilets until they passed. “Check it every day. Every single day. And if anything comes up, I’ll send it.”

“There’s not much of a chance.”

“Not much,” the Chair was fierce. “But whatever there is, whatever I can find, I’ll send it your way.”

“Thank you,” Artemisia said, her voice still under pressure from tears, but her face was able to open up just enough to give a minute smile. She was so near the edge that talking to even the most well-intentioned person was a strain.

She didn’t stop at her office. She didn’t stop for milk. She went straight home and locked herself in the bathroom.

~~~

Luke walked into the tiered lecture hall, a sheaf of papers fluttering. The pages were more for decoration than anything else, like his speckled beard and the slight narrowing of his eyes and the use of his full name. It was what he would say that was important. The tremor of the papers showed how he felt deep inside — to the world he was magnificently confident.

Only half the seats were full. The doors were closed. Security guards slumped outside, bored.

Luke had a flair for the dramatic. He stood and looked out and up, those slightly narrowed eyes roaming the hall, making it seem as if he were noting everyone there. It was the smile that caused the room to go quiet. It was a big smile. An intensely happy smile; a smile that suggested great things.

“We’ve done it,” he said. “Timebot is no longer with us in our present. It’s somewhere near the end of the Medieval Warm Period, in Languedoc. It triggered the beacon exactly on schedule. The time, ladies and gentleman, is right.”

There was a silence. The news was expected, but somehow beyond comprehension.

“Do we know the date?” A lone voice in the wilderness. It didn’t break the silence: it confirmed its intensity.

“All we know is that Timebot arrived safely, unpacked, and set up the beacon. We can go to that place, that time whenever we want. We have a platform. The exotic matter at the far end is stable and we can trigger wormholes. We can maintain a wormhole for almost half an hour.

“Now,” he continued, “we’re ready for humans to travel. We want to go soon. Very soon. The set-up party and all the equipment will follow immediately; we have the power for a second trip. We’re stripping the State of Victoria and half of New South Wales of their energy. If everything continues to run smoothly, we should have four people in Medieval Languedoc by this time tomorrow night.”

He was grandstanding. Everyone present was part of the project and knew all the details. Except that it had worked: a machine had travelled backwards in time and space. Across the world and into the past. It had unpacked itself into a platform that accepted teleportation data and had reconstructed itself perfectly, almost every time. Now anyone could travel.

A moment later, Luke regretted having given into his desire to make that extra flourish, to present that swirl of information. It had broken the intensity of the moment. Worse, it had created a space for The Ancient Mariner. The old man was about to speak. From the front row. Luke could see it. He couldn’t stop it. The hushed silence changed from awe to the verge of laughter. The Ancient Mariner was an institution: brilliantly gifted and there, him and his long white beard, forever, at the precise moment when he should not be.

“And then?” Everyone looked at the Ancient Mariner. He was an older man with a riveting gaze. He was the unwelcome guest at the wedding. The one that was there because the university had insisted. His voice, as ever, was querulous. He was demonstrating to the whole room that he felt, as ever, neglected. “And then?” he repeated.

“Sir,” Luke’s voice was respectful but the way his right shoulder jutted forward just a little showed he still owned the universe. He intentionally echoed his voice, like a boombox through his ribcage. That should make it clear. This is my day. My year. My journey. “I can go through the process again, if you want.”

“Not the process. I understand the damn process. I helped with the maths, if you’ll remember. I just want to know the order of things.”

“If everyone else will bear with me?” A murmur of agreement from the floor.

“All right, then. Timebot has gone back to the end of the Medieval Warm Period. We send the set-up team in two days. Four people and all the equipment. The first humans to travel backwards in time. A triumph for humanity. They will have three months to prepare. Three of them will come on home. Cormac Smith will remain with the rest of the team. He’ll be back-up. The handyman, if you will. The first team is almost ready, in fact, just got to sign a few more forms. The specialists also have to sign a few more forms, but they have a bit of time up their sleeve for briefing and so forth. The second team is full of knowledgemakers. Let’s see, we have an astronomer, a biologist, an atmospheric scientist, two agricultural experts, two historians, and, of course, myself. Once we get together, seven hundred years ago, we’ll have serious science.”

“Travelling seven hundred years into the past isn’t serious science?”

“Trust me,” Luke said, his eyes shining, “Travelling seven hundred years is just the beginning. Our research program will change the world.”

~~~

The Montpellier archive had closed early, so Artemisia had taken a bus to see an abbey and its town. Artemisia looked up at the twelfth century castle, her tatty twentieth century handbag ironically hiding her natty twenty-first century mobile phone. The ruins were from her kind of period, but not of her kind of place. Jagged edges at the top of the pile of rocks were all that were left giving the craggy peak a crown. Those edges loomed over the old town in its valley. Cast its old shadow. Spiked. Wary. River below, castle above and abbey dominating it all, gently, from within the town. Greens and creams and the sound of wind and water and the streets lined with the Middle Ages. She recognised the shape of some doorways and the curve of the road. Even though it wasn’t the region she knew, the buildings still had the right feel to them.

It was a bit like coming home. Home was faded and exhausted and crumbly, but nevertheless comforting.

~~~

As Artemisia walked into the abbey of Gellone to pay her respects to the bones of Saint William, her path crossed with someone else’s. They didn’t see each other, for they were removed in time. Guilhem left as Artemisia arrived, however. He had already paid his respects to dead kin and was ready to make for home on the slopes of the town and do his duty to his family and to give up his dreams of Jerusalem. He wasn’t ready to let go of his anger. Not yet. It showed in the size of his stride and in the way his gaze disrespectfully refused to lower itself before his seniors.

Timebot’s presence in Guilhem’s 1305 had created a synchrony between the two people.