Time Out of Mind
By A.J. Mittendorf
Brian Gwo sits near the vineyards in Sian, in the Yellow River Valley of China, observing the night sky between the horns of the constellation Taurus. He is making mere naked-eye observations because, aside from the tiny note pad and writing utensil that he can easily hide, he is allowed only contemporary instrumentality--a restriction of Henderson's devising which was an immediate frustration for Gwo.
"How many times will we be able to observe the greatest supernova of recorded history?" was Gwo's argument. "Plenty," was Henderson's reply, and Gwo found himself strangely disappointed by it. "If we're careful," Henderson continued, "we'll send hundreds of observers, each to different areas to keep their observations independent . . . and to keep them from meeting each other--it's confusing enough already. Imagine meeting someone who was sent there twenty years after you. Plus, there are dangers to consider. The Administration will find out about this, and if they think we've been careless, they'll shut us down."
Judging by the movement of the stars, Gwo estimates that he's been observing for about five hours without any sign of the illusive "guest star" that he's waiting for. There are only so many hours to a summer's night, he muses. I won't have to wait much longer; the star visits tonight--July fourth of this year, and I'll share its magnificence with the world.
Having grown up loving stars, Gwo knew the planets and all their major moons by his eighth birthday. He paid for half the cost of his first telescope when he turned thirteen (an 8-inch reflector with a Dobsonian mount), and one of his greatest joys after that was hearing people's delight when they saw Saturn up close for the first time, or the Orion Nebula, or just the surface of the moon. By the time he was twenty, he could locate hundreds of celestial objects, so he spent many clear evenings sharing space with his friends. He earned his Ph.D. in astrophysics when he was thirty and spent the first ten years of his career looking for events just like the one he now waits for in China. Even though he's forced to observe without even a pair of binoculars, at least he is here, and this is an extraordinary opportunity.
Imagine, Gwo smiles, a man comes to witness the astronomical event of recorded history more than a thousand years after it occurred! It's a wonderful time to be alive! And reclining on the grass, folding his hands behind his head, Gwo realizes what a blessing it might be after all to have to observe without aids. Gazing up at the sky, he remembers the last time he simply "look'd up in perfect silence at the stars," ages ago. Pity. Every once in a while it's good to forget that we're trying to learn and allow ourselves to simply enjoy, because it's the enjoyment, after all, that got us wanting to learn in the first place. This time Gwo doesn't need to find such-and-such for someone else. He can enjoy his solitude. The night is clear; the air is welcoming, and the sky is glorious.
Then, like the strike of a match and growing discernibly brighter, the nova makes its presence known, and Gwo stands as though thinking that he might get a better view. Within seconds it's brighter than Sirius, and shortly after than, brighter than Venus, and Gwo notices that, in its light, he casts a visible shadow. He sits again while the star continues to grow. "Even brighter than what was ever recorded," Gwo whispers while trying to both hide his eyes from the star's light and record all the pertinent information on his note pad. The ancient Chinese must have an over-developed gift for understatement; this can never be outdone!
While he continues to watch, Gwo notices another object appear beside him--a red, glowing rectangle about the size of a household door. "The portal!" Gwo whispers. "But I should have lots of time!" Despite his intense desire to stay, Gwo realizes that Henderson wouldn't have sent for him yet if there weren't a problem. Disappointed, he shakes his head and steps toward the glowing door.
Daniel Kauffman would never have guessed that Jerusalem during Solomon's reign would've been so large, or the people so friendly. Although he's here, it's hard for Kauffman to imagine a city in which gold is so plentiful that silver is disdained. Even Babylon in all its storied splendour wasn't (or won't be) dressed half so well. So this is the city, Kauffman muses, that was "the perfection of beauty, the joy of the whole earth!" I can understand why, Kauffman notes. The streets are clean and well maintained; the people are happy and comfortable, and even though the city is walled, it feels open and welcoming. It's simply gorgeous.
He stands, now, fifty yards or so from Jerusalem's recently-completed temple. He longs to go nearer but cannot consider himself to be ceremonially clean according to the standards of Solomon's time. Besides, there are still enough people there to hold him at bay. It's marvelous to behold, though, Kauffman decides. He looks around again at the city, then back at the temple. Nothing compares with this!
He walks to the front to examine the facade for any detail that he might take with him. The architecture is utterly unique. It has a humble feel, Kauffman concludes, unpretentious considering its magnificent surroundings, but with an air of majesty when you consider whom it honours. It fits aesthetically with the rest of the city, but no other building resembles it either. And what's the precedent for the architecture? Kauffman wonders, turning his attention to the two bronze pillars. With the exception of the fact that they are pillars, there is nothing common about them. There is no precedent for such singular innovation in any culture. The flutes run in intersecting spirals rather than straight up and down the shafts. They've accentuated the bowl-shaped capitals with ornate festoons of various flowers, involute leaves like miniature maple, and the four hundred pomegranates that made them famous--marvels of hand-crafted design.
What amazes me most, though, Kauffman concludes, is that they built the temple and its columns wider at the top than at the bottom! What culture dares defy the laws of physics so blatantly? he wonders. Plans for a building like this would be rejected by every inspector in the 22nd century. At that moment Kauffman notices the narrow filament of Henderson's portal suddenly appearing just to his left; he breaks his silence to hiss, "It's still daylight, Henderson!" He glances around; no one notices for the moment. Taking one last look at the temple, realizing that there must be a problem back home, he reluctantly moves to the door.
The year for George Sipiros is 285 B. C. He stands, awe-struck, at the foot of the "brazen giant of Greek fame" that he had first studied as a boy--the now five-year-old, 105-foot-tall Colossus of Rhodes. His seventh-grade teacher had required his class to memorize all seven Wonders of the Ancient World for a test in history--a task that had thrilled Sipiros. When he was young, most of his friends loved dinosaurs, old cartoons, fast cars or space ships, but Sipiros loved the Greeks, from Troy to Rome. He memorized every detail he could find on the seven Wonders; eventually, Colossus grew to be his favourite. As a young man, Sipiros visited every imitation of it: the Statue of Liberty, the remains of Mt. Rushmore, The Motherland--the sword-brandishing sculpture in Volgograd; he'd even visited the enormous bronze Buddha in Tokyo--four times the size of Colossus--each very impressive, but nothing beats the original, and, oh yes, he got an "A" on that test.
Sipiros originally wanted to sketch all seven Wonders, but certain constraints necessitated the visitation of only one. He found little difficulty deciding which it would be, and he wasn't disappointed. This is a fairy story of a mission! he decides. He stands now, holding charcoal and a crude form of paper, frozen in a pose of one who is drawing, as though he were the model rather than the artist. His goal is to draw the Colossus, but he only moves his head, looking up and down the sculpture as he takes in every detail, just as he had in grade seven. It, too, has a crown of seven rays, but they're longer than those of Lady Liberty. The nude figure doesn't straddle the harbour, thankfully (in grade seven he and his friends wondered how any self-respecting sailor could pass under a nude Colossus without gagging), even so, the feet are set apart from each other. The statue stands in a pose that gives it the appearance of . . . a dancer, perhaps, or a gymnast--frozen in an elegant mid-stride; the engaged leg necessitates understated contrapposto since the heal of the rear foot is lifted, and the back arches as the figure lifts his lamp toward heaven. This isn't the static Colossus Sipiros had studied as a boy; it's far better! Of course it can't be any larger than this, not in this pose! . . . and the detail--the tension in the muscles, the protruding veins, even the elegant stance--exquisite! But for all that, Sipiros notes, there is a distinct hint of facial expression, well beyond the typical poker face of other classical sculptures such as The Discus Thrower, although still clearly less expression than Laocoon. Colossus has only little sense of movement in keeping with the more static stances of many classical sculptures, and it has, to a small degree, the taut and twisted torso of Hellenistic sculptures. It has the delicate elegance of the Classical era in its pose with the robust details of the Hellenistic era. I'll be! Instead of straddling the entrance of the harbour, Chares' work straddles the line between two artistic styles; the Colossus stands on the cutting edge of art for its day--right on the cutting edge!
Sipiros is standing in the same place when the sun sets and sees the neon-like portal that Henderson had shown him prior to his time tour. Its sudden appearance and ominous significance woke him with dismay from his study. "Not yet!" Sipiros cries, "I just got here! I need more time!" He waits, almost expecting a reply from the portal, but knowing it wouldn't have appeared if there weren't a problem at home, either with the computer or--God forbid!--the Administration! "Henderson is recalling me for a reason, I suppose, Maybe it is time." He takes one last look at Colossus then grudgingly makes his way to the door.
Jack Henderson sits alone in the audience hall of the Administration, the governing body of the Allied States of North America (ASNA). It's a room similar to a court room but without the seating areas for the observers and jury. The only functional features, in fact, are the archaic wooden chair on which Henderson sits and the looming bench of the Council of the Administration. Like that in a court room, the Council's bench possesses stately construction of dark wood but in a triangle with the bottom corners curving around Henderson, forming a semi-circle along the base. The twelve-foot peak is the post of His Lordship, the nameless--and for most people, faceless--leader of the Administration's twelve elders who sit at lower posts beside His Lordship, six on either side. The elders and His Lordship comprise the Council, the august body that heads the Administration, which governs the ASNA from its capital, Chicago.
Henderson sits alone just for now, in the hall that he and his compatriots have always feared, but soon the Council will enter from the door that stands behind and slightly to the left of His Lordship's post, and then . . . what? What is the basis for his appearance? Has he been arrested? On what charges? "What have I done?" he asks aloud. Suddenly, the door behind the bench opens, and twelve middle-aged citizens wearing dark, ceremonial robes enter. Henderson immediately sits up from his slouched position as the elders take seats behind the bench with little more than emotionless glances in Henderson's direction. They say nothing.
Moments later, as if on cue, the elders stand; Henderson himself, for reasons he doesn't quite grasp, stands with them. His Lordship then enters through the same door the elders had used. Henderson notices immediately that, in his physical appearance, His Lordship seems to represent no distinct culture. Or maybe . . . Henderson considers, could it be that he represents them all? His Lordship stands behind the seat of his post for just a moment, then in unison, he, the elders, and Henderson sit. But as the Council members shuffle papers, sip water, and settle themselves, Henderson's posture begins to droop again under the pressure of not knowing why he's there. Finally, the elders fold their hands in front of them, and His Lordship opens:
"Very well, I call this meeting to order. Everyone is represented, and I remind you that these proceedings are classified." His Lordship continues while glancing at some papers. "Now, uh, Mr. Henderson, I appreciate the fact that you were brought here without any warning--at best, a very disconcerting situation for you. Am I right"? As His Lordship speaks, his voice echoes slightly, but with the echo--is it His Lordship's voice or his words?--there flows to Henderson a wave of calming reassurance.
"In all honesty, Lordship," Henderson begins, feeling almost whimsical, "'disconcerting' is as much of an understatement as I can imagine."
His Lordship muses on that comment for a moment, nodding. "No doubt. I do apologize, Mr. Henderson, but it was necessary." He regards the documents with greater intensity as he continues. "You are an inventor, of sorts, an engineer, and a bit of an electronics genius. Correct?"
"The Administration has provided me with an excellent education, yes, Lordship."
"And I see that you have taken wise advantage of your education, Mr. Henderson. You've earned titles, and been presented with awards and honouraria in the form of titles, degrees, and grants, not to mention your extensive list of varied accomplishments in the sciences. That is how I like to see an education appreciated." His Lordship wipes a tentative hand over his face showing what might be embarrassment, if it were anyone else. "And I don't want to put you on the spot any more than you have been, but it can't be avoided, I'm afraid." His Lordship pauses, putting his weight on his elbows. "We are aware that among your achievements is the discovery of how to travel through time. Am I right, Mr. Henderson? Please be honest."
Normally, Henderson might have lied without compunction, but he feels no need to, even though he is understandably stunned by His Lordship's discovery. Still, he is able to retain the presence of mind to quickly remind himself that he should volunteer no information; he'll answer only direct questions. "I have achieved a basic understanding of the principles involved in time travel, yes, Lordship. I must admit my . . . surprise by Your Lordship's wealth of knowledge."
His Lordship waves a hand in the air, as if to say, Fiddlesticks. "Don't think of us as 'Big Brother,' Mr. Henderson. We haven't been spying on you. There was . . ." His Lordship considers his terms, and finally nods slightly to the side, acknowledging that there is only one term, ". . . an informant."
Henderson's mind races back, searching for who might know about his research. There are only three people who are aware of his experiments, and none of them are . . . present. He was careful to maintain absolute secrecy. There can be no informant!
"Please, Mr. Henderson," His Lordship continues, "don't trouble yourself with trying to figure out who the informant might be. There are so many details in a person's life that no one can possibly secure everything. As a matter of fact, I'm surprised that you were able to keep your research a secret for as long as you did. Chicago is the capital of the world's largest nation in history. But, while we can track, from the moon, mind you, the movements of . . . an amoeba, if we were so inclined, you stood right in sight, and the Administration never noticed you." His Lordship leans toward Henderson. "I want to caution you against thinking of this informant as some tattling little brother. This was information offered unwittingly. I brought you here, Mr. Henderson, so that we might reason together about this. If I need to make decisions at these proceedings, I will, but that's not my initial purpose." After a space of time for emphasis, His Lordship confesses, "I am truly amazed. You have found what every great literary and scientific imagination has sought for centuries. Tell me, Mr. Henderson, what is it about time travel that motivated you to try to make it possible?"
Henderson isn't sure if he's frightened, but he's certainly dazed from learning about an informant and entirely unaware of what he's saying when he responds to His Lordship's question: "Jack."
His Lordship sits forward in his seat, perplexed. "Pardon?"
"Jack is my given name," Henderson says, almost whispering. "Your Lordship may call me Jack."
His Lordship, pleased with Henderson's gesture, responds with a smile. "Thank you, Jack. I will."
"Would Your Lordship please repeat the question?"
"Of course. What compelled you to research time travel?"
Still climbing out of his daze, Henderson responds, "Questions."
"Questions? Please explain, Jack. What questions are you trying to answer?"
"The mysteries that only time travel can explore. We have questions we can't answer because we haven't been able to access the past." Henderson feels the fog lifting. As his presence of mind returns, he responds with increasing clarity.
"To what mysteries do you so desperately need answers, Jack? Have you any examples?"
"Yes, Lordship. Troy."
"Troy?"
"Specifically, Schleimann's Troy. Did he discover the Troy that Homer wrote about or some obscure city? There are only two ways of knowing: either find, in what we believe to be Troy, an artifact that tells us definitively, 'This is the Troy of Homer fame,' or travel back to 1200 B.C. to see if Schleimann's Troy is Homer's Troy." As Henderson's mind continues to clear, the passion from his time-travel research returns. "Or what about the pyramids? When were they built, and how? Lordship, we have theories that respond to these questions, but no answers. And what about Noah's Ark? Was there a world-wide flood? We have evidence that says there was, and that says there wasn't. Who wrote The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Arabian Nights, and those obscure, apparently anonymous books of the Bible? Why did Michelangelo take a hammer to the Pietathat he had intended to stand over his grave? Was there a city of Atlantis? Where was it? What really happened to it? These, Lordship, are the questions that only time travel can answer--the questions that so captivated me that I had to find a way to investigate them. That is why I developed time travel."
His Lordship nods, "Mm hmm. Very commendable. I can tell by your passion that you're sincere. Far too many people would have wanted to learn the final scores of sports events to come, or the future of the stock market, or worse. I don't sense that from you." When His Lordship closes, Henderson take advantage of the silence to add a further thought in his own defense: "If I may, Lordship: If travel into the future is to be done any faster than the speed we are heading there right now, no creation brought about by my research will take us. Forward travel from our present is quite different from travel back, and I researched time travel so that I'd be able to answer questions, not to create them."
"Very good, Jack. That certainly adds to my confidence. Still, as you are most assuredly aware, literature that deals with time travel almost always testifies to the many real dangers for a society that begins traveling to the past. The minutest mishap might create a chain of events that alters our present. A traveler may catch the malaria, for instance, that was meant to kill a person of that time. That person then lives and changes his of her own future to what potential detriment we might never learn. There are theories that both support and deny this hypothesis, but the reasoning seems sound. We must proceed cautiously. Now, tell me, Jack, how far have you progressed in your research?"
A long, nervous silence ensues. Henderson feels drops of sweat beginning to form on his brow.
"Jack, you are confining your research to your laboratory, are you not?"
No response.
"Jack, your research should be confined to the lab. Are you or are you not conforming to that expectation?"
"No." Henderson says at last to the floor.
"Pardon me?!" His Lordship stands.
Henderson takes a deep breath and repeats, "No, Lordship, I have not confined my research to the lab."
His Lordship's anger is becoming increasingly apparent, "Then how far have you progressed in the application of your research?"
Henderson hesitates. "I have already sent three men to different times in history--as observers only."
His Lordship turns on the elders with angry surprise, "Why was I not informed about this?" A sudden uproar among the Council consumes the silence that had prevailed. The elders gesture to others across the bench, asking if so-and-so wasn't supposed to be in charge of that. They raise their palms, denying any knowledge, or place their hands on their breasts, disclaiming responsibility. Finally, His Lordship serenely rests his hands on the bench looking solemnly toward them to regain order. The elders quickly calm, and Henderson interjects, "Lordship, I can assure you that I have taken every precaution against mishap."
His Lordship snaps, "Have you, Mr. Henderson? And just how can you be so certain?"
Henderson hesitates again. Without some precedent, there is no way he can prove that he's taken every precaution, but he knows that he has; he can feel it. He'd quadruple-checked his figures independently. He and the travelers had anticipated every conceivable contingency. He knows that's not really enough for this, but his gut tells him that he's right. He is just about to respond when His Lordship cuts him off. "Never mind, Jack, I withdraw the question." Then briefly considering what further information he may need, and with a sense of resignation, His Lordship asks, "Tell me, then, what precautions you have taken."
After a moment to collect his thoughts, Henderson explains his careful approach. "The reason that I began my research in Chicago, Lordship, is that I knew that I would have a larger population of educated people to draw from in our nation's capital, than I would if I'd stayed in New York. I found three people who are experts in their fields; each is highly intelligent, well educated, and capable of completely independent work. Two of them, Daniel Kauffman and George Sipiros, entered career fields directly related to their distinct cultural pasts; the third, Brian Gwo, is a brilliant astronomer. All three, because of their interest in this project, eagerly became fluent in the languages of the countries and eras to which I sent them; that way they have a tool to help them remain unobtrusive if an interaction were to become necessary; I didn't send anyone who might be interested, Lordship. I chose those who best suited my purpose, clothed them in costumes appropriate for the eras and areas they were to travel to, and sent each to his own cultural past so that they may better blend in. I sent Dr. Kauffman to Israel in 992 B.C. to study the architecture of Solomon's temple, Dr. Sipiros to the island of Rhodes in 285 B.C. to study the Colossus, and . . . uh . . . yes, Dr. Gwo to China in 1054 A.D. to observe the supernova that created the Crab Nebula. I chose the travelers first, Lordship, then gave missions specific to their own cultures. I denied them all modern instruments; each went as someone from the time to which he was sent, and each was given a clearly-defined, twelve-hour mission with explicit instructions to interact with no one if at all possible. They know precisely what the portal looks like for their return trips, and I can recall each of them in history without concern about geographic or temporal distances."
His Lordship concedes, "You seem to have covered all the problem areas," then, leaning forward for emphasis, "but we will never know, will we?" His Lordship reclines again with a fore-finger across his mouth, and after a long moment, closes his eyes and massages his brow. "How long have your men been gone?"
"With due respect, Lordship, the question is irrelevant. At any time here I can bring them back from any time there, if Your Lordship gets my meaning. I can wait ten years here and bring them back from there the moment they arrive. Or, right now, I can recall them from ten years after their arrival there. But if Your Lordship's question is 'when did I send them?' I sent them only moments before Your Lordship's men came to bring me here, coincidentally. I was making the adjustments to recall them, with a twelve-hour lapse from their perspectives, but I was suddenly brought before Your Lordship, and that's why the timing of my appearance was so problematic."
"Then you can bring them back before they damage the past?"
"Lordship, these men and I have done everything humanly possible to prepare for such travel and to avoid causing any damage to the past; in all honesty, though, if there is damage, we can't know about it until they return. But, may I remind Your Lordship that I can bring them back any time I . . ." he quickly switches direction when he notices His Lordship's disapproving expression, ". . . it is required of me."
His Lordship smiles, "It must feel nice to wield such power."
"Yes, Lordship," Henderson returns the smile, "it does."
The two hold each other's eyes for a long moment before Henderson finally lowers his. "Good," His Lordship asserts. "Now, the elders and I are going to meet in chambers for a time, Jack; wait here until we return." Without a pause, the Council stands and files through the door behind the bench.
Strange how father-like he is, Henderson muses. The apprehension that he had known earlier has returned, and he slouches again like a boy waiting in his bedroom for his father to come in and spank him. He remembers that when his dad did finally enter to give him those not-infrequent spankings, there was fear, of course, but right beside that fear stood comfort because it was his dad who entered rather than someone like the principal of his elementary school. Henderson still clearly recalls the times he had waited in the principal's office for a paddling. When he entered, Henderson felt no comfort, only indignation and contempt knowing he was to be punished by a man who wasn't his father.
Finally the Council members enter and resume their places. Once seated, His Lordship begins. "Jack, I want to tell you a story: There was a king who ruled an ancient, illiterate society, Now, they were illiterate only because writing, for them, hadn't been invented." His Lordship leans forward, lacing his fingers together and resting his forearms on the bench. "One day, a citizen of this country traveled to another kingdom where he learned the skills of reading and writing and eventually brought them back to his country to present them to his king. "Here, my Lord." this citizen said, bowing reverently, "this is what your servant has brought back from distant lands. If it pleases your majesty, he may command me and I, your humble subject, will teach these arts to all your majesty's people." The king took his citizen's gift to ponder it for several days, then had the citizen brought before him again. "I will not have these crafts in my kingdom, for if my subjects resort to recording everything they need, their minds will weaken until they depend on records rather than their wits." The king made the citizen swear to keep writing a secret, for on the day that another citizen was taught to read or write, both he and that citizen would be banished." His Lordship pauses, then, "Tell me, Jack, what's your opinion of this king's edict?"
Henderson is unable to respond for a few moments. He is vexed by the nagging question, Does this mean what I think it means? He squeezes his eyes closed and forces himself to think, reluctantly conceding that there may be some wisdom in the king's decision. Dependence does weaken, Henderson's mind tells him. And the fact that the king was able to foresee his subjects' dependence on reading and writing shows insight, especially for an ancient king. Henderson must acknowledge the truth of these ideas, but I don't dare respond like that! I'll be condemning my own work! What's wrong with the king's decision? Focus on that, Henderson. Focus on the problems it may cause! With much struggle, Henderson's mind finally folds around an idea; he feels the muscles by his eyes relax and a self-assured smile form. He opens his eyes and says, "I do see some misguided wisdom in the king's decision, Lordship, but his wisdom would ultimately be wiped from the earth. In fact, so would his name, the knowledge of his country and his people; the very fact that he had lived would ultimately be forgotten because the king, himself, banned the only method of recording any of this information, preventing him from being remembered, Lordship, that is, unless someone stumbles on it while travelling through time." He bites his lower lip, not wanting to smile too broadly in this forum. His Lordship smiles mildly, and Henderson is amazed that while His Lordship smirks at a weak joke, his eyes can simultaneously transmit a warning--a reminder not to push too far. It's no wonder he's leading this country, Henderson concludes.
"So, you find the king's decision to be unwise?"
"Yes, Lordship. After all, 'knowledge is power.'"
"Is it? No decision, perhaps, is without elements of both wisdom and foolishness, but each must be assessed in hind sight. Do you agree?"
"I am uncertain, Lordship."
"Now, concerning your time travel discovery, Jack, I want to commend you on both a fascinating achievement and a thorough job of dealing with potential problems in the matter; I see no real oversight," His Lordship meets Henderson's eyes, "but that doesn't mean there aren't any." Suddenly His Lordship appears fatigued, even sad. "Let me share another thought with you, Jack. Please listen carefully."
Henderson feels completely off balance. When he thinks he knows where the discussion is leading, His Lordship shifts directions.
"The relation between wondering and knowing is often the same as that between wanting and having. We feel that our wanting will be fulfilled by having whatever it is that we want, when in reality, wanting is often its own fulfillment. The same is true of wondering and knowing. People don't wonder about the colour of a hippopotamus because they know that a hippo's colour is roughly grey. Am I right?"
"Yes, Lordship," Henderson responds not a little confused and perhaps even annoyed with His Lordship's discourse.
"So when a person tells us that he's seen yellow hippos, the rest of us know there's a problem. Hippos aren't yellow except to those who are unable, for whatever reason, to see clearly. We know the hippo's colour, but we don't know the colour of, say, the tyrannosaurus. He may very well have been yellow; it's doubtful because there is no common precedent for large, yellow, presumably hairless animals, but it is possible. Are you with me?"
"Yes, Lordship."
"Some people, though, think that the tyrannosaurus may have had stripes, some say spots, some say that it was just a single 'lizard' colour, whatever that means. The point is that not knowing the colour opens the door for people to suggest a colour. So knowledge is power, in as much as it both sparks and / or stifles imagination. But imagination is the real power because it gives us unlimited options."
Finally anticipating His Lordship's direction, Henderson opens his mouth to protest. He wants to say, "What about education and learning, Lordship? They lead to knowledge, and if knowledge closes doors, shouldn't they be banned?" These things he wants to say, but His Lordship responds to Henderson's unspoken protest, "Some things don't need to be known, Jack, like the mysteries that are kept secret in time. The fact that we are discussing that idea is proof. Still, your questions can be answered through literature and art, through formal debates or friendly discussions, through discoveries of new artifacts or the research of fresh, young minds. We base our arts and sciences on what we know, but where there are gaps in knowledge, we supply the missing information through our imaginations, speculations, suppositions, or simple educated guesses, and these give art and science power; they are the very things that motivated you to create time travel. More importantly, the answers that come through people's imaginations can be more amazing than the facts. The questions that you want answered came into your mind through your imagination, Jack. Answer them through your imagination. Everything that you need is right before you. Put time travel out of your mind."
Again, His Lordship pauses. When He speaks again, his tone is decidedly more administrative than it had been. "Jack, you are to go home and immediately recall your people on assignment; recall them from the moment they step foot in the past. Further, you are to disassemble your lab, erase your disks and destroy all research and data pertaining to time travel. Burn whatever burns. It is not to be thrown away because it could be too easily retrieved. Have I made myself clear?"
Nearly in tears and with a rigid stance that can almost be seen as defiance or determination at the very least, Henderson nods.
"Let the record indicate, however, that Jack Henderson's scientific creation was abandoned only due to potential dangers to national security. I don't want to make any declarations that might hinder his creativity."
"I'm sending some of my people with you, Jack . . ." Three men enter the audience hall. His Lordship emphasizes to them his final instructions. ". . . as assistants only, is that clear?" The three men, and Henderson too, nod. "Good. I want this done today. Nothing hanging over our heads." His Lordship continues, making eye contact with Henderson. "Jack, you're a brilliant, innovative engineer. In time, you will create something that I will approve. Don't lose heart."
"Yes, Lordship." The three men lead Henderson out. He's still dazed, but only for the present. The door to the audience hall closes decisively behind them.
Several hours later, Mike Reynolds, one of the three who had accompanied Henderson to his lab, returns to His Lordship's office and knocks quietly on the door. Upon hearing permission to enter, he opens the door just enough to poke his head in, and he finds His Lordship seated behind his desk reading through stacks of papers.
"Yes, what is it?" His Lordship's voice indicates his intensity, but he is not unkind as he makes eye contact with Reynolds.
"An update on the Henderson affair, Lordship. All materials and data concerning his project have been destroyed as you ordered . . ." He pauses, looking nervously to the floor.
"Yes, go on."
"The three travelers have returned safely, Lordship."
"Good. What's the problem?"
"Bio-scans indicate that all three aged five hours under Henderson's . . . care, Lordship."
"Five hours."
"Yes, Lordship."
Smiling mildly, His Lordship looks quickly around his office and pats his torso with his palms. "Well, everything seems to be in order; don't you agree?"
"Everything appears to be consistent with all that I took for granted prior to Mr. Henderson's hearing, yes, Lordship."
"Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. I'll take care of it."
"Yes, Lordship." Reynolds says and closes the door.
Smiling, His Lordship returns to his reading.
These are notes that give readers the references for the quotes used in the story above; as such, they are not part of the story itself. (AJM):
"look'd up in perfect silence at the stars"
from Walt Whitman's poem,
"When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer"
"the perfection of beauty, the joy of the whole earth!"
from Lamentations 2:15
"brazen giant of Greek fame"
from Emma Lazarus's sonnet, "The New Colossus"
