Chronica (26 page)

Astor was looking at her. "I want to tell you something," he said, very softly.

Sierra shook her head. "No."

"It's ok," he said, very gently, "it's ok. I've been to the future. I know I'm supposed to die on the Titanic."

"Don't go!" Sierra said. "Don't go on that fucking ship! History can take care of itself!" She flung her arms around Astor, and pressed her face, slick with tears, against his neck.

"It's ok," Astor said again, and put a consoling arm around her.

"I don't know you very well, but I know you don't deserve to die," Sierra said, her voice ragged.

"If the only people who died were those who deserved it, this cemetery would be a ghost town," Astor replied, with a slight smile.

Sierra smiled weakly, pulled away, and took Max's hand.

"I haven't made a decision about the Titanic yet," Astor said. "Let's concentrate on the matter at hand. Perhaps we should go see Tesla."

[West Orange, New Jersey, May, 1899 AD]

Edison was outraged but not really surprised when he discovered the
Chronica
missing, two days after it had been taken from his office. Especially infuriating was that Edison couldn't be sure when exactly the
Chronica
was stolen, which he was sure it had been, since he kept it in only one cubbyhole and could picture it in his sleep. It had been five days since he'd last looked at the Greek manuscript. He'd been busy with all kinds of other projects, and this damn head cold had kept him from playing at the top of his game.

He called Henry Ford with the bad news.

Ford was sympathetic, but felt compelled to add, "truthfully, I doubt that such a device could ever be built even with an explicit set of instructions written in English. Whoever stole that from you may have been doing you a favor – my guess is all that they stole was a pipe dream."

Edison exhaled, and was glad that Ford couldn't see how disgusted he was – about Ford, about everything concerning this beguiling manuscript that he had somehow let slip out of his hands before he'd had a chance to find a translator. "I know someone who claims to use the device described in the book," Edison said, "and he has impressive evidence."

Ford didn't answer.

"Do you not believe me?" Edison asked.

"Of course I believe you," Ford said. "But the world is full of pranksters, people who deceive, do the Devil's work with their every moment on this Earth. Do you think he is the one who stole the
Chronica
, because he seeks to keep this knowledge for his own use?"

"Perhaps," Edison replied. He hadn't named Heron to Ford and had no intention of doing so, but Ford might well have been right that Heron, aware and angered that Edison had pried the
Chronica
from Appleton, but not given it to Heron, had sought to reclaim it as something that was, after all, his. "I think a more likely culprit is Tesla – he and his friends have sought to undermine me at every turn in the road."

"Does he read Greek?" Ford asked.

"He probably does," Edison said, "he's European."

"I do not see how what is written in the book, even if it were entirely comprehensible, could be applied to an actual device," Ford reiterated, "though I know you and I disagree about that."

"Certainly not by Tesla," Edison responded. "He lacks the discipline."

The two exchanged pleasantries and concluded their conversation. Edison realized that if he wanted to pursue this, his only course would be to contact Appleton, own up to the fact that the
Chronica
which Appleton had entrusted to him had been stolen, and see if he could beg, borrow, or steal another copy.

[New York, June, 1899 AD]

Tesla joined Astor, Sierra, and Max in Astor's meeting room in his hotel three evenings later. He was nothing but discouraging at first.

"It's not that your memory was overly faulty," Tesla tried to assure Sierra. "What's playing me false are the missing pieces of science – not in the science currently available, which I would expect, but in the science I cannot imagine."

"So you don't think having the
Chronica
as a guide could help," Max said.

"It might help, of course," Tesla said. "Knowledge of any sort is always welcome. But unless you left out major pieces in your rendition of it to me," he said to Sierra, "I doubt that it will enable me to build one of these Chairs that travel through time."

"So it is impossible then?" Astor asked, in frustration. "But how could that be – the three of us in this room, everyone other than you, Nikola, have used the Chairs to travel through time!"

"I believe you," Tesla said and put his hand over Astor's. "I am not saying it is impossible. Nothing is impossible, as far as I am concerned. That word is a shield, an excuse, for those who cannot accomplish very much. So no, not impossible. But, rather, not yet possible with what I know and what I can envision.

"I have an idea," Sierra said.

All three men gave her their rapt attention.

"Let's say we take you to a time in the future when the knowledge you now lack and cannot even imagine is available," Sierra said.

"Ha! I love it!" Tesla replied. "Using the product of what I cannot even imagine to transport me to a place – a time – in which I not only could imagine but build such a device! I love it! There is a music to that!"

"And just to make sure we have every asset at our command, let us see if we can procure another copy of the
Chronica
, for Nikola to take with him, wherever we take him," Astor said

Max looked at this pocket watch. "I suppose it's too late to go up and see Appleton now?"

"It can wait until morning," Astor said. "Let's see if we can get some dinner."

***

Sierra called Appleton the next morning.

Geoffreys sounded distressed. "He's gone!"

"What? No!" Sierra cried out. "It's only June – he was feeling so much better just last week—"

"No, no," Geoffreys said, "I didn't mean that – sorry if I frightened you! But I am frightened, actually – there was a break-in at Wave Hill last night, when we were asleep. We only discovered it this morning. Mr. Appleton was very upset about it. I told him he needed to rest. The police are on their way. But when I checked his room a little while after that, he was gone! I called the train station, and the station master told me that Mr. Appleton had boarded a train to New York about an hour and a half ago. Perhaps he's gone to see you! Where are the police?"

"I don't know," Sierra said, "but I'm sure he's ok. If he had enough strength to take a train into the city, that's certainly good news."

"Yes, but—"

"I'll keep you posted, Geoffreys, I promise," she cut him off. "Let me see if I can find out what's happening down here."

She hung up the phone and briefed Max, who had just come out of the shower, dripping wet, looking for a towel.

"We have to get to the Millennium, right away."

Chapter 17

[Foster Square Facility, Brewster, Massachusetts, 2096 AD]

She had access to data from all Chairs in the past, from as far in the past as they reached, the oldest in Athens, then London, then New York City. She had access to data from Chairs in those places from even before they were known by those names – for as long as there had been hovels, constructed in stone, roughly hewn or even harvested, to contain the Chairs.
 

Data from Chairs in the future was not as reliable. It was not available at all for some stretches of centuries and decades, and those times were increasingly closer to where she was now, in 2096. She suspected, but didn't know with 100% certainty, that this blocking of data from the future was Heron's doing. She also believed that some data from the future was distorted, filtered, or otherwise manipulated by Heron.

She, and everything else brought into being by Sierra Waters, were at war with Heron, and he was gradually winning, always poised to make a major breakthrough that would destroy them. She thought of herself as holding the line against the onslaught.

She knew Heron had broken through at times, done minor damage to the operation of Chairs in the past. Heron, as the person who had created the Chairs in the first place, held the upper hand. He had created a fourth Chair portal, in ancient Alexandria, then destroyed it. Sierra had survived and prevailed -- to the extent that she had -- only because, like all asymmetrical warriors, like all guerilla operatives, she was lean and quick and essentially unpredictable. Heron had realized at some point that the best way of fighting her was to engage her, whenever possible, on that one-on-one unforeseeable level.

The android examined the incoming data. Although she had unfettered access to data from use of Chairs in the past, it was not complete data. Heron had early on put in a code that prevented the Chairs from reporting who was in them and where they were going. Sierra had first instructed her androids to overcome that code. But she soon came to the conclusion that such a cloak on Chair usage benefited her as much as it did Heron. So all that the Chairs reported was that they were in use.

The android could not keep track of all use at the same time – no human being, or machine in existence that she knew of, could do that. Today she was focused on 1899, as she had been for the past few months. Two Chairs had just been activated in the Millennium Club in New York City.

She could not read whether they were bound for the past or the future. But she soon had her answer.

The monitor announced that she had two visitors. This was rare. She was well off the beaten track here on Cape Cod, in a place that looked on the outside like a worn, abandoned cottage not far from the shore. She was in a vast catacomb of digitally meshed rooms two stories underground.

She saw who the visitors were and let them in. Voices guided them to her room.

"Mr. Appleton and Mr. Charles," she said.

Chapter 18

[New York City, June, 1899 AD]

Mr. Bertram was at the front door of the Millennium. "He left, not five minutes ago," he said to Sierra and Max, correctly figuring why they were practically running up to the club.

"We didn't see him on the street—" Sierra began, but stopped when she caught Bertram's expression. "He took a Chair?" she asked, surprised.

"You know I cannot tell you any more than I cannot tell you," Bertram said, confirming what Sierra thought.

"But he's ill," Sierra said, "how—"

"First, he is not quite as ill as you may think – or he's feeling a little better now, in any case," Bertram said. "Second, he has a companion."

"Who?" Max asked.

"Mr. Cyril Charles," Bertram replied, "who, I don't mind telling you, and if it puts your mind at ease, went up to Mr. Appleton's home on the Hudson, and accompanied him to the Millennium."

Sierra nodded slowly. "We haven't seen Mr. Charles here in a while – not that that means anything, of course—"

"He has been keeping a low profile, in this time and place, as they say in the future," Mr. Bertram replied. "An attempt was made by the New York police to apprehend him in 1999, and we think it may be related to what he saw one day here."

"Did you get their names?" Max asked.

"Detectives Barnes and Molloy, I believe," Bertram said. "But they were taking orders from someone else."

"What did Mr. Charles see here that might have gotten him into trouble?" Sierra asked.

"J. P. Morgan, where he should not have been," Bertram replied.

"Ah, Heron," Sierra said.

Bertram said nothing, and started to excuse himself.

"One last question, if I might," Sierra said. "Could you tell us why Messrs. Appleton and Charles undertook this trip?"

"I truly do not know," Bertram replied. "And as you well know, I wouldn't tell you if I did. I've talked enough already – the walls have ears, even here in the Millennium."

***

Max and Sierra sat under the Raphael nude and considered their options.

"The hope would be that Appleton finally relented and went to the future to get some medical treatment which could extend his life," Max said. "I know that's what we wanted, but—"

"He was pretty stubborn about not doing that," Sierra said. "What would get him to suddenly change his mind?" She did hope that that's what Appleton was doing, but she was afraid to let herself believe it.

"Confronting his own imminent mortality?" Max responded.

"And what connection would that have to the break-in last night that Geoffreys told us about?" Sierra asked.

"I assumed that was Heron trying to get the original
Chronica
scroll," Max replied. "But there's no obvious connection between that and Appleton seeking medical treatment, so it's either just a coincidence, or we're back to not accepting coincidence as an explanation. Maybe Heron stole the
Chronica
and Appleton and Charles went after him?"

Sierra shuddered. The thought of Appleton and Cyril Charles facing Heron and his forces brought her as much dread as the thought of Appleton getting his life extended brought her joy. She got to her feet. "Let's see if there are any Chairs in the room."

***

There were no Chairs in the room.

"At least we know Bertram was telling the truth – probably," Max said.

"I didn't really doubt him," Sierra said.

"But we're stranded here until more Chairs arrive," Max said. "No way to go after Appleton, even if we had some idea of where he went."

"Let's get Astor and Tesla up to date on this – see if they have any ideas," Sierra said. "And we probably should pay a visit to Geoffreys and see if we can find out anything more from him. Sooner or later some Chairs should arrive."

"Let's hope with Appleton and Charles, not Heron and that well-educated murderous cop," Max said.

Sierra nodded. "As long as we're here, even just talking about the Chairs, it means that Heron didn't yet succeed in eradicating the
Chronica
and all knowledge about how to construct the Chairs." But she also knew that all of that could end in an unexpected heartbeat.

***

Neither Astor nor Tesla were reachable by phone – that would have been surprising, even cause for some alarm in a later age, but not in 1899, when phones were still solely in offices and homes not even yet pockets, Sierra and Max both realized. She left messages with associates for both men. She and Max took the train up to Wave Hill to see Geoffreys.