“Yes. But how—”
“You told me. The future ‘you’ at any rate. All of it. You tried to make it right. Destroy the stolen samples. And mine. The one I gave you before—”
“I . . . ? How could you know this? Gaelan, you’re freaking me out, more than a little bit.”
“As I said . . .” He grasped the glass object he’d discovered in the catacombs at Dernwode House, showing it to her.
“It’s lovely but how . . . ?”
“This stained-glass scene, which you see in pieces on my desk, I created—”
“Yes. You were a glassmaker. An artist for Tiffany. The panels in the museum. The Diana’s Tree. The Minotaur. I know all that. Found the papers in your flat—”
“There was a third panel. I’d made it to remember . . . my wife Caitrin and my son, Iain. A long time ago. You know of them, yes?”
“Only what little you’ve . . . what I read in the letter I found in the ouroboros book. From Ariadne.”
“This small object came from . . . was stolen . . . went missing from that panel whilst on display at the 1893 Columbian Exposition. I’d taken such care in making it. You see, I’d made for Caitrin an extraordinary piece shortly after we met. It’s called a Rupert’s drop. I’d never seen such delight in anyone as the day I helped her craft one for herself. When the glass piece went missing from the panel, I went nearly insane looking for it. I was devastated when I couldn’t locate it. But—”
“But it’s not lost. You’re holding it in your hand. What does any of this matter?”
“I only just found it, in the most . . . the place . . . a place I hadn’t been in more than nearly two centuries, but to which I was somehow drawn after I took the poison.”
He shouldn’t have mentioned the poison. Gaelan watched anger flare again in her eyes.
“And that led you where? To the future? Gaelan, forgive me, but you are making absolutely no sense. Slow down!”
She was right. “Nicola Tesla. I met him back in 1893.” Gaelan explained the how, or at least what he believed had happened. That Tesla had stolen the glass piece and used it, somehow, to, impossibly, create a portal in time and space.
“I walked through a portal, created, presumably, by Tesla in the very spot I’d mentioned that day in 1893. He’d asked me to name a place that meant a great deal to me. A place to which I’d return if ever I could. The day I met him, we were standing on a beach, very near the location we are standing now. And through that portal, I stepped—from a cavern in Scotland—onto Navy Pier, but decades into our future. The portal linked that spot in Scotland with this one. The spot where Navy Pier was constructed decades after my chat with Tesla.”
“Why should I believe any of this? It’s utter madness. Time travel is a theory. No one has been able to—”
“I have. I thought it completely insane. I thought I’d lost my mind. As much as you do now, perhaps more. But something convinced me. You. Not you, as you are sitting here, but you as you were . . . will be, nearly a century from now. Alive. Unaged. Not a day. That I find you here—today—lends an awful lot of credence . . .” Her expression hadn’t softened a bit. Another approach might be . . .
“It begins with the treatment of a young girl with a terrible fatal disease. A treatment so far advanced it could have only originated in the future. Nanobots extracted from my cells—from my hepatic tissue—to repair the girl’s telomeres.” A glimmer of recognition in her eyes. “Yes?”
“Yes, exactly but what—”
“But it somehow all careers out of control, years later, unleashing upon the world a horrific plague: immortality, but with catastrophic consequences.”
“The nanobots. I first observed them embedded in the stones of the labyrinth necklace you gave me. I didn’t know what they were. An artifact, I thought, but then I was given what I now know to be a cell culture created from your stolen surgical tissues, and I observed the same phenomenon. It made zero sense, but it got me wondering about the connection between the bots and you. So, I examined the blood sample you gave to me at Simon’s that morning just after you . . . just before . . . you left for the UK.”
An eternity ago, yet it had been only weeks. The blink of an eye in the perspective of the half millennium of his life. Time. But yes, she had begun to place the pieces.
“Your DNA was an exact match to the cell line I’d been given to develop a treatment for the girl. What those nanobots did to her degraded telomeres—the root cause of her disease? Remarkable. Impossible, but there it was. I couldn’t . . . But I knew I couldn’t use . . . I understood the potential for . . . you’d said it yourself. Why you decided your life must come to an end. You must disappear . . . whatever. The risk—”
“But you destroyed what you had in your possession. I know that, but there are, of course, more samples of my tissues. Surgery would have produced . . . And the cell culture you were given. It could not have been all of it.”
“No. Of course not. I’m not an idiot, Gaelan.”
“No, my dear, you are quite the opposite.”
“Hang on a moment. You said your telomeres were bound up with the nanobots. What did you mean by that?”
“They’re gone. Destroyed . . . or at least disabled, harmless now. The poison I made . . .” The impact of that discovery had yet to land even a glancing blow, except perhaps in the throbbing agony of his arm where the glass had pierced through to bone. “My telomeres—”
She looked away, then stood, shoving her chair hard before stalking around the small office, from wall to bookshelf to desk to door. She said nothing as she returned to stand in front of him, the desk between them. She picked up a dark blue piece of glass, turning it in her hand, tapping it on the desk. A ticking clock, a timebomb about to explode, he knew.
“Anne. I know this is . . . difficult.”
“Difficult? You cannot begin to bloody imagine—”
“Yes. I lied to you. Left you at the edge of Glomach and intended never to see you again.” He looked away, unable to look into her accusing eyes. He had to make this right, but didn’t know how. How could he after . . . ? But he had no choice. “I’m truly sorry about leaving you like that. Yes. I took the poison. I intended to . . . end it. I won’t go over the reasons again. And I won’t justify myself to you. I haven’t come here—back to Chicago—because I am happy to be alive. Or to beg your forgiveness, which I have no right to expect—”
“I’m leaving.”
“No. Wait. I’m sorry. Please just hear me out until the end, and then it’s up to you. We go our separate ways.”
She nodded, but the tension was still there, the fury still blazing in her eyes.
“Anne. I’m no longer immortal. My cells live and die . . . I live and die like any other person. If I’m struck by a car . . .” He could die in the middle of the street, no longer invincible. The notion struck as if he’d just realized it for the first time.
“Bully for you. Have a blast; remind me not to call for an ambulance.”
“Anne—”
She looked at her phone. “Fine. Fifteen minutes, and I’m gone.”
He held up a hand, gripping the edge of the table as a wave of dizziness washed over him, causing the room to spin. He sat unsteadily in his chair as he waited for it to pass before he continued. “The poison should have killed me; it did not. Instead, it killed . . . destroyed . . . the nanobots and my immortality along with it.”
“Why?”
Good. Anne was curious—about that at least. “In 1826 I treated a disease long believed extinct even then. In the end, I’d used materials from the ouroboros book. I’d never wanted to do—”
“Tick tock, Gaelan. What has this—”
“I was already immortal, yes?”
She nodded. He held up a hand. “Bear with me. The syringe I used to inoculate those affected . . . I inadvertently jabbed myself. Half a syringe-full—quite a lot. Much more than a dose. Than ten. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I’d had little enough
to spare, and I’d wasted . . .” Never mind that. “The nanobots, you see, already swarming in my bloodstream, my tissues, with those little . . .” He still had trouble saying it, much less thinking it. “The tiny machines . . . were now joined by others. It somehow . . . some way must’ve changed my physiology—”
“How?”
She was still irritated, he could see that, but the pieces were clicking into place.
She held up a hand. “Wait. I think . . . You once told me the poison was specific. It’s why you had to create two separate compounds—one for you and one for Simon.”
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me, then, the poison couldn’t work the way the instructions told you it would. Because your physiology was no longer tied to that specific page in the ouroboros book. The nanobots tied to your telomeres were different, so the poison—”
“Worked differently. It didn’t kill me; it killed the nanobots, instead. They . . . your friends in the future, that is . . . believe if I am able to recreate the poison, taint the cell lines, perhaps all will be put right and what they call the immortality virus will be stopped before it begins to do damage. The poison is the key to destroying the immortality nanobots. It is a way out of this . . . bleak destiny of the future. The missing piece had been to answer the question ‘why.’”
“No, it’s not the only missing piece. Why . . . if any of this is true . . . encode a healing book with something that could cause immortality?”
“It was not intentional. There was a betrayal. They wanted . . . to stop the immortality . . . virus, they called it . . . before it ever started. But they failed.”
“The Galahad Society.”
“What?”
“The Galahad Society. The Holy Grail. Sir Galahad. Immortality.”
Gaelan knew the legend.
“It’s a think tank with one aim. To get their hands on the Grail. Immortality.”
Was that who’d betrayed Airmid and her colleagues?
Again, she walked away. But she no longer appeared quite so angry.
“If I believe you, and that is quite a big if, what exactly am I supposed to do about it? How can I possibly . . . ?” She wheeled on Gaelan. A mix of emotions flared in her eyes. She wanted to not to believe him, but he saw the conflict at play.
“The labyrinth necklace—the one I gave you—has all that’s needed, but I’ve not the skill . . . I only know what I know. What you . . . the future you . . . told me, convinced me of.”
“What about the necklace?”
“It is the entire contents of the ouroboros book. They call it the Saf Rafah. It is condensed into the stones, which form a particular pattern, which changes, rotates . . . something I do not pretend to understand. The pages themselves, the instructions, the nanobots. All of it. But with a difference. The images—the graphene—are no longer encoded with anything that might lead to immortality.” He observed the muscles in her shoulders and her arms slowly unclench. This was a good sign.
“Yes. It makes sense. The jewels. I saw into them. But I only saw the nanobots, no pages from a book.”
Arie had told him he needed the glass object, now altered slightly, to see them. That, and an excellent electron microscope.
“Anne, I can show you the place where the portal exists. Prove all this to you. But it’s in Scotland, and there isn’t any time.”
“Do you know anything of a Preston Alcott, the girl’s father?”
“No. I think, in that future world I visited, he has something to do with the community’s security. Holography, I think.”
“Yes, it makes sense that he—”
She believed him, or was beginning to. He closed his eyes, feeling the adrenaline bleed away like a leaky balloon. The adrenaline that had fueled his way back to Chicago: acquiring funds, airline tickets, hours and hours of travel. He had to make it through this conversation before he collapsed. He focused his gaze on Anne as the rest of the room came in and out of focus.
“I destroyed all of it. All the samples, including the blood sample you gave me that morning.”
“You know there must be others. Have to be others.”
“Yes. I intend to lie through my teeth. Tell them it didn’t work, knowing eventually they would realize I was lying, but hopefully not before I’d acquired all the rest. All of it. I was about to have dinner with Alcott and some of his friends, offer to go into a partnership using Simon’s legacy. Get hold of all the cell lines, samples, DNA. Everything and destroy it all.”
“Do you really believe they’ll give it all to you? Not keep a bit back for themselves? Whatever you do, well intentioned, successful, perfectly executed or not, it won’t be enough.” It wasn’t enough. “No. The only way is to taint the cell lines with the same poison I took. It inactivates . . . or destroys the nanobots.” She’d again taken her seat. Her head in her hands, she ground the heels of her palms into her eyes. She was thinking, considering new options. Gaelan wanted to draw her near, to hold her, tell her they could do it—together. Be together now that he was no longer immortal. She wasn’t ready, perhaps never would be . . .
“Wait. I have an idea. If you’re sure . . . Maybe I can tell them it needs a special enzyme to work. Et voila, enter your poison! Of course, I won’t call it that . . . But what if they can learn . . . have already discovered . . . what I now know about the bots? I’m not the only expert, you know!”
“They came to you. They trust you. You are the expert in this. And now you can treat the little girl for her disease with no—”
“I told you. I destroyed . . . The necklace. There is a cure for her disease in it?”
“Yes. And done proper, and without my blood for a substrate, it will save her life, fix her telomeres and make for a bloody good cover.” The necklace. She wasn’t wearing it. “Where is it? Did you destroy—”
“No. Believe me, I wanted to. You don’t know how much I did. But I couldn’t do it. It was all I had left of you. I spent weeks hating you. Hating you for abandoning me at Glomach, for leaving me your things to go through. But I came to understand why you felt it necessary. You’re really no longer immortal?”
“I am not. I didn’t believe it myself until I got quite a large gash in my arm. It didn’t heal. Got infected, I think. Mind if you take a look? I could use a doctor who won’t ask too many of the wrong questions—” Gaelan removed his shirt, allowing Anne to unwrap the bandage Arie had wound around his arm.
“This looks terrible. You’re right. It’s infected. You need antibiotics. I thought it wasn’t possible for you to—”
“Exactly. It’s what convinced me in the end that everything I was experiencing was real—”
“What everything?”
“A story for another time. You have a dinner to attend, and I’ve used up my half hour. And I am about to . . .” He tried to shake off the dizziness that threatened to . . . “I—” He needed to get her on her way before he passed out. She would not leave his side then, and she had to make that meeting. It was their only chance . . .
“The antibiotics. You’ll need an IV. I should—”
“Go! I promise not to die whilst you’re wining, dining, and spinning your tale.”
“Will you still be here later? Or are you going home? Say in an hour or two?”
He swallowed hard, managing a weak smile. “I have nothing more important on my schedule but await your return, my lady.”
Gaelan watched her leave, half-believing she would never return. Half-believing he would be dead by the time she did, he collapsed to the floor.
LONDON, 1826
CHAPTER 41
A month had passed, and the mysterious disease that had swept through London disappeared. Whatever small part Gaelan had in taming the dragon of a disease would never be known. And he was quite fine with that. More than quite fine.
The door bells jangled as Simon Bell came into the shop. Exactly on time.
“Ah, Dr. Bell, it is good to see you again. I’ve got the board s
et and ready.”
Life had calmed; the shop was set up, and the trade was brisk. He had an able apprentice at his service, and thus far, that, too, had worked out well.
“I’ve meant to thank you, Mr. Erceldoune, for preparing the additional medicine for my use. It was kind, and I do mean to repay you for it.”
“I will hear nothing of the sort. How goes it then with the Royal Society?”
“I broached the subject only last week at our regular meeting. As you must have known, the very idea was met with derision, and the threat to boot me from such esteemed company. It was only my relationship with my ever-politically astute cousin Dr. James Bell and the legacy of Benjamin Bell that keep my place amongst the esteemed company.”
“I see. I suppose it was to be predicted. I cannot say I expected more from them.”
“Please. My dear sir!” The tone was stern, but the smile sincere and warm. “Oh, by the by, how is your new apprentice working out? You’ve said little enough about him, and I’ve caught nary a glimpse of him in the shop. You do not work him enough. For he should always be about, fetching your supplies, seeing to your customers, so that you might experiment more.” Bell took Gaelan’s queen. He’d missed a move he should have seen three before. “You, Mr. Erceldoune, are off your game tonight. I may perchance best you—and for the first time.”
“It does appear that way.” Gaelan considered the board before moving. Without his queen . . . But Bell never could see ahead quite as far as Gaelan might by taking in the whole, perceiving the end of the game in sight. He might yet prevail. But perhaps not. The distraction was too much. He made a novice move as his next, and Bell had checkmate in three more moves. Done.
“Well, Dr. Bell.” Gaelan lifted his glass. “Cheers to you, then.” He set down his king in surrender.
Bell lifted his glass in response. “And to you, for many games before this one. I daresay you are not up to your usual self tonight.”
“Indeed. I do have something quite weighing on my mind. I mean to address it . . . put it to rights this night. And you, sir, wisely took advantage of my distraction. It shall not happen again, so savor your victory whilst you might. And now, I must bid you a good night. I’ve some . . . reading before I retire.”
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