Past Imperfect (Jerry eBooks)

by Martin H Greenberg

  “Getting better, but I’m sure a trip to ACS in Florida next week would help me get better right away. They’d hardly notice one more person going.” She fluttered her eyebrows at Ky.

  I laughed as Ky asked. “Cold?”

  “Yes, just a cold. Dr. Ross cleared me right away. But the pizza guy said there were rumors of several flu cases in town.”

  “True?” I asked Ky.

  “Yes, but they’ve been isolated. Several kids from families who don’t believe in flu shots.”

  Becky interrupted. “Yeah, well, those only work if they guess the right flu strains riding the crest. And since they guessed wrong in ’04, how do you expect people to react? Besides there’s another rumor going around that flu shots leave you infertile.”

  “Urban myth,” Ky shot back.

  “Thanks for the pizza, Becky,” I said.

  “Anytime, Conner.” She turned and left without any further comment.

  “Becky?” Ky asked after the door closed.

  “All her friends call her that.”

  “And that makes me?” Ky asked.

  “Her boss.” I pulled the pizza closer and handed Ky a soda and a napkin. “Keep the food off the computer and the spying glass. Let’s watch the show now.”

  I sent several commands to the computer and the smoky glass began to clear. “This is really several pieces of very thin glass with electrodes in between. The central portion of the screen rests in contact with the time zone we want to view. If the transmission breaks, then that portion of the screen stays back in the past.”

  “If this is that high tech, won’t that violate the Laws of Time if it’s trapped in the past?”

  “Good question. But no. If it did, then we wouldn’t be able to access that time zone. But the design itself helps prevent time law violations. The electronics portion will disintegrate very quickly when exposed to sunlight and not connected to a current. Actually in just over two hours. If we’re in a cave, or inside, it takes a few days of air to decompose. But that will happen anywhere. The glazing takes longer, but it will, too. This glass is designed to break down in natural UV more rapidly than any other composition I’ve found. By the way, Shawna Burke, over in the chem lab, is a genius.”

  “But what portion is your time machine?” Ky asked. “That’s not here. I’ve got it safely in its usual home.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever move it. I don’t need to. The temporal field is multidimensional, just as time is, and sets up a time slip between its current space-time location, this portal, and the destination’s space-time location. This portal is the focus or connection if you wish to think of it as such.”

  “The fourth derivative of theta?”

  “When compared to xi. Yup, that’s the equation. So you have read my dissertation!”

  “At least five times, for all the good it’s done me. If you had written it in English—”

  I laughed. Ky was as good a mathematician as I was, despite his complaints. But I could see why he had been put in charge of a group of introverted, and naturally paranoid, scientists. Who could fear a man who professed to know so little about what was being explained?

  “Show me Amora. I want to see her perform on stage.”

  “Ah, now that’s an easy request.” I said.

  “I thought so!”

  “There’s a dress rehearsal two days before the fire that is really very nice. I have just to place the portal near the auditorium’s chandelier, then we sit back and watch.”

  “This is a canned program!”

  “Well, yes. You want to start at the beginning of the play?”

  “You bet! Why wouldn’t we?”

  “I don’t know, maybe you have a hot date.”

  “Only with you, old buddy.”

  “You have to get out more.”

  We watched the curtain rise and the entire first act before either of us said a word as we downed the pizza. The intermission was just as it would be on opening night since the actors had to change costumes. I could have skipped ahead, but chose not to, and let the program run its course.

  Ky reached for his soda and found it empty and set the cup back down. “She’s really good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I suppose I am. I guess I thought she would be just a pretty face and scant talent. She’s not very old and from a rich family. Daddy giving her what she wants.”

  “Daddy didn’t approve of her interests, which is why it took her so long to get to this point. He died almost a year ago in her timeline. Mommy is off on a European vacation, a long one. Amora is now doing what she loves, and no one is here to stop her.”

  “Except fate,” Ky added.

  “Yeah, except fate.”

  When the play finished, I remained seated, savoring the satisfied feeling which always overcame me. Suddenly the image changed, and we were watching Amora approach us as she walked down the hallway. The keypad was too far away. I quickly turned the glass so that she would see only me and not Ky. He even pushed his stool back from the workbench. Amora stopped so close to the portal and reached out as she had done in the past and touched her side of the glass. She looked me straight in the eye and winked.

  “My favorite little ghost,” she said. “I did good tonight, didn’t I?” She walked on down the hall and disappeared into her dressing room. I broke the connection, though I really wanted to follow her and talk well into the night as we had done on two other occasions.

  “She wasn’t frightened!” Ky said.

  I couldn’t keep the silly smile off of my face.

  “You’ve done this before!” he said.

  “Yes, she’s seen me a few times. She doesn’t frighten easily.”

  “Why would you do this?”

  “Why not? She’ll be dead in two days. Time is safe.”

  “Obviously it must be. But she dies! Can you handle that?”

  “Nothing will ever change that!”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “It’s not as if I have any choice, now is it?”

  Ky thought a moment. “You could clone her.”

  “We don’t clone people here.”

  “Other places do. I could put you in contact with—”

  “It wouldn’t be the same. Amora is more than just a pretty face. If I wanted that, I’d date Becky and have a wife before I’m an old man.”

  Ky asked me to construct a portal without glass. One that would allow passage from one time-stream to another. It was a step I had been reluctant to take on my own, but since my best friend and boss asked me, why not try? He would be able to help assess any experiment’s worthiness. My first thoughts after the request were of my father, which meant I really did need to prove something to him, even if months passed before he would be aware of my success.

  It took me a week.

  I started out small. The largest object we’d be able to move would be a small dog, or several pigeons, either dead or alive. Still, Ky was very enthusiastic. He swore he hadn’t told his boss about my success. I still hadn’t talked to my father. Several of my former professors came forward to criticize my father’s work and backed me. Nothing would change until I came forward and denounced my father. I wasn’t ready, and Ky went along, for now.

  All of our lives, but especially mine, would remain less complex if Northern Escapes’ success came from our breeding programs and not time travel. Most of the issues surrounding cloning had been smoothed over soon after the pandemic, as long as we worked only with animals.

  Why put ourselves into such an awkward position as to have to defend time travel now, to anyone?

  Becky and her friends spent two weeks researching dates, places, and times for major pigeon hunts. I checked out every event as she gave it to me until I was certain of a plan. The event I chose left few pigeons alive in the flock to fly the next day. We stood in a vacant office, Ky on one side of me and NE’s bird expert on the other. We looked out onto an early
winter landscape. The ground was covered with a light snow from the previous night’s falling.

  “What are we going to see?” Dr. Carol Weber asked. Her voice was low, and her graying hair was short and constantly in disarray. Today, it looked more like feathers than hair.

  “If I’ve got this right, birds.” I answered.

  The portal wavered in the air some twenty feet straight out from our window and about thirty feet above the ground. It hung from a cable suspended between two of the closer buildings. I initiated the program and looked up. The air shimmered slightly. If you weren’t aware it was there, you might think it was just a heat mirage. Three minutes later success was evident as a stream of pigeons, flying two and three abreast, exited the portal. It was a short passage, lasting only eight seconds. I counted two seconds after the last bird, then shut down the portal. I disengaged the computer and looked back up as the startled birds made a loop near our window and passenger pigeons flew once again in the sky above us.

  “Damn!” Weber said next to me as she leaned closer to the window to see farther away.

  “How many were there?” I asked.

  “At least three dozen!” Weber answered.

  “And four ducks!” Ky added. “Ducks?”

  “When the shooting started, I’d guess any wildlife would take flight,” Weber added as she grabbed her coat and headed for the door. Ky and I were right behind her. On the building’s roof we found Weber’s assistant waiting with binoculars. He pointed west.

  “They’re confused, but are circling for a third time. Their flight is less panicked. I suspect another two rounds and they’ll land near the roost we constructed.”

  “Any chance we’ll be able to catch them all?” Ky asked.

  “Very little,” Weber answered. “We were planning on just a few. We’ll get some of them, but not all. These are wild creatures and they migrate. In just a few days they will likely head south.”

  “That’s going to lead to some odd questions,” Ky added.

  Weber shrugged. “We have breeding pairs here. No one knows the exact number outside my lab. So, some escaped. They’re doing what they do naturally. Though it will be a shame to lose any of them.” Weber pointed. “Look they’ve spotted the roosts and are tightening their flight pattern.” As one, they landed. The auto system engaged and nets covered the roosts. Techs scurried to secure the catch. No birds filled the air.

  “You got them all?” I asked in an awed whisper. After a moment Weber and her assistant let out a whoop.

  “Yes, by God. We got them all!” she said. Weber reached over and shook my hand. “Dr. Robins, you are a genius!”

  “Thank you, but what about those ducks that got through?”

  She shook her head in dismissal. “They’ll blend in with the native population of mallards and most likely take up residence on our little lake for the winter. Just four more for us to encourage to go elsewhere next fall instead of mooching off of us for the rest of their lives. If you still feel guilty next year, you can help us trap and relocate them elsewhere. We always need help.”

  “He won’t feel guilty,” Ky said as he punched my shoulder lightly. “Lunch is my treat. Care to join us, Carol? Joe?”

  “No,” Dr. Weber began. “I think we’ll go look at our newest residents. Make sure they like the aviary.”

  We were sitting in Ky’s office. It was lit only by the glow of the wood fire burning brightly in the fire place. His office windows overlooked a wider view of the valley. Still, we couldn’t see much for the snowstorm raging outside. A good six inches had already been dumped on us, and more was coming. Winter had set in during the last few weeks and was holding tight. I was glad I had decided to continue staying in the dorms through winter, instead of driving into town in this mess. I might even take one of the underground tunnels back to my room tonight. The wind looked wicked. Ky poured more Scotch in my glass and his own. We had just returned from the aviary after checking on the pigeons. I wanted to see for myself how well they were adjusting in the few weeks since they arrived here.

  “There will never be enough,” I began softly, “to let go in the wild. Not enough pigeons for a breeding population. We’ll lose them again.”

  “Perhaps. But with cloning we can try, thanks to you. You wouldn’t believe the list of animals people want to bring back! Most of the requests are impossible to fulfill. I’m sorry, but why would we want a saber-toothed tiger?”

  “Because we can.”

  “It all costs money.”

  “Your problem and not ours.”

  “Ours?” Ky asked. “Whom do you include in that ours?”

  “Us researchers.” I added a smile to show I was partly kidding. “As opposed to management.”

  He sighed. I sat forward and looked at him. He had seemed tired all day. “What’s wrong? You’ve been lost in thought most of the afternoon. Didn’t your noon meeting go well?”

  “Same old, same old.” He poured more Scotch.

  “You should go easier on that stuff, you’ll be drunk before too long.”

  “One can only hope. If I—” His answer was interrupted by a knock on the door. His assistant entered without waiting for an invitation.

  I looked at her. “Margaret, what if he had been in here with a woman?”

  She snickered. “Then I’d have had a pleasant surprise and some good gossip, but he works as hard as you do. You both need dates—”

  “Margaret?” Ky interrupted.

  “Dr. Ross wants to see you both.”

  “Why?” Ky asked.

  “It’s the flu. She’s called a class five quarantine on all of Northern Escapes and on the town, too.”

  “But why does she need to see me?” I asked. A chill had started in my toes despite their near proximity to the fire. “Is Becky okay?” Margaret just shrugged.

  Ky downed his drink in one gulp. “Tell Ross we’re on our way. Come on, old buddy.” Ky stood. I reached quickly out to steady him.

  “Can you walk?”

  “Sure, if you help. Don’t worry about Becky, she’s tough. And she went to Ross with the first sniffle. It’s those two farmhands I’m worrying about. They waited over three hours. By tomorrow morning everyone in the farming department will be sick.”

  The walk through the tunnels seemed long. Outside, at least, the weather could distract your thoughts. Ten minutes later we were entering Dr. Ross’ office where she was meeting with three of her staff along with four department heads, none of whom I had formally met. No one made any introductions or shook hands. There were ten people in the room and personal space was at a premium.

  “How’s Becky?” I asked.

  “Sick, but we loaded her up with antibiotics right away to protect against any form of bacterial pneumonia. Even so, it migrated to her lungs already.”

  “What kind of flu?” Ky asked.

  “A swine version,” Ross answered.

  “Like ’04?”

  “No, different. We think it’s closer to the 1918 version.”

  “How is that possible?” Ky asked. “It was never found, despite all the researchers actively looking for it in the past ten years.”

  Ross turned to me. “They said you brought some ducks back during your research with the passenger pigeons.” The chill had wrapped around my backbone. “Yes, four of them. But they were from 1898 western Wisconsin and not 1918 Kansas. A full twenty years and hundreds of miles away from where the Spanish Lady first hit.”

  Ross spread her hands. “I know, but this flu is a new type and passed from those ducks and into the pigs we have here, and now into us. We’re sure of the path. Becky came in first. She had been in the barns helping out.”

  “She likes helping. She was raised on a farm.” I added. Was I defending her?

  “She came in at 11:00 a.m. and told me Ralph Miller and Jim Clark also had sore throats. I sent for them both right away. By three this afternoon I had fifteen people sick. I’ve now got over fifty, most of them have already go
ne from flu to pneumonia. It’s moving fast, and it’s a variety I’ve never seen before. We have little or no resistance built up to this strain.”

  Ky interrupted. “Did you invite us here to beat us up for screwing up with our experiment, or is there a point to all of this?”

  “Ky,” I said. He was more than a little drunk and the liquor was making him mean. “What can we do?” I asked Ross.

  “I need tissue samples or blood from people who survived the Spanish flu from 1918 or 1919. There isn’t a complete example anywhere in our time that we know of and I can get my hands on soon enough.”

  “Why?” I asked. Ky looked at me in surprise, but I wanted to know. “Who cares if it is the Spanish Lady?”

  “If it is, those survivors have built up a resistance in their body already. We can replicate that faster than a vaccine and stop this strain in its tracks. Otherwise we’re out of a solution for at least two weeks until someone here develops enough antibodies for us to clone.”

  “We have to go back in time and get a sample?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Ross said. “It will save lives, if you can.”

  Her assistant interrupted. “But you can’t go to that time directly.” I looked back at Ross.

  “If this isn’t the Spanish flu, but something else—and it could be—you risk bringing that variety back and we’d have two virulent versions to deal with.”

  I rubbed my face with my hands and instantly regretted it, but my brain was foggy from the Scotch. “I can’t just go back and ask a stranger if they were sick last year and if can I have some blood.” I really wanted to pace, but the room was too small and too crowded. I hated working with an audience. “What kind of window after the pandemic should I be working in?”

  Ross looked at her assistant for a moment as if they conferred telepathically. “No sooner than three years and no later than seven years after 1919.”

  “Or when that person was sick?” Ky asked.

  “Yes,” Ross said. Just then another medic came into the room.

  “The town’s quarantine is in place, but when they went to Jim Clark’s house to talk to his wife, they found her dead. Their baby girl is very sick. They’re bringing both in as soon as they can get through with this snow, but it doesn’t look good for the baby.”