by Shay Roberts
Before I realize it, I am standing, my voice raised to a shout.
“Letting a boy die is not good for me. And it’s not good for society. I have never heard such lunacy.”
The room falls quiet. Willem’s mouth hangs open.
Villalobos stares at me, as if seeing me for the first time.
He turns to the other students. “Let’s take a break. Return in ten minutes.”
The room empties quickly, leaving me in a face-off with the professor.
Villalobos sits at a desk next to mine and gestures for me to sit as well.
I want to storm out, but for some reason, I sit.
When the professor speaks, his voice is full of emotion.
“Rosemarie, I understand your torment. Believe me, I understand. I was once like you. In fact, I still am. You have a strong moral compass, and I will not ask you to ignore it. The challenge is to find a way to reconcile your beliefs with our mission.”
“I don’t understand.”
He puts a gentle hand on my arm. “This will be a long conversation, Rosemarie. Likely, many conversations. Let’s meet outside of class to discuss it.”
His touch makes me uneasy. I remember when the mind doctor first began to touch me. But when I look in the eyes of Professor Villalobos, I don’t see a vacant soul.
What is he playing at?
Crazy Plan
TYLER BUCK
The construct lab is not what I expected. It’s a small, hot room with a padded floor. The woman in charge is Professor Sinclair. She’s a middle-aged woman with a placid face. She wears her red hair in a long braid and dresses like a yoga teacher. I watch as she leads a class of five snooty blues through various stretches and poses designed to warm them up.
I’m not allowed to participate. I’m supposed to spend my first day observing the class to see if it’s a “good fit” for me. I think Sinclair is hoping I’ll be intimidated and go to the beginner class with the rest of the greens.
Bored, I use my glasspad to pull up the class notes for the three weeks I missed. The students here are learning to build anchors, the beacons that time travelers use to cross distance when they travel.
The notes explain that time travel is actually an evolved form of teleportation, and that teleporters also use anchors. I had no idea that teleportation was a thing.
Anchors are mental constructs, built using concentration and meditation. If properly made, they last forever. However, due to a disruption field across the Academy grounds, constructs built by students last only a few minutes. The notable exception is the official Academy anchor, located in the mango grove. It’s kept locked and is somehow immune from disruption.
Just for kicks, I try some of the projects in the notes. They are simple visualization exercises. I sit on the mat and close my eyes, picturing circle and square shapes that persist in a particular location. Apparently, anchors can look like anything you want.
I entertain myself by imagining a small dragon lifting its leg to pee. My eyes are closed as I build my construct. In the background, I hear the blue students working on a group exercise.
It takes a while to get my dragon to look the way I like, with a real ’tude. I’m satisfied with the results.
A student suddenly gasps. I open my eyes and see a skinny dude with long legs pointing at the empty space that holds my construct.
Of course, with my eyes open, I can’t see my dragon.
Sinclair turns, staring at the space behind her, then closes her eyes to look at my construct.
I also close my eyes. Sinclair and the students disappear, but I can see my dragon construct. It begins to melt away under the influence of the disruption field.
I open my eyes to find Sinclair staring at me, her face filled with wonder and a touch of fear.
She speaks so softly, I can barely hear. “Your construct is quite advanced. Clearly, you don’t belong here, Mr. Buck. I’m granting you placement credit for this class. You’re excused.”
I nod, surprised. As I back out, the students eye me with mixture of awe and hate.
I open my hands to them. “Sorry, guys. I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
No one responds as I leave the room.
That was a strange experience. I can’t help thinking that being booted from the class is a bad thing. Maybe I’ll miss some important detail about anchors. I make a mental note to go through all the class exercises on my glasspad.
I’m first in line when they open the doors for lunch. It smells like salmon and macaroni.
I’ve been looking forward to seeing Rosemarie, but there’s no sign of her. I’m not worried, though. Most of the students haven’t shown up yet. Apparently, food isn’t their priority.
The small dining hall is crammed with bench-style tables that seat three on each side. Turns out there isn’t any macaroni in the buffet line, but I fill my plate with salmon, red potatoes, asparagus, and a slab of buttered rye bread. I take a seat in the same place I ate breakfast.
I hear the muffled voice of Glassy, telling me I have a message. I pull the thin slab of glass from my pouch and find a text from Rosemarie. She can’t make lunch but wants to meet for dinner. She also warns me to avoid Philip.
I’m bummed. I really wanted to see her. Suddenly, I feel alone and exposed in the dining hall.
I watch as the seats begin to fill. No one joins me at my table. I spot Philip, but he’s ignoring me, choosing to sit with a table of royals.
I wonder why Rosemarie is standing me up.
In the afternoon, I attend my world history and comparative cultures classes. They’re interesting, but not as interesting as building constructs.
In the history class, there’s an obsession with memorizing dates and using the correct calendars. I learn there’s an app on my glasspad that translates dates from one calendar to another. Because of the switch from the Julian to the Gregorian calendars, date keeping is a mess. And to make matters worse, England waited two hundred years before adopting the Gregorian calendar.
By the end of the term, we’re expected to have memorized detailed timelines for all the continents, from the Stone Age to the Information Age. Today’s lesson is on Iron Age Europe. We learn about the Hallstatt and La Tène cultures, and how the Iron Age in Europe came to an end with the Roman conquest. The Romans seem to have a habit of showing up and ruining everyone’s day.
The comparative cultures class in the late afternoon is more fun. The green students here are less snarky, and we don’t have to memorize a lot of dates. The focus is on customs and manners. As time travelers, we’ll be exposed to many cultures, and it’s important to know the rules for blending in.
Today’s lesson is on seventeenth-century French court etiquette. The glasspads contain a vast encyclopedia of etiquette that forms the curriculum for this class. But Professor Sorenson, a woman with honey-colored hair and an impish, closed-mouth grin, supplements the discussion by role-playing with the students. We spend ten minutes learning how to hold a gentleman’s arm when being escorted, and another twenty minutes learning how to use a napkin. It’s trickier than I imagined.
It’s dinnertime before I realize it. I’m happy to see Rose in the dining hall. She seems distracted and doesn’t want to talk with the other students around. Somehow, she’s found some plastic plates and utensils, and suggests taking our food out to eat at the lake. There’s something she wants to discuss, and I’m dying to know what it is.
Before we leave the dining hall, Rosemarie slips apples, biscuits, and a pair of small juice bottles into the large pockets of her tunic. She’s already carrying a plate of food, so she must be really hungry.
As we leave the hall, I glance back and see Philip noting our departure, but his face is unreadable.
At the lake, Rose and I find a tree along the water’s edge and sit on the grass beneath it. The sun hangs low in the west, just over the stable. Purple and orange clouds streak the western sky, and the thick air smells sweet. In the far distance, a dinosaur g
ives a throaty roar.
I feel content, sitting here with Rosemarie, eating a dinner of pork roast with sautéed vegetables and a side of wild rice. If people didn’t hate my guts, I’d never want to leave here.
Oddly, Rosemarie hasn’t touched her food. She kicks off her boots and pulls off her tights, stretching both feet out into the water. Damn, she’s got gorgeous legs.
She sighs as her feet bathe in the lake. “I apologize for missing lunch. Professor Villalobos wanted to speak with me.”
“You in trouble or something?”
“He served me lunch at his home. He is curious about my life before the Academy. He wants to know how I think, what I feel.”
“Whoa. Was he hitting on you?”
“Hitting?”
“You know, is he into you?”
“He did not want sex, if that is your question. At least, I don’t believe so.”
“Then what do you make of it? A teacher’s pet thing?”
“Pet?”
“It means like … you’re his new favorite student.”
“Yes, perhaps. He wants to meet again for lunch tomorrow.”
“You want to go?”
“Yes. I believe he has something to teach, and I want to learn it. But that is not what preoccupies me.”
“What’s wrong?”
She takes a deep breath. “I am planning a brief departure from the Academy. We have just met, so I can’t ask you to join me, but I wanted you to know.”
“A departure to where?”
“My homeland. I intend to use my glasspad to record the Roman soldiers with their rifles.”
Reflexively, I look around to make sure we’re alone.
“Whoa, Rosemarie, I’m pretty sure you’d get in trouble for that.”
“I need proof of this outrage. Specta Aeternal will not act without proof.”
“Eventually, they’ll get around to investigating this.”
“I do not believe that.”
My head spins as I consider Rosemarie’s crazy plan. Having spent time as a relic hunter, or what some might call a thief, I ought to be supportive of such rebellious mayhem. But I’m worried she’ll get hurt.
“Rose, how are you going to get to Pictland? I’m guessing we’re somewhere near the equator. Even if you can make a jump of millions of years, you’d probably land in the middle of an ocean, thousands of miles from Pictland. But let’s say you somehow made it there. How would you get back? The school’s only anchor is locked.”
“I have not yet learned about anchors. Returning here would be my preference, but if I can’t, SA has offices in the modern world where I can report what I discover.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“I will find them.”
“What makes you so sure you can get these recordings? Do you know the exact year and location of the Roman attack?”
She bites her lip. “No. That is an obstacle. Tonight, I plan to search the library for information about my people. I will find what I need to make the jump.”
“You said you’re still learning small jumps. This would be a massive jump. Millions of years.”
“Yes, I know this.”
I have more objections, but she suddenly leans over and kisses me. The touch of her lips empties my head and sends my pulse racing. Then she pulls away, running her hand through my hair.
“I am sorry, Tyler. I must do this. If you had experienced what I have, you would understand.”
I watch in stunned silence as she pulls on her tights and boots. Moments later, she’s walking away.
I’m not sure what to think. This woman is supposed to be my soulmate, but I don’t really know her yet, and this is a crazy plan. She said that her protective tattoos made her reckless. I see that now.
The truth is, I can be just as reckless. I’ve done stupider things for stupider reasons. If these Roman bastards killed my dragon, I should help Rosemarie avenge him. And most importantly, I can’t let her do this alone.
I scramble to my feet and chase after her.
We arrive at the library less than an hour before it closes. The librarian, a bald man with a thin white mustache, sits at the front desk reading on his glasspad.
On either side of the front desk are two gargoyle sculptures, each shaped like bookends, poised as if supporting the desk. The stone creatures are shockingly lifelike.
Rosemarie whispers into my ear, “They say the gargoyles roam the library after it closes.”
Looking across the library, I see there isn’t much space to roam. The place is small, barely the size of a classroom. And most notably, there are no books.
Instead of books, the library offers a dozen research stations, larger versions of our glasspads. Apparently, they’ve digitized their entire collection.
I’m a little disappointed. I like books, especially old ones like Southam has in his library.
Only two students, a blue and a royal, are currently in the library, so there are lots of stations open. Rosemarie hurries to the nearest one and fires it up. I sit beside her and watch, trying to learn how the device works.
Rose is good with the machine and quickly pulls up a number of books on Pictish history and culture. While many of them address the Roman invasion of Britain, none of them mentions her clan, the Draig, or says anything substantial about dragons.
The problem is that all of the books were written in the modern era, not by the people who lived in that time. The Picts were not known for writing things down.
Time passes quickly. The library will close soon, and Rosemarie grows more frantic as she searches for information.
I think I know why she’s rushing. She wants to leave tonight.
Once again, I feel the urge to talk her out of this. But she is her own person and makes her own choices. More importantly, she’s fighting the good fight. I need to shut up and do everything I can to support her.
In a book on the Roman invasion of Britain, Rosemarie comes across a reference to another book written by a clergyman under the rule of the Pictish king, Nechtan, in 708 CE. When she searches for that book, she finds it, but it’s marked special handling, and the text won’t come up on the screen.
Rosemarie hurries over to the librarian and asks about the book. He seems annoyed to be pulled away from his glasspad but dutifully looks up the book on his station.
“Sorry, that book is in the undigitized archive.” He waves across the room at a nondescript door in the back. “You would need a staff member to post a requisition. There’s a three-day turnaround.”
He looks back at his glasspad as if the matter is settled.
Rosemarie fumes, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she walks to the back of the library and sits at the workstation nearest the archive door.
I whisper to her, “You’re planning to sneak in there?”
“I will try, but I am not hopeful. Look at the door. No lock. No handle. Such doors can only be unlocked by pads belonging to the staff.”
I shake my head. “Even if you could get inside, they’re about to close. We’d be locked in.”
I jerk at the sound of the librarian’s voice.
“Five minutes, people.” He puts down his glasspad and moves into a back room.
Seeing her chance, Rose moves quickly to the archive door and waves her glasspad over it. Nothing happens.
Her eyes narrow in frustration. I realize she’s about to kick in the door. And with that horse tattoo, I have no doubt she’ll succeed.
On a whim, I pull out my pad and wave it over the door. It clicks open.
Eyes wide, she pulls me inside and shuts the door behind us. “Let me see your pad.”
I hand it over and she fusses with it.
“I knew there was something strange about your pad. It has Professor Southam’s permissions. How is that possible?”
I think for a moment, then it hits me. “When I first came here, he used my pad to pull up an entrance exam. Maybe he forgot to log out.”
S
he hands the pad back to me. “After I am finished here, can I use your pad to access the wardrobe and prop houses? I need an appropriate costume.”
“You mean, we need appropriate costumes.”
“Tyler, perhaps you should remain here. You are an important person. You have too much to lose.”
I lean forward and kiss her, feeling a thrill run from my lips to my groin.
She smiles at me, her eyes intense. “Very well. You convinced me. We will go together. But first, we must find this book.”
I turn to survey the archive and find a small room empty of books. The space is lit by a series of glowing glass spheres sitting in an open case along a shelf. Beyond the room stands a hallway leading into darkness.
I’m guessing we’re supposed to use the spheres like flashlights. I grab one, and Rosemarie takes another.
I walk down the dark hallway with Rose close behind. The hallway leads to a set of stairs. We descend them for what seems like several minutes. We must be deep underground by now.
At the bottom of the stairs, we see an awe-inspiring sight. We’ve entered a vault perhaps fifty feet high, and at least that wide. It stretches before us farther than our lights can reach.
Shelves of books and scrolls stretch to the ceiling. There must be thousands—no, millions of them here. I don’t understand why they aren’t digitized. Do they contain secrets that students aren’t allowed to read? If so, there are more secrets here than stars in the sky. Maybe most of the real knowledge of the world is secret, held by an elite few.
I examine the books on the nearest shelf. None of the dusty tomes are marked by numbers. How will we find anything in here?
Rosemarie spots a single research station off to the right. She sits before it, but it won’t turn on.