Chronica (Sierra Waters Book 3)

by Paul Levinson

  But Edison knew there was no point in commissioning a translation, unless he first had arranged for someone who could not only read and understand the translation, but could act upon to it build the device said to be described in these words.

  Edison, vain as he knew he was, also knew that he on his own lacked the capacity to build such a machine. But he thought he knew a man who perhaps had that talent. Edison had met him just three years ago, and had been mightily impressed not only with his down-to-earth intelligence, but his determination to do whatever was needed to get a job done.

  Edison stroked the manuscript. He had acquired it from Appleton as soon as the blizzard was over and the trains were running. He had called upon Appleton at his Wave Hill home, and had had a lengthy conversation about what Appleton had wanted to get published before his demise. Appleton had seemed weak and tired, almost feeble, but in full possession of his mental faculties. Edison had professed a passion for bettering humanity, by getting more books directly into the hands of people rather than funneled through teachers, a passion which was not entirely pretended.

  And Appleton had produced the manuscript. Edison had no idea if that was the only copy Appleton had made, and was not sure if obtaining the only copy or just a single copy was essential to Heron.

  For his part, Appleton wasn't even clear about what he wanted Edison to do with it, other than arranging for its translation, and keeping that translation secret until it was completed and returned to Appleton.

  Regarding Heron, it didn't matter to Edison what was important to Heron about the Chronica. What was important to Heron was never important to Edison. He knew that Heron disliked him, and was using him for his own purposes. Edison felt the same about Heron. He wasn't American. Edison didn't know what Heron was, but it was nothing that Edison liked or really wanted to help. Indeed, Heron was a threat to him, because he knew that too many of Edison's greatest inventions came from Heron's information.

  Edison lifted the manuscript. It was short, only 48 pages in ancient Greek. He had no intention of giving that manuscript to Heron to do the devil knew what with it. No, from the moment Edison had held the manuscript in his hands, in Appleton's home, Edison knew what he wanted to do, what he was destined to do, with the instructions it contained. He would use them to build a time machine of his own. If it worked, it would be Edison's greatest invention of all.

  ***

  There was a knock on the door, one that Edison thought respectful but strong, about ten minutes later. Edison could feel it more than hear it. "Come in," Edison bellowed.

  A tall, lanky man entered.

  "Henry Ford," Edison said. "Thank you for coming by."

  Ford nodded and took a proffered seat.

  "How long we have known each other, Henry?" Edison asked.

  "I have been an engineer in Edison Illuminating since 1891, and a Chief Engineer since 1893," Ford said, proudly. "But we did not meet face to face until three years ago, in 1896."

  Edison nodded. "And how is your own work on the horseless carriage proceeding? I highly approve of that, you know."

  "Quite well. Thank you!" Ford, 16 years Edison's younger, replied.

  "You're very welcome," Edison said. "Now then, suppose I were to tell you that I have in my possession the blueprints for a possible device that would make your Quadricycle and all that I have invented as insignificant as the leaves falling from an autumn tree?"

  "That's an ambitious statement," Ford said.

  "It is," Edison said. "And here they are." He handed Ford the Chronica manuscript.

  Ford held it in his hand for a long moment before looking at it. He leafed slowly through every page. "I am afraid this is all Greek to me," he said, with a short, deferential laugh.

  "To me, too," Edison said. "But I wanted you to hold it in your hand. If I were to translate it – arrange for its translation – would you be willing to give it a crack?"

  "Time travel?"

  "Yes," Edison said.

  "Build a time machine, as H. G. Wells describes in his scientific romance?"

  "It might well be completely different from Wells' fictional machine, but, yes," Edison replied.

  Ford considered. "I have built machines that defy nature, as you know."

  "Yes," Edison said.

  "I also have in mind a machine that could fly in the air, like a bird," Ford said. "That would defy nature even further."

  Edison nodded. "More than one inventor is at work on such a flying machine."

  "I know," Ford said. "My specialty, whether it is on ground or in the air, is to perfect devices that others may first have built."

  "Yes," Edison said. "I suspect there is already at least one device that time travels, at hand and in operation. Perhaps I could contrive to have you see it – I have not seen it yet, myself. My hope is that, with this book, translated into English, and a chance to inspect the device, that you might be able to construct one yourself."

  "Yes, but—"

  "Do you see an obstacle?" Edison asked. "You are known already, as am I, for believing obstacles can be overcome, with sufficient work and effort."

  "A time travel machine might be different," Ford said.

  "How?"

  "It seeks to overcome, not nature, but God himself!" Ford said.

  Edison looked at Ford.

  "I know you are not a believer—" Ford continued.

  "I believe in a Supreme Being," Edison said.

  "I believe in the Christ," Ford said.

  'What does that have to do with time travel?" Edison said, beginning to lose patience with this young man.

  "I – I do not mean to offend you – but overcoming nature is one thing, overcoming God and his laws is quite another."

  Edison considered. "Do you know the work of Luther Burbank?"

  "The botanist?"

  "Yes," Edison said. "He has created fruits and vegetables and flowers which did not previously exist on God's green Earth. His New Fruits and Vegetables Catalog from a few years ago is extraordinary – you should read it."

  "I will, on your recommendation," Ford said.

  Edison nodded.

  "And I will read this Chronical book as well," Ford promised.

  "Chronica," Edison corrected.

  "Thank you. I will read it, if you can provide a copy written in English to me, and I will give you my honest appraisal if what it describes can be done – and if I can do it."

  "That's all I can ask of you," Edison said.

  ***

  Edison brooded for a while after Ford left. That hadn't gone as well as Edison had hoped. To some extent, Edison himself was to blame – he should have commissioned a translation before attempting to bring the automatic-carriage maker into this. But he wanted a man like Ford locked into this project as soon as possible.

  Edison exhaled heavily. He needed a translator. He also needed a look at the device Heron was already using. But who other than Heron could arrange for that? No one else that Edison knew.

  Heron would soon realize, if he did not already, that Edison had a copy of the Chronica. Heron had primed Edison to obtain a copy – but to give that copy to Heron, not use it to build a time machine. Heron was the only person who could provide Edison with a way of seeing an actual time machine – but how could he get Heron to do that without revealing that he, Edison, had the book and wanted to use it to build a machine? Edison was used to dealing with high finance as well as the one-percent inspiration and ninety-nine-percent perspiration of inventing, but what he needed to do regarding Heron was far trickier.

  Maybe it was time to lie to Heron in whatever way was necessary, then sever their relationship once and for all in the aftermath. If Edison were able to build a time machine, he wouldn't need Heron or anyone like him ever again.

  [New York City, April, 1899 AD]

  Heron had called for an appointment with Flannery. That was ok with Flannery. His deal with Heron, for which Flannery was well compensated, required Flannery to come back once
a month, to spend as long as needed. Flannery loved to think about this, and the part that he wouldn't be missed at all a century later, in his own time, because of the precision of the time travel. Flannery never tired of savoring this.

  Heron entered Flannery's office, closed the door, and sat in front of Flannery's spacious mahogany desk.

  "Let me get right down to business, as you might say," Heron said.

  "Go right ahead," Flannery replied.

  "I have two tasks for you. One relatively minor, the other more important," Heron said.

  "Let's take care of the small-time assignment first," Flannery said.

  Heron nodded. "There is a man who works at the Millennium Club – his name is Cyril Charles – do you know him?"

  "Is he a Brit?" Flannery asked. He loved the Millennium and the forged membership Heron had created for him there. They treated Flannery like royalty.

  "They all seem British to your late 20th century ears," Heron replied. "Some Americans talking right now at the end of the 19th century likely sound British to you, especially if they are upper class."

  "They do," Flannery agreed. "So what do you need from me in regard to this Cyril?"

  "Cyril Charles," Heron said. "He may have become a little suspicious of me in this J. P. Morgan guise. He may have seen me in the wrong place in the club last month. I should have talked to you about it then, but we were focusing on more pressing matters."

  "This happened near the room with the Chairs?" Flannery asked.

  "Yes," Heron.

  "So—"

  "Here's what would work best for this possible problem," Heron said. "First, you'll need to do this not now, but a century from now, in the 1990s. There are too many wheels in motion here in 1899."

  "Too hot, would be my expression," Flannery said.

  Heron nodded. "Therefore, back in your future time, I would like you to detain Cyril Charles – remove him from the Millennium Club, for whatever feigned reason that works for you in your capacity as a police lieutenant."

  Flannery made a face. "Arrest him? Hold him without bail? The police are far more restricted from doing that in 1999 than we are now."

  "Whatever is necessary – and legal, if possible," Heron replied. "But the key is to keep him away from the Millennium Club now, in 1899, where he might see me again as J. P. Morgan – or, worse, see me at the same time as the real J. P. Morgan. Someplace in 1999, or any year in that decade, would be the best protection for me."

  "Ok," Flannery said, "time being the better protection than distance. Got it. And what's the more important task?"

  "I am very concerned about Appleton and obtaining the Chronica. My other . . . friends have either failed to retrieve it from Appleton or are lying to me. And Appleton's health seems to be rapidly failing. I don't how much longer he has to live."

  "I thought his demise was still six months away," Flannery said.

  "October 19, 1899 is the date that is now listed in the encyclopedias, yes," Heron said. "But I don't know what effect all of these manipulations of history, small and large and larger, might have on Appleton's lifespan. Every change in history, however tiny, has the potential to set in motion all kinds of unintended consequences. Your very presence back here may change the date that Appleton expires, for reasons we cannot fathom beforehand. You understand?"

  Flannery made another face. He thought he understood this pretty well, and resented Heron's implication that he did not. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

  Chapter 11

  [New York City, March, 1899 AD]

  Astor requested a breakfast meeting with Sierra and Max the day after they returned from their unsuccessful trip to see Appleton. Nikola Tesla accompanied Astor.

  Tesla began the conversation, when all four were seated.

  "I have been thinking about what you really hope to accomplish with all of this," he said softly but directly to Sierra.

  "What do you think I want?" she replied equally softly and directly.

  Tesla smiled. "You think you want to ensure that Heron does not have a monopoly on how to time travel."

  "Yes, that is a correct rendition of what I want," Sierra said.

  "But have you considered how this might come to be, practically?" Tesla asked. "If Mr. Appleton is successful in arranging for the publication of the Chronica, that will make the knowledge of how to time travel available to everyone, would it not?"

  Sierra nodded.

  "But do you really want a world in which time travel is as commonplace as trains? Or as electric and gasoline powered motor vehicles no doubt soon will be?" Tesla pressed.

  "That would be better than Heron dominating all of human existence – past, present, and future – with his sole possession of time travel, wouldn't it?" Sierra asked, not quite as confident of what she most wanted as she had been just a moment ago.

  "I am not so sure," Tesla said. "There are many evil people in this world – you no doubt have seen more of them in your remarkable travels than I have in my travels confined just to this time. What would happen if some maniac gained access to a time travel Chair?"

  "I—" Sierra began, slowly.

  Max touched her hand. "You make a good point, Nikola – what would be your recommended course of action?"

  Tesla smiled again. "That brings me to my next point."

  "Ok, tell us," Max said.

  "I am thinking we might not even need the Chronica in our hands," he said, "because," he looked at Sierra, "did you read the Chronica when you had it in your hands?"

  "Yes, I did," Sierra said. "My ancient Greek is relatively good."

  "I read it, too," Max said.

  "Very good!" Tesla said to both of them. "And how much of it do you recall? How much of it can you recite?"

  "We don't have eidetic or photographic or whatever you call those kinds of precise and entire memories," Max said.

  "But I do," Tesla said and smiled slightly.

  "You may not need perfect memories," Astor finally spoke, to Sierra and Max. "All you would need is enough recollection about what you read in the Chronica – both of you – to talk about that, extensively, with Nikola."

  "To what end?" Sierra asked.

  "So he could construct a Chair that time traveled, and then the Chronica would be irrelevant to us, and we could change our focus to destroying rather than publishing the Chronica, as a better way of countering Heron, and keeping the world much safer in the process," Astor answered.

  "I doubt that we could recite enough to anyone to build a Chair," Sierra said, "and, from what I have read of the Chronica, the technology does not yet exist in this time to build a Chair, even if we had the book in its entirety right in front of us."

  "He wrote it in the ancient world, did he not?" Astor asked. "Did they have the technology then?"