The Sphere: A Journey In Time (3 page)

"It's understandable. I know this mission was particularly personal to you." I heard the snip of the scissors and wondered briefly if saying the wrong thing would ever get them driven into my skull. There were stories of people disappearing from the complex, but I usually waved those off as rumors.

"Frankly, I didn't care about the outcome either way. I don't think it’ll affect the way anyone thinks about his work." I paused and realized that it would still fail to be true for some people. "Or at least, it shouldn't." A bit of tension crept into me and I tried to push it away. I knew the conversations that would be surfacing amongst the higher ups and the planters about what my discovery meant. In here though, I still had some time to keep myself removed from that.
Enjoy your recovery
, I told myself. "Really it was just so amazing to be able to meet such a brilliant man. Though I admit, it takes away some of the mysticism about him as well. I half expected his normal speech to be rhyming couplets!" I laughed out loud and realized it made my head jerk slightly. "Oops, sorry."

"No harm.” She repositioned my head firmly. “I have to admit I’m jealous. I would've loved to meet him as well."

I didn't know how to respond to this. Maybe someday you will? Not likely. The regulations put in place were rather immobilizing. It seemed a shame to have such an awesome technology and not be able to share it with the whole world, but the consequences of it getting out to the general public or other countries could be disastrous. I was told we had a hard enough time convincing the military it wasn't worth the risk for them to try and use it. "Have you ever thought about becoming a librarian?"

Vanessa had moved on to blow-drying my hair, but paused it for a moment to respond. "Nope. I've no desire to go through what you have to go through upon your return. I'm not sure the vomiting and doctor visits are worth it."

I smiled. After my first two trips I had started to feel the same way. I was sent back into the recent past to check on the actions of some people I had never heard of. It all seemed so pointless to me at the time. I couldn't imagine who would find the discoveries I had made important, but someone must have wanted it done. So after two trips to see people completely unknown to me doing terribly unimpressive things, I was beginning to think I had made a mistake transferring to this lab. I had been promised exciting and important work with the transfer. At the time I was pursued they couldn't tell me exactly what I would be doing, but having worked on classified projects in the past I was used to this idea and accepting of it.

I knew classified projects usually turned out to be more dull than the mystery shrouding them would imply, but something about this offer had intrigued me. It might've been the directions in the application to list every skill, no matter how irrelevant it seemed. They even broke it down into sections to help guide us. To this day, I have no idea how being able to play a bagpipe could be relevant to this line of work, but things like my scuba certification, community theater work and horseback riding ability now made sense. The idea that a hobby would be more relevant to my new job than my engineering background was intriguing. At the time I didn’t know that was what they looked for frequently in librarian candidates. They wanted someone who showed a high level of intelligence and would learn quickly but could also fool strangers into thinking they belonged in whatever time period they happened to be in.

Finally after the first two, I had earned their trust well enough to go on a simple but rather important mission. I was sent to Egypt in 2572 BC to see a few days of the construction of the Great Pyramid of Khufu. I went through hell to be made to look like someone who would fit in and not be mistaken for a slave just in case I was spotted. The skin tinting alone took three hours to accomplish and another two to get me back to my normal, pasty, Irish white when I returned. It was worth it as I spent three of the most memorable days of my life hiding in solitude in the desert with a pair of binoculars, and some food and hydration packs, watching the great stones be moved into place. It was the most surreal thing I had ever experienced and definitely not something I would forget in my lifetime. To see what humans could accomplish first hand with such primitive tools was awe-inspiring. After that I realized there would be missions that I would suffer almost any method of torture to be a part of. Just like this most recent one.

"All done here." Vanessa gave me a smile and a quick hug as I stood up. "Good luck."

I stepped over to the dressing area and exchanged my soft fuzzy robe for a clean purple tunic and shoes. The clothing in this place made me feel like I was in some sort of commune. I supposed that was not completely untrue. At least they weren't white like the aides wore. The starkness of the walls of the chambers gave it such a sterile feel; it was nice to have a bit of color in at least one aspect of our lives.

I stepped out into the hallway and was greeted by my boss, Jim. "You've just pissed off a lot of people, Addy."

I made no attempt to hide the mischievousness behind the grin I returned.

Chapter 3

Jim started off down the brilliant hallway and I fell into step next to him. We passed by several unmarked white doors before I finally spoke. "I don't know why everyone thought he was being so literal about it. It's not like the witches or fairies in his plays are real." It occurred to me as the words came out of my mouth, that witches and fairies might not be real, but witchcraft was definitely considered real in Shakespeare’s time. Mary was a perfect example of that belief in mysticism. Perhaps my argument was not that valid after all.

Jim stopped to open a door for me, then followed me in. A small round table was set with my meal and his. Though it felt like mid-afternoon for me, it was only mid-morning. Opposite my duck and salad was a tea pot and some small pastries. In addition to the table there were a couple sets of arm chairs dotting the room. I had been in this room many times, it was another part of the debriefing process. A more formalized interview, given while the experience was still fresh in the librarian’s mind, but after they had a chance to adjust to the time shift and think more clearly.

I sat myself at the table and eagerly dove into my salad. Jim sat across from me and watched for a moment. "Well, of course not,” he said. “But while people love to ascribe meanings to things they know can't be real, they're equally enamored with reading into literature. Finding symbolism in places where none was intended."

I held a floogberry in my mouth for a moment, my tongue savoring the juiciness. Stratford was not known for its fruit. "I guess that's part of the fun. Trying to determine who's right. And we're killing that. That opportunity for speculation."

"It was a dead topic anyway.” Jim poured himself a cup of tea and pushed the small plate of pastries away before settling back in his seat. “It's been decades now since homosexuality has been the least bit scandalous. Even if people take this as absolute proof, which they probably won't, the most it will amount to is an 'oh well' in the minds of the scholars who were looking for proof."

"It's not absolute proof. It merely refutes one of the most widely cited examples that supported the case that he was gay. It's not like I found him in bed with the footman." The tension crept back into my shoulders. It was easier to dismiss now that I was actually in Jim's presence. He was my advocate and I thought of him also as my protector. I couldn't be faulted for anything. I did my job. He was right anyway; it was largely a dead topic. "So I haven't really proven anything, just taken away a bit of their argument. In the end, this isn’t over."

"It might be for us. Regardless of what it does or does not prove, it's a question that has been answered. And it was a fairly important point of argument in its day. Learning the meaning behind such a hotly contested sonnet will not go unnoticed. The task now is to determine if we continue along this line or let it go."

"That makes it sound like this was a pointless mission." I frowned down at my salad.

"Are you sorry you went?"

"Of course not, but that's hardly the point. You know I was thrilled about the chance to meet Shakespeare." A pang of guilt hit me. Perhaps I had pushed to go more than I should have. In the grand scheme of things, it really was no longer an issue. "But was it worth it?"

"That depends on if it was worth it for you. Look, we've all had our pet projects that we pushed extra hard to see through. It's impossible to come up with a mission that will have meaning to every single person in the country."

I tried to figure out an example to refute that. Given the general apathy of the majority of the population, I couldn’t. Some people cared about politics, some people cared about literature and art. Some people cared about nothing but themselves. With all the advancements of technology over the past fifty years, life had become a piece of cake. Without the drive to better their situation, most people merely floated from day to day. What difference did it make to them how they got there?

Jim had not spoken while my mind wandered and I looked up, realizing he had been staring at me. He gazed at me over the lip of his tea cup as he took another sip. "So?"

"So what?"

He put the cup down and set his gaze on me again before continuing. "Was it worth it for you? The weeks of preparation, months of living someone else's life, the recovery?"

A grin spread over my face as I remembered the desire to stay in Stratford. "Absolutely."

"Then I declare a success. You got a question answered and came back without regret. It's worth feeding a pet project every now and then if it keeps you a librarian." A proud smile crossed his face. "And one of our best at that."

I rolled my eyes at his compliment and relaxed again. I had heard of a few missions that were complete failures, but so far I always managed to accomplish my objective. "Do you know what the planters are leaning towards?"

"Of course not. You've been back for less than an hour. And the further back in time a mission takes place, the more opportunities in time they have to plant the evidence. And you were gone for a long time. Knowing your obsessive note taking habits they're still probably trying to read through your journal."

If nothing else, I had given them real insight into the man's everyday life. I nearly dropped my fork. It seemed so obvious all of a sudden. "They’ll plant my journal."

"It's likely. I've only read a small amount of it, but it's a highly plausible scenario."

Of course it was. More and more people were learning to read and write in that time period. I had told William myself about my father wanting me to know how. The details of my visit were all there, my interactions with him. I would just have to expand it out a bit; make it less scientific observation and more girlish whimsy. Then add the conversation that proved that the 20th sonnett was not about a man he loved, but his son. Then the planters could take it back in time, perhaps with a note to give it to someone in the household. One of the daughters, maybe. I tried to quell my excitement. They wouldn’t allow further interaction with the family, I was sure. Too many years for a minor change in history to ripple outward.

Jim lifted his hand to touch the implant in his ear. It was an obsolete gesture, the speaker was internal to his brain and there were no outer controls to interact with. He felt it was considerate to give people around him a visual indication that he was at least momentarily going to be distracted by whatever he was hearing. He gave me a somewhat patronizing look and set his hand back down on the table. "Sounds like you're right. They've transcribed the journal, the file's already on your server. Embellish and expand beyond your departure point. Looks like you'll need to come up with a reason for your disappearance from Stratford after all to add to the journal. They’ll find an antique book dealer’s store to plant it in and provide an anonymous tip to a collector to go find it.”

“Someone discovers the long-lost journal of a maid in Shakespeare’s household? That’ll get some attention.”

“You've got a week to rework the journal."

"A week is way more than I'll need to-".

He didn't bother letting me finish my protest. "It's been five months, Addy. This is the longest anyone has been gone and it's going to be a while before you're let out again. Relax. Take your time."

I frowned and inwardly sulked. I was feeling fine, I saw no need to be overly cautious. "How long?"

"We're thinking about sending you on a two-week vacation after you finish the report."

I tried to not show that I was seething on the inside. "And then?"

"And then we'll reevaluate how you're doing."

I snatched my wine glass a little too violently and slumped back into my chair to pout. It would be at least three weeks before I even knew what my next assignment might be. And who knows how many weeks prepping for that. That meant at least a month before I could go on another mission. I scowled at the wine in my glass.

"Don't pout, Addy."

I glared at Jim from the rim of my glass, drained it and placed it back on the table. It was mostly for show. For the past five months, I had been drinking bad, high alcohol content wine and my tolerance had increased dramatically. I crossed my arms and continued to glare at him. He picked up the bottle and refilled my glass for me. I contemplated downing that one rather quickly as well.

Jim spoke again before I could try. "Think of it this way, there has to be something you've been wanting to do, that you haven't had time to take care of."

It was true. I had not taken a vacation in a long time. I picked up my wine glass and thought about it again. I realized I had not taken a vacation since I started here a few years ago. When I really thought about it, aside from my missions, I had not left this place since I started. I wasn’t even sure where I would be allowed to go. "Maybe." I never really thought I needed time off. I enjoyed my work learning about cultures from long ago, the dialect lessons, and the travel. What would I do with two weeks to myself? "Where do I get to go for vacation?" I was fairly certain they did not trust me enough to let me interact with the normal world in an uncontrolled environment.

"We have an island in the Atlantic. It’s fully staffed with trustworthy people."

"You've been there?"

"I went when you were on an assignment once. Lovely spot. Learned to fence."

"Still. Two weeks?"

"You've been gone five months.” He emphasized the last two words as though I wasn’t aware of the passage of time. “For us only a week has passed since you left. It's important for you to spend some time in this time."

I took a hefty sip from my glass, becoming slightly less peeved about the situation. "How about a compromise: I'll rewrite the journal during my two weeks away."

"No." His response was immediate. I knew Jim well enough to know when there was no compromise to be had. I also knew he had my best interests at heart. Jim is the closest thing I had to a father since mine died when I was a young girl. Though I enjoyed the banter, we both knew I would do whatever he wanted. I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

"Fine." I stood up roughly from the table and stalked towards the door like a petulant child.

"You can't start working on the journal until tomorrow," he said.

I stopped dead in my tracks. The crafty bastard knew me too well. I turned and walked back to the table. "Fine." I snatched the still half full glass and bottle and took another swallow on my way out of the room. I paused at the door, "I want a hot fudge brownie sundae for dessert."

As the door slid closed behind me, I heard Jim confirm something about Teddy and my room.

I started down the hall towards the exit. The few people I passed nodded in acknowledgement or welcomed me back. I recognized most of them but could not name them. Teddy met me shortly before the entrance to the living dome. I could see the welcoming, colorful foliage beyond the door at the end of the plain white hall.  "Your sundae is on your coffee table, Miss MacDuff. Best not delay your return, the ice cream will melt."

"You're a saint, Teddy."

"My pleasure, Miss MacDuff."

I stepped through the glass door at the end of the hall and took a deep breath. Though the dome was completely enclosed, the trees and plants provided plenty of fresh air and floral scents. It was a welcome change from the five months of mild body stench and horses, followed by the stale recirculated air of the mission return chambers. I walked over to the Japanese style garden and placed my wine glass and bottle on a bench. I said to the general air, "Leave it," and continued on toward my apartment. The door parted before me, and I barely glanced at the interior as I grabbed my sundae and headed back to the pond.

My wine was still on the bench. I sat down next to it and stared at the water in the fountain for a few minutes. My brain felt sort of fuzzy. Perhaps it would be a good idea to just relax for the rest of the day, work on readjusting my internal clock to the present time. I rarely had any down time on my mission, just the few minutes before I went to sleep every night to write in my journal. Now that I was back I hardly knew what to do with myself. My instinct had been honed to clean and tend to things whenever possible. Back here, almost everything was done for me.