"He needs rest," Antisthenes said to the men.
They nodded.
"I know where to take him," Antisthenes said.
The men nodded again. "Lead the way."
* * *
[New York City, 2061 AD]
Sierra briefed Socrates on likely arrival formalities at the Greater La Guardia Airport. "Guards may want to look at our passports -- these wafers -- again, before they let us leave the port. But I do not expect any problem - if the wafers worked in Athens, they should work here."
They did.
Socrates and Sierra walked out into a grim, gray, New York afternoon. Socrates shivered in the down coat Sierra had bought for him in an airport shop. She had noticed the temperature on the big display: 36 degrees F. Now she wished she had purchased a coat for herself, too. The best she could do now was hunch up her shoulders and blow on her hands.
"It is cold in your world," Socrates said.
"It can be hot or cold in New York this time of year," Sierra replied.
She ushered Socrates into a cab. It said "neo-primitive" on the door -- it had a human driver. "The Millennium Club, in Manhattan," she told him. "You know where that is?"
"You bet I do." He had wavy red hair, and looked to be about thirty.
"Good." Sierra leaned back in the seat, and encouraged Socrates to do the same.
"Another horseless chariot," the philosopher remarked quietly, "but at least this one has a charioteer."
"You and your friend come a long way?" The driver apparently heard enough of Socrates to pick up the foreign language.
"Yeah. Greece," Sierra replied, in English.
"Greece? Good for Greece! I saw the complete replay of the Jupiter rendezvous last week! I approve! We need some Europeans out there! We can't leave the outer planets completely to the Chinese!"
Sierra didn't know how to answer. Fortunately the driver was speaking in English, so Socrates had no idea what he was saying.
"What, you don't know what I'm talking about?" the driver continued. "You been living under a rock somewhere?"
"Much deeper than that," Sierra said.
The driver laughed.
Sierra liked that a lot better than what he was saying.
There had been no Greek or European space expedition to Jupiter in 2042, though the Chinese were all over the solar system, and had been for years. For a moment, Sierra worried that maybe something she had done, or would be doing, or was doing right now, would change history. She had hoped to bring Socrates back to 2042. They had arrived, instead, in 2061. What possible impact could that have on the settlement of outer space? None that she could fathom.... But who could really say just what impact this rescue of Socrates might have, on anything and everything, if Socrates was wrong about his diagnosis and he lived... Which Sierra fervently hoped would somehow happen...
But, of course, Sierra had known all along that any rescue of Socrates was playing with serious fire. She had always expected Socrates to live if rescued. What was different now was Socrates' insistence that he would soon die...
"We are in the sky again," Socrates said. "Very beautiful."
There were actually high over the East River, on the RFK-4 Bridge, on which a few wet, glistening snowflakes had begun to land...
"Yes," Sierra replied.
* * *
[Athens, 399 BC]
"I have walked this path between Piraeus and Athens many times," Antisthenes told his men, as they neared their destination. "I would have walked ten times that distance to hear the words of Socrates!" His eyes glazed with emotion. "Our world will be a poorer place without him!"
They approached the house. Antisthenes looked at Alcibiades, who was being carried in a stretcher by the two men. He looked no worse. Antisthenes squeezed Alcibiades' hand. He smiled back, weakly, but his eyes remained closed.
"I must go into the house, to make sure it is safe," Antisthenes told the men. "Alcibiades should stay here, outside, with you." He entered the house.
"I wonder what is in that house?" one of the men asked the other.
Alcibiades stirred. "Chairs...."
Antisthenes emerged from the house. "It is empty. Just two chairs, as Alcibiades said." He turned to Alcibiades. "Can you walk?"
Alcibiades nodded, and shakily stood.
Antisthenes put his arm around him for support. "Your wound needs to be treated and dressed."
"I know," Alcibiades replied. "Do not worry -- it will be. Help me inside."
Antisthenes hesitated.
"We need to go inside now," Alcibiades said. "Trust me."
Antisthenes relented. "Stand guard here," he told the two men, "until we return."
Alcibiades and Antisthenes entered the house. "Help me sit in that chair," Alcibiades asked. "I am going someplace safe," he continued, "where, according to Ampharete, they have cures that rival the gods'." Antisthenes placed him in a chair. Alcibiades examined the controls and coughed. "She showed me how to control this," he mumbled to himself. He spoke to Antisthenes. "You will need to go outside now. If you come back into the house in a few minutes, you will see that I have vanished--"
Antisthenes started to object.
Alcibiades looked him in eye. "Please. You must go now, and help our men against Heron."
"And the fate of Socrates? What Heron told me in the prison?" Antisthenes struggled, again, with his decision.
"I will see to that," Alcibiades replied. "I will return if I can."
"You must also tell no one else about this house, tell no one about the Chairs in this house," Alcibiades pleaded.
"Our men outside--"
"I know. They have seen this house, of course. Tell them I showed you herbs, remedies, within. Tell them you treated me, and I am resting, and my last command was that you must pursue Heron, now, before he vanishes forever."
"Will I ever see you again?"
"I do not know," Alcibiades said, truthfully.
Antisthenes spoke huskily. "So I may lose two mentors this one unnatural night."
* * *
[New York City, 2061 AD]
The cab pulled up to the Millennium Club on 49th Street. Sierra put her wafer in the slot on the back of the driver's seat. The fare would be deducted from whatever account Heron had attached to these wafers. This transaction would probably therefore also tell Heron exactly where and when they were. But Heron would soon know that, anyway, if Sierra succeeded in getting upstairs with Socrates and using the chairs in the Club... Heron's chairs, Heron's wafers ... Every damn thing in this time-travel business was Heron's. Including all the advantages.
But what could Sierra do about it? She was dependent upon Heron's tell-tale equipment, and that meant she could keep no secrets from Heron. But who knew -- maybe Heron posed no threat to them now, if he ever had.... Sierra would just have to prevail, whatever the case.... "Forty percent," she spoke the amount of the tip to the fare slot. A little screen lit its acknowledgement, and her wafer was ejected.
"Thank you," the redhead said, and rewarded Socrates and Sierra with a big smile. They climbed out and he sped away.
The snow had thickened, and was beginning to stick on the sidewalk in front of the Club. Socrates took in the whiteness, wide-eyed. Sierra had no idea if it ever snowed in ancient Greece. She opened the big front door of the Millennium Club for Socrates. She breathed gratefully and deeply of its familiar smell. A hallman approached. He was friendly, but not familiar.
"I'm Sierra Waters, and this is my associate, Socrates. We're not members. But I believe Thomas O'Leary or Samuel Goldshine would know us, and would be happy to see us."
The hallman nodded, courteously. "It has been a while since you have been to the Club, Miss?"
"... Yes ..."
"Yes, well, I'm afraid that Professor Goldshine passed away, about five years ago. It was quite a loss, quite a loss."
"I..." Sierra fought off thinking about Goldshine, getting caught in the sadness... She had to focus on Socrates--
&nbs
p; "But Cyril Charles said to expect you. Shall I notify him you are here?"
"...Yes, please."
"Shouldn't be more than a few minutes," the hallman said. "If you would have a seat..." He gestured to the small vestibule on the right.
* * *
[Athens, 2061 AD]
Alcibiades knew only that his chair was headed for the future. He had seen that specific years were beyond navigating in this chair. If Ampharete and Socrates had taken chairs whose courses were similarly pre-set, Alcibiades thought there was a chance they might all meet in the future.
The bubble receded. He saw three other chairs, in addition to his. Ampharete and Socrates and ... Heron's? He hoped not.
This room around him was unrecognizable. But what was the year?
The year was less important than getting help for his wound, Alcibiades realized. Ampharete had told him, more than once, that her future had physicians who could bring the recently deceased back to life. His wound was certainly not as grievous. But how to summon those physicians?
He slowly climbed out of the chair. He clutched his knife and looked around. He saw a door. He walked towards it and pressed his free hand against his side. He knew he had lost blood. His legs felt weak.
He pushed and pulled on the door until it opened. He staggered out. This room was empty, as well. Odd-looking colored little lights glimmered on a square on the wall....
A door on the far side of the room opened. The unexpected light momentarily blinded Alcibiades. He dropped his knife and sank to his knees.
A man approached and looked down at him through the haze.
"My God! Alcibiades, is that you? What are you doing here?"
Alcibiades smiled weakly. "Appleton ... help me." And he passed out on the floor.
* * *
[New York City, 2061 AD]
Cyril Charles walked into the vestibule of the Millennium Club a few moments later and introduced himself.
Sierra rose to meet him, as did Socrates.
"Sierra Waters," Charles said, crisply. "Good to see you."
"You know me?"
Charles nodded. "We have already met, more than once, most recently just nineteen years ago, but you of course would not recall. I'm sure you'll understand why. Coincidentally, I did just yesterday have lunch with William Henry Appleton, and he spoke quite highly of you. In fact, he asked me to give you his best regards, the next time you and I met.... Funny how time works -- I could not be sure it would be so soon."
"Is ... Mr. Appleton here?"
Charles smiled, knowingly. "Alas, no. We had lunch both here and very far from here, yesterday, as you no doubt can appreciate. And I guess there's not too much that is coincidental in this business in which we now are engaged, as you also surely can appreciate."
"I can," Sierra said. "So you ... move around."
"Indeed," Charles replied. "The library needs considerable tending ... over time..." He looked at Socrates, and spoke in classic Greek. "And you, Sir, are Socrates. We had the honor of meeting."
"Oh, sorry," Sierra said. "I should have introduced you--"
"No, no, we have already met, as well. You see ... never mind, no need to go into that now. You grasp what I'm saying...." Charles turned from Sierra to Socrates, and beamed. "And you come from somewhere very far from here, too. I hope you had a pleasant trip."
Socrates nodded.
"Good," Charles said, still in Greek. "Let us go up the stairs, then, and have a drink."
The three sat at a small, mahogany table. Charles extolled the date wine to Socrates. The philosopher's eyes lit up. "Yes," he said. The barman arrived. Charles ordered a glass of the wine for Socrates and a single-malt scotch for himself. Sierra went for ginger tea with triple caffeine.
"We cannot stay here too long," Sierra said to Charles, in English.
"Yes, I know," Charles replied. His eyes were fixed on Socrates, and his mouth was open. "What can I say to him? One of the greatest minds in history! I'll always be at a loss! I try to be calm about it, but it's unimaginable!" He smiled again at Socrates...
"Have you met Alcibiades?" Socrates asked.
"No...," Charles said, surprised at the question.
Sierra started to explain--
"There is no need to tell me," Charles said. "We should discuss only unimportant matters now, and you should leave soon. You understand?"
"Because we will see you again in a little while, nineteen years in the past," Sierra said.
Charles nodded.
This part of the conversation had been in Greek, and Socrates had presumably understood. He said, gravely, to Sierra: "We must warn your friend about Heron."
Sierra considered. She wasn't sure how much she could confide in Charles. He claimed to be on friendly terms with Appleton, and obviously knew about the chairs and used them .... But that could mean he was a friend of Heron, too...
Still ... "You know that the chairs were designed by Heron of Alexandria?" Sierra asked.
"Yes," Charles replied.
"Do you know him?"
"Have we met? No." Charles looked uncomfortable. "We really should not be talking about this, as I've been trying to explain--"
"Yes, but I want you to know that he may be using these chairs for bad purposes," Sierra responded. "I will not say any more. But let that possibility ... guide you."
The drinks arrived.
Charles nodded at the barman, Sierra and Socrates, and gulped his scotch. "I am sorry to be so difficult about this, but Thomas warned me about acquiring too much information--"
Sierra nodded her understanding.
"Who is Thomas?" Socrates asked.
* * *
[Athens, 2061 AD]
Appleton had been in 2061 long enough to know how to summon immediate medical aid. "I saw an advertisement on a big screen in the city," he said to himself. "They apparently give free medical treatment in this era -- quite humane!" Appleton removed his jacket, and placed it under Alcibiades' head. Socrates' beloved student moaned. Appleton's face creased in thought. "Good thing I decided to take a little stroll in this future before I returned home," he said to himself and Alcibiades, who was beginning to come to. "After all, at my age, I am almost certain not to get another chance! But I did not expect to find you here.... I wonder if you will need proper identification to receive medical treatment? They seem very focused on proof of identity in this twenty-first century."
Alcibiades opened his eyes and tried to stand.
"No, no," Appleton said. "You stay here.... I know how to summon a carriage. There is a device in the outer room." Appleton first went to the clothing bin and retrieved two identity wafers. Then he went to a screen in the main room of the restaurant. "Let's see," he mumbled, and inserted one of the wafers. "Ah yes, press here for English.... press here for medical assistance.... Yes," he spoke up, "we require immediate assistance, please."
"Is this a medical emergency?" a female contralto voice inquired.
"Yes, it is. We're located at--"
"We can see your location. Is the injured party mobile?"
"Yes, I believe he is--"
"A car will be in front of your location in six minutes."
Appleton and Alcibiades bundled into a cab twenty minutes later. "Estimated arrival time at Hippocrates Medical Center 18 minutes," the cab voice said.
* * *
[New York City, 2061]
Charles, Sierra, and Socrates finished their drinks and declined the barman's offer of another round.
Charles accompanied Socrates to the restroom, and gave the philosopher a quick primer on the facilities.
"A fine marble palace!" Socrates cried out happily, from inside a closed stall. "If we had time, I would bathe my tired feet!"
The two rejoined Sierra outside, and all three made their way up the wide staircase to the libraries above. Charles pointed out the Greek holdings to Socrates. "Many of your words are here."
Socrates approached the book case. "May I see one?"
Sierra nodded.
Charles took a book off the shelf. He looked at it, tenderly, as if his very regard might somehow disturb or soil it. He gave it to Socrates.
Sierra and Charles watched, barely breathing.
Socrates opened the book with exceeding care, as if he were unbating a trap ... He turned the pages slowly ... Tears welled in his eyes...
He turned to Sierra and Charles. "The script is different. Very difficult for me to read--"
"Oh, I can translate," Charles began, and then laughed at himself and the absurdity of translating Greek to Socrates.
"No, I can understand enough," Socrates said. "Men spend their lives reading this? It would take many more lives than one to read all of this." His hands swept around the library.
"Yes," Charles replied.
"A wrong way to spend a life!" Socrates admonished. "You might as well crawl into a grave, and make love to the corpse! My words -- these words -- are no longer alive. They are ghosts, markers, carvings of what I once said ... Far better for men to spend their time talking to other men."
"But you have not been alive to talk to," Sierra said, gently, "not for nearly 2500 years. Until now."
"But there are no doubt others alive, worthy of serious conversation," Socrates replied. "Surely there are words spoken that are more important than the words contained in these strange, square scrolls..."
"When men speak of important matters," Charles said, almost in a whisper, "they often speak of these very words by you in these books."
"Come, let us proceed to the chairs," Sierra said.
* * *
[Athens, 2061 AD]
A friendly young doctor in the Hippocrates Medical Center walked down the hall to see Appleton. "Mr. Cibiades will be just fine," she said, in almost perfect English. "The wound is no problem. And with a day or two rest here, the infection will be under control. The bacterium is so classic it's one for the textbooks -- but he should be just fine."
"Thank you," Appleton responded.
"You're very welcome," the doctor replied. "Do you happen to know how he managed to get that wound with that infection? Well, I guess it's not surprising, here in Mother Athens, with all of those ancient monuments. Who knows what spores they have hiding in those cracks, right?"
The Plot to Save Socrates (Sierra Waters Book 1) Page 26
