“Have you been crying?” asked Shiro.
Oslovski shook her head and put on her glasses. “No, not yet. Are you going to make me?”
They smiled with all the sincerity of the second runner-up at a beauty pageant.
“Come on people, let’s hear it.”
Now they exchanged nervous glances. Trevor cleared his throat. “Madga, we . . . We’re in a real dilemma over this project. Or rather, over the use we’re afraid the results of this project will be put to.”
“Frankly, the language of the contract bothers us,” said Shiro. “We’re very concerned about the morality of our position.”
Oslovski was nodding. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this. I can’t say I wasn’t dreading it, either.”
“Don’t you have any feelings about it?” asked Trevor. “Doesn’t it scare you to think what a group of men facing the extinction of their way of life might do with time travel?”
Oslovski made a peaked roof with her fingers and studied the long, natural fingernails. “Before I say anything about my feelings, I have a duty to deliver the party line.”
They groaned almost in harmony and she held up her hand. “Hear me out, please. I’ve got to say this. We are not the first scientists to be confronted with this dilemma. Psychologists even have a name for it—Oppenheimer Syndrome. Science is neutral—neither good nor evil. Only the end uses of science can be viewed through a filter of moral principles or ethics. You know all this; I’m not telling you anything new.”
She got up and began a deliberate stroll around her office. “Party line, folks, is: We are not culpable for the actions of the people who purchase our expertise or the fruits of our research. We make time travel possible and our responsibility ends there. We aren’t accountable for what’s done with it once it leaves this facility.”
“But, dammit Maggie, it doesn’t leave this facility!” Trevor moved to follow her. “Don’t we have anything to say about that? Do we have to be associated with their . . . historic enhancements?”
She stopped to look at him. “Are you suggesting we cast them out into the world with our research notes and wash our hands of the technology? Give them the recipe and make them find their own cooks?”
“We could do that, couldn’t we?” asked George hopefully.
Shiro shook her head. “We were talking about morality, George. Is that any more moral than doing the work ourselves? Given our research, they could find other people to do the work. The world would still be up the tree without a paddle.”
“Creek,” corrected George.
“Fine. Creek, then. I feel we should keep the technology in-house and exert some control over how it’s used. Can’t we do that?”
Oslovski shook her head. “I don’t see how.”
“Okay, Magda,” said Trevor. “You recited the party line. Duty is done. Now, tell us how you feel about this.”
“Very uneasy. Close to crappy, in fact.” She circled back toward her desk. “General Caldwell has been extremely close-mouthed about the reasons the military community has targeted Temporal Research for support. I’m not terribly comfortable with phrases like ‘enhancing history’ or ‘rectifying cultural aberrations.’” She was back at her desk now, and seated herself behind it. “Fact is, folks, we are bound by contract to deliver the ‘fruits of our research,’ as the papers say, to our clients. Fact is, our administration will hold us to that contract regardless of our moral inclinations. Let’s say we default—refuse to continue. Best case, they take the body of our research and use it without our cooperation, maybe even ban us from further work on time travel.”
Shiro gasped. “Could they do something like that?”
“Read the contract, Shiro. It gives them the right to the disposition of Temporal Shift technology.”
“So what’s worst case?” asked Trevor.
“Worst case is, they do all that and bury this whole institute into the bargain.”
“So we’re powerless over our own creation, then. That’s what you’re saying. We can’t do a damned thing.” Trevor’s fists threatened to rip through his pockets. “Jesus, Magda, can’t we do something?”
Oslovski took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You ever hear of a theologian named Reinhold Niebuhr?”
Shiro nodded. George and Trevor shook their heads.
“Niebuhr wrote a prayer that included this passage: ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.’”
“That’s an answer?”
She shook her head. “It’s a . . . a yard stick. If we start with wisdom, maybe we’ll be able to determine whether the situation calls for courage or serenity. Right now, my best advice is accept the situation as it stands and pray for a sign from God.”
They weren’t happy with the advice, she could tell that by their glum faces as they filed out of her office. She felt sorry for them. Hell, she felt sorry for herself. She couldn’t even go holler on their administrator. She and Peter had already been around the proverbial rocket silo with her ethical objections to letting the military lead her research team around a blind curve. He’d reminded her about the sacred neutrality of science.
“Screw the sacred neutrality of science,” she’d said. “Neutral is not a synonym for amoral.”
“You’re a professional,” he’d said. “I know you understand that there are also business ethics involved. Make your people understand. Make them understand that their temporal research would have died on the vine if the Defense Department hadn’t gotten interested in it.”
oOo
“Screw business ethics,” she snarled, as she threw herself onto her living room sofa that evening. “Since when are business ethics more important than human lives? Since when are they supposed to count for more with scientists than moral integrity?”
“Since businessmen started managing scientists?” Her husband poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
She grimaced. “God, yes. Bottom line. Party line. Contractual obligations and scientific neutrality. And I, dutiful parrot that I am, read it right off the cue cards to my Team. You should have heard me, Vance. I actually quoted Reinhold Niebuhr to them.” She sighed and sipped her coffee. “The poor man is probably spinning in his grave.”
Vance smiled. “I would have quoted Galata.”
“Galata?”
“One of my ilk—a psychologist. He said that human beings who fail to adjust their situation will be forced to adjust their attitude toward that situation.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, in the case of your crew, it may mean that they’ll adapt by developing a thicker skin. Maybe focus on the technology itself, on the, ah, scientific esthetic as opposed to the moral ethic.”
“I smell an ‘or’ in there somewhere. Faced with an unchangeable something they either adjust their attitude or what—go crazy?”
He shrugged. “That has been the reaction of some minds to unbendable obstacles.”
Magda shook her head. “No! Dammit, Vance, my Team should not be the ones to have to adjust their attitude! It’s precisely because the military won’t accept and adapt to its dwindling sphere of influence that we’re working on this project.”
“Mm-hm. Precisely. Because of their inability to adapt, they’re funding your life’s dream.”
She glared at him, thinking that there was a definite dark side to being married to the Team shrink. “That’s it, Mr. Psychologist. Make me feel like a self-centered, spiritually bankrupt toad.”
“Everyone’s self-centered, Mags. It’s a perception we learn to adjust as we realize the universe does not revolve around us.”
“Only some of us don’t adjust very well.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. At least you realize there’s a dilemma.”
oOo
That was not enough consolation to give Magda Oslovski a good night’s sleep. She arrived at work feelin
g limp and run down. A glance at the faces of her senior staff revealed matching sets of dark circles under their eyes. Louis Manyfeather and Vahid Khadivian looked more well-rested, but they were unusually quiet as they went about readying Toto for his morning outing. Judy Walsh was almost surly.
Oslovski gathered Haley, Tsubaki and Wu for a review of the previous day’s data. They were business-like (she was beginning to hate that word) and muted, answering questions in monosyllables and sharing sullen glances. They were on their way down to the O.R. when she was paged to take a phone call from Washington. Three pairs of eyes assaulted her.
She held them off with a shake of her head. “I’ll handle this,” she said.
“Handle it, how?” asked Trevor.
She grimaced and crossed her fingers. “With wisdom, I hope.”
It was Caldwell, of course, wanting an unofficial report in anticipation of the official one he’d receive along with the other Chiefs the next week.
Oslovski licked suddenly dry lips. “We’re . . . we’re doing very well here, General. In fact, we . . . we’ve successfully completed Phase Three of the project.” She was glad she had the video link off and he couldn’t see her face.
“Phase Three? Ah, yes! That would be the short jumps into the past.”
“Yes. We sent Toto—the Temporal unit—back in time in increments from one hour to one year and successfully retrieved it. After a thorough study of the data we included a compartmented cage containing several varieties of insects. They survived and we were then able to send mice.”
“Which also survived?”
“Yes, General. Although we’re still monitoring them for side effects. There did seem to be some disorientation. You can never be too careful with live animals.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “Then you haven’t sent a human being anywhere yet.”
“Of course not. That would be premature. Of course, it’s only a matter of time.”
“If you need a volunteer—”
“No, General. We do not. It’s too early.”
“Hmmm. So the next Phase, then—Phase Four—that’s where you’ll shoot for longer backward jumps?”
“Yes. We’ll lengthen both our stay and our range. It should be . . . exciting.” (It would have been if you weren’t footing the bill, she thought.)
“How far back?”
“Uh, we, um, had plans to attempt a jump of several decades.”
“That’s excellent, Dr. Oslovski. That is precisely the time period we’re interested in for our first experiment. We need to know as soon as you can send a man back seventy-two years and put him wherever we want him.”
“Well, spatial displacement is part of the—” She’d almost said next. “Part of Phase Five.”
“Excellent. Is there any chance you’ll be at that level by next Monday?”
“Uh, there is a slim possibility.”
“Outstanding. Then I’m going to give you a target, Doctor. A time and a place to shoot for: April 21, 1992, New York City, World Convention Center, Main Hall, Upper Deck.”
Oslovski frowned. “Is there a particular reason for that target? Or is that something I’m not permitted to know?”
“I can only reveal the general nature of the mission, Doctor. There was a major snafu in New York in ’92. We want to . . . set it right.”
“Sounds . . . earthshaking.”
“Oh, it will be.” There was more than a little pride in that statement.
Oslovski was online to the Data Library within seconds of breaking the connection with Caldwell. She instituted a search for significant events connected with the date he’d given, knowing full well what she was going to find.
“First World Congress,” returned the computer in well-modulated tones.
“Location.”
“World Convention Center, New York.”
Oslovski rolled her eyes. “Just this once, I couldn’t be wrong?”
The computer didn’t respond.
“Um, detail, please. Significant occurrences connected with the World Congress.”
“Admittance to Euro-Commonwealth of the Soviet Democratic Republic of the Russias, Poland, Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Rumania. Euro-American Alliance formed, including broad-based arms agreement and Demilitarization Pact. Continue?”
“Demilitarization Pact—didn’t that have a huge impact on the military establishment?”
“Affirmative. The Pact formalized the removal of American forces from Northern Europe and was the beginning of the ongoing dismantling and consolidating of the super-powers’ armed forces. The Pact was signed on the second day of the World Congress by the Presidents George Bush and Mikhail Gorbachev.”
Was that the snafu? The signing of the Pact? “Library, were there any negative occurrences at the conference? Any . . . scandals, things of that nature?”
“Affirmative. On the first day of the Congress, an attempt was made to assassinate President Gorbachev. It was foiled by the United Nations Guard.”
Oslovski felt a chilly fist grasp her stomach. “Detail,” she ordered.
“The attempt was made during a televised speech. The assassin was discovered as he was preparing to fire. The shot went wild. No one was injured. The President was escorted to safety. However, the assassin was shot while trying to escape. Members of the U.N. Guard denied responsibility for the shooting and a cursory examination revealed that the bullet came from a variety of long-range weapon not used by the U.N. forces. The assassin’s body was destroyed in a fire before a complete autopsy could be performed. Arson was suspected. Destruction was complete.”
“No teeth?”
“Specify.”
“Weren’t the assassin’s teeth found? Couldn’t they check dental records?”
“Negative. The assassin was apparently wearing a dental plate made of meltable plastic. Analysis of the residue yielded no information. Identification was never made.”
Oslovski sat quietly, stunned. Was that it? Was that the General’s “snafu”? Two possibilities occurred to her simultaneously. One was that the military meant to keep the assassin from being killed so the conspirators could be discovered. That was laudable. But since President Gorbachev had survived, what was the point at this stage in history?
The other possibility . . .
“Library. Ramifications of attempt on Gorbachev’s life—analyze.”
“The success of the U.N. Guard in protecting the President forestalled a major socio-political disaster. The United Nation’s position in the Congress and subsequent conferences was strengthened and Soviet-American relations cemented. Both the U.S. and U.S.S.R. expressed outrage at the destruction of the assassin’s body, which was in the custody of a Naval hospital. The investigation that followed was a joint Russo-American effort.”
“Further analysis: Impact of these events on the role of the U.S. military in the world sphere.”
“The handling of the assassination attempt by the U.N. forces and the subsequent charges of negligence brought against certain Naval personnel was a factor in diminishing regard for the military establishment. The ineffectiveness of the military to handle the situation with Gorbachev made the accords signed by U.S. and Soviet leaders regarding military decommissions much more tolerable to the American people. Political figures who had stood behind a strong military abdicated that position faced with what was perceived as a scandal.”
Oslovski frowned. “Question: At the time the assassination attempt was made, had either Gorbachev or Bush signed any agreements significantly affecting the military?”
“Negative. As previously stated, the attempt took place on the first day of the conference at precisely 11:00 a.m.”
Oslovski had one last question—one she was more than a little afraid to ask. “Was . . . was the military in any way . . . implicated in the assassination attempt, or was it just a question of negligence?”
“There were no formal charges made, although there was some speculation that the situation in
volved more than negligence. The assignments for security were handled directly by a committee made up of high-ranking military officers.”
Oslovski sank back into her chair. This has to be wrong, she thought. I have to be wrong. This can’t be what it looks like.
It was inconceivable that intelligent human beings could be capable of something so impossibly evil as attempting to kill, not just a man, not just a country’s leader, but World Peace.
She got up and went down to O.R., her brain ticking like a jelly-filled time bomb. The Team was waiting—not very patiently—and nearly mugged her when she came through the door. She waved them down.
“Yes, it was Caldwell. We . . . we have things to discuss—after we start Phase Five.”
Trevor made an exasperated sound. “Why? Why can’t we talk now?”
“Because … because I need to launder my brain. I need to be a scientist for a while.” (And because I’m half hoping Phase Five will flat out fail and buy us some more time.)
“Places, everyone.”
They went without argument, slid into their duties and performed them flawlessly. Toto was sent backward in time to several sets of spatial coordinates that had verifiable landmarks. The experiment was a complete success. That generated some excitement, but not nearly what it should have.
At 1:00 p.m., Magda Oslovski looked over the body of data, gritted her teeth and called a staff meeting.
“As some of you know, I talked with General Caldwell this morning,” she told the assembled Team. He and the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be here in six days to see what progress we’ve made on Project Hourglass.”
“We’ve made wonderful progress!” enthused Vahid Khadivian. “Did you tell him that?”
Everyone else glanced at Khadivian, glanced at Oslovsky, then studied their blank video displays.
Oslovski started to take off her glasses, then changed her mind. She had to be able to read them accurately now.
All the Colors of Time Page 2
