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Awe-Struck E-Books
www.awe-struck.net
Copyright ©2007 by Susanne Marie Knight
First published in 2007, 2007
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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-Dedication-
To my mother, “Lady” Zeena,
And in loving memory of my father, “Sir” Rodney
Chapter One
Doctor Axel Rhinehart sat behind his antique wooden desk and sighed at the mess of papers in front of him. Agitation rumbled through his stomach.
By the ghost of Margaret Mead! How could he not be agitated? The Institute, his own beloved United Anthropological Institute, had dropped a can of worms into his lap. The can? Time-travel. The worms? A philosophical debate: did humans have the right to journey into the past?
With the previously impossible now possible in this year of 2020, the Institute delegated the power to play God ... to him. As Director of Sociocultural Anthropology, he got to review each anthropologist's proposal, then select the person who would travel back into the bowels of time.
Did Axel have one helluva stomach-ache!
And, not only one slot had been approved to use the new Time Displacement Wave. Two more were granted. Three golden opportunities to explore the habits and cultures of man's past.
He shook his head, displacing some of his long, grey strands of hair. Were these golden opportunities or was time-travel akin to opening Pandora's box? Why was it that he was the only one uneasy with this new technology? Everyone else at the Institute seemed to think the time slots were manna from Heaven.
He, however, feared there might be hell to pay with unimagined consequences.
Sighing again, Axel thumbed through stacks of time-travel proposals. Time to get to work weeding the eligible ones from the ineligible.
* * * *
Serenity Steele paced outside the battered mahogany door. Should she disturb Axel or should she wait just like everyone else? Wait until he notified the winners of the “Back to the Past” contest.
Quit joking around, Steele.
Tongue-in-cheek, she'd renamed her fellow anthropologists’ quest for one of the three Time Displacement Wave slots. Only the nickname turned out to be decidedly apt. By the number of hours spent on preparing for this project, one would've thought the prize was a billion dollars.
Competition was fierce, to be sure, but surely she was in the running. After all, she had as good a chance as that silly man, Stanhope DeVries. Conceited peacock!
If only she would win.
Serenity pulled on her ear lobe. Should she interrupt Axel or not?
A clatter of heels echoed from down the long corridor. The sound decided her. If she didn't barge in on Axel, then someone else would. Someone like DeVries. She knocked on the door.
"Come in. Come on in!"
Serenity slipped into the director's office and firmly shut the door behind her. The footsteps stopped outside the room, hesitated, then continued on their way with less decisiveness in their stride.
Good. At least she wasn't the only one waiting on pins and needles.
As she surmised, Axel was buried in papers. “Hard at work, I see. Hope I'm not interrupting—much.” She helped herself to a seat on his well-worn couch.
He peered at her from behind his glasses. “Nonsense, Dr. Steele. I've been going steady for two hours straight. It's about time for a break.” Cracking his knuckles, he sat back in his swivel chair. It creaked, making a noise almost as loud as his knuckles.
"Formal today, aren't we, sir?"
Axel's jolly laugh shook the stacks of paper surrounding him. “Ah, Serry! I can always count on you to coax a smile out of this old geezer."
She flushed. Axel was forever paying her compliments. He could give men today a lesson or two in chivalrous behavior.
But she should get down to business. “So, how's the time-travel project going?"
"Curious, eh? Don't think I've been twiddling my thumbs here. I am whittling down these piles of paperwork.” He wagged his finger at her. “Not without considerable perspiration, I'll have you know."
It was her turn to flatter. “On you, it looks good!"
"Sweet talker.” With a large white handkerchief, he wiped the top of his balding head. “All these proposals are worthy, of course. But I've got to make certain the projects and time periods selected will not only reflect well on the Institute, but also bring kudos from everyone else."
"And you're just the person to pull it off.” She relaxed against the back cushions. “No sweet talking this time, Axel. I wouldn't want your job."
He acknowledged her comment with a grunt. “Tall order, I agree. The idea is to show that...” Lifting his glasses, he read from yet another official paper. “...The Institute is enhancing the world's general knowledge and providing invaluable information for today's overcrowded, overstressed planet."
The sheet fluttered back to the desk. “Public relations is working overtime on this baby. And that lofty sentiment translates into the Institute's wish to get even more slots with the Time Displacement Wave."
He didn't sound pleased, and Serenity couldn't blame him. Everything was politics these days. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch. “Well, I can't fault the board of directors for being excited. The thought of going back to pre-colonial Africa...."
Taking a deep breath, she crossed her legs and hoped she looked ... and sounded nonchalant. “Um, have you come across my proposal yet?"
In her mind, she had everything crossed: her fingers, her toes, her eyes.
Please let my project be chosen!
"Fishing for information, Serry? No, don't apologize. If it were me, I'd be doing the same thing. In fact, every anthropologist on the payroll has strolled in to see me once or twice already."
He held out his hands. “On the record, I'm still reviewing candidates."
She braced herself for what was coming next.
"Off the record,” he continued, “I'm afraid your paper on the Ashanti doesn't carry enough political clout."
Serenity blew out a long, cleansing breath. Damn. Her dreams to do an in-depth ethnography just sailed smartly out Axel's virtual reality window. It was uncanny how the VR window was able to pick up a person's thoughts. Rather symbolic that she now saw a virtual reality view of the lost savannas near the Volta River on the western coast of Africa. Since war had destroyed much of its untarnished beauty ten years ago, this artificial panorama was the only way she'd ever see it.
Recover. She had to recover. “You're right, of course, sir. I'd hoped, but deep down, I knew the outcome. My proposal doesn't have the same backing as, say, Jamison's submission for Nazi Germany."
The virtual reality window behind Axel's back now shifted to a medieval bridge in Heidelberg, Germany.
He nodded. “True, but I also discarded that proposal. Nazi Germany's too volatile and too recent. Why, we have a few participants of World War II still alive, though it's the twenty-first century."
Learning of her coworker's rejection didn't ease her own disappointment one bit. Nervous energy pulsed through her veins. She walked over to Axel's weather-beaten desk and picked up his prized moon rock. Should the rock be classified under geology or lunalogy?
Get over your disappointment, Steele.
"But you know Dr. Jamison, Serry. He's det
ermined. He submitted another proposal. This one has possibilities, though."
She raised her eyebrow, and replaced the stone. “Oh?"
"Yep, it's for visiting Peter the Great.” Axel perused the fat file folder to the right of him. “This one should allow us some understanding of present Russian behavior. And Lord knows we can use the help."
Serenity had to laugh. “You really are a politician, aren't you? Think of all the brownie points the Institute will make with the Russian Secretary-General of the United Nations. I'm impressed."
Axel scribbled a few notes on the file cover. “I learned some diplomacy during my sixty-three years on planet Earth.” He gave her a wink.
So Jamison's proposal would get the go-ahead. She sighed. Well, that was all right, just as long as Stanhope DeVries stayed out in the cold.
Axel pointed his old-fashioned pencil at her. “Also, you might not be aware of this, but I have to take into account the Displacement Wave's time restraints. A span of no more than six hundred years backwards is allowed. Anything out of that range is in the experimental phase—and therefore forbidden. Thank the stars for small favors."
How odd Axel sounded. What was troubling him? Serenity peered over him to look at the project's cover page. “Peter the Great's reign ended in 1725. So it's within the time frame."
Axel wiped his forehead again. “Listen, don't tell Jamison the good news. Nothing's official—yet. He's anxious enough as it is. Been by my office four times today."
Her old professor shrugged. “And why not? It is every anthropologist's wish to study a culture in its past pristine state. Who'd pass up an opportunity like this?"
Serenity frowned. “My lips are sealed. But I detect a note of cynicism, Axel. What's wrong?"
He set his glasses on the desk, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You know me too well, Serry. Playing God scares me. The Time Displacement Wave is new—brand new technology. I hadn't expected the federal government to respond to our petition so quickly. After all, the sheer volume of applications has to be phenomenal. I figured they'd reply months from now, or maybe years."
"But you didn't take into account the current emphasis on understanding man and man's past.” She grinned. “You realize, I use the term ‘man’ loosely!"
He didn't respond to her levity. “Right, and that's when the moral issue of time-travel hit me. Although the government insists the past remains unchanged by the researchers from the present, how do we know if they're telling the truth? How can they be sure?"
The window now displayed a scene that had no basis in reality. The unmistakable sight of New York Harbor was without the familiar visage of the Statue of Liberty! Instead, a marble sculpture of bearded Vladimir Lenin stood in Liberty's place.
A shiver of unease zigzagged down Serenity's spine. Axel's agitation was catching.
An eyeblink later, Lenin disappeared, and Liberty ruled the harbor as she had for the last 134 years. Serenity would never get used to virtual reality's thought-sensing abilities.
She released a pent-up breath. “Ouch. I hadn't thought about changing the past."
Axel rocked back and forth, causing his swivel chair to create a cacophony of creaks. “Talk about being thrust upon the horns of a dilemma, as if I need more reasons to scratch off the hairs on my head."
This project was taking a terrible toll on him. Serenity patted his arm to reassure him. “Well, look on the bright side, Axel. Scientists haven't invented a way to travel into the future."
"Yet."
Dropping back onto the couch, she pulled on her ear lobe again. That was a frightening thought.
Axel's shoulders sagged. “I feel tired. I feel my biological age. Can't wait to drop everything into the board's lap. Then they get to play God."
For a moment, his words bounced off the office walls.
The seconds ticked by relentlessly, if digital clocks could tick. Professional curiosity then got the better of her. “Anyone else in the running?"
He must not have minded the question, for he answered immediately. “Another possibility is Dr. Velando's request to do fieldwork in Mexico, at the time of the Aztecs’ first contact with Europeans. This'll please the Hispanic powers, and provide a case study on how not to alienate the inhabitants of a new land à la Spanish conqueror Hernán Cortés."
She mulled over the scenario. “Sounds good, but potentially bloody. If I remember correctly, an initially joyous reception turned ugly, and Cortés brutally slaughtered the Aztecs."
"Yep. If his project is selected, Velando will have to watch his butt, pardon my language. In fact, time-travel itself is no picnic. I've heard the actual journey's pretty strenuous.” Axel paused. “Which leads me to ask just what else isn't the government mentioning?"
Serenity stood and brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. Jamison and Velando. Two reputable anthropologists. She could live with those selections.
Heading for the door, she stopped to blow Axel a kiss. “Didn't mean to take up so much of your time, sir. I have to make travel plans for my next assignment. Before I know it, two months'll fly by."
A sudden thought then struck her. “By the way, Axel, any ideas on who the third candidate will be?"
He quickly shuffled some papers. “Still working on it, Serry. Let you know. Thanks for the sympathetic ears."
"My pleasure.” She sent him a friendly wave, and left him alone with his files.
* * * *
After Serry Steele left, Axel gave up the pretext of work. He massaged his closed eyes, to no avail. The writings on his desk still looked like Egyptian hieroglyphs. Perhaps he should call it a day.
Loading up his briefcase, his mind was troubled. Serry, reed slim and beautiful, was one of his favorite colleagues, if not his favorite. And he'd had to lie to her.
Well, not quite a lie, but all in all, Dr. Stanhope DeVries’ project, “A scientific look at the lives and customs of Regency England during the Napoleonic Wars,” was a shoo-in with the board.
Axel shook his head. He didn't have the heart to mention her rival's project probably would be approved. Her deep green eyes, the color of a mature forest, would flash reproach at him. Bad blood between her and DeVries. When the news got out....
But by the ghost of Margaret Mead, even she would have to agree on the worthiness of the proposal. Who could resist the mystique of Napoleon Bonaparte, military genius? Academia still debated on why Britain's aristocratic class seemed to pay little attention to the French threat in the early years of the nineteenth century.
Of course, the pint-sized emperor finally had been vanquished, but it took the English over twenty years to put a period to that chapter of history. Not to mention the aftermath....
Ready to leave, Axel took one last glance around his office. The virtual reality window revealed his small ranch-style house as it always did. Strange how others claimed they saw fantastic landscapes within the chemically prepared, glass panes. Not him, though.
He shrugged. Perhaps he had no imagination.
The door now locked, Axel proceeded down the empty corridor. As he ambled over to the elevator, an image of the bachelor DeVries with an impossibly high, antiquated cravat rose up before his mind's eye.
Axel withheld a chuckle. Perhaps he did have an imagination. Regency England, surely that must have been a fascinating era of time! No doubt DeVries would enact the part of a “rake” for his cover during the fieldwork. Fastidious and egotistical, he'd certainly fit in among the vain dandies who fawned over the prickly Prince Regent.
In fact, most of the Institute staff complained about DeVries's condescending manner. The man wouldn't win the Mr. Congeniality award, that much was certain! Nor would he be missed once he departed for the past.
Truth be told however, DeVries was a brilliant anthropologist. Axel had no fears about sending the man back in time.
The elevator doors slid open, ending his reverie. Jamison, Velando, and DeVries—a solid trio. Axel's role in this accursed time-travel business
was coming to an end.
* * * *
Days later, the time-travel dilemma came back to kick Axel in the seat of his pants. Seated at his desk at the indecent hour of seven in the morning, he finally cleared off the last of the paperwork concerning the Time Displacement Wave projects; he was that eager to wash his hands of the affair. Fortunately for him, the Institute's board of directors approved all three recommended proposals, as did the federal government. Everything was now set in stone.
A sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips. Life was beginning to return to normal.
Several rattles at the door interrupted his contentment. Who wanted to see him at this time of day? Pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, he called out, “Come in. Come on ... in."
His eyes bulged at the sight of Stanhope DeVries hobbling into the office ... on crutches.
"Rhinehart, we've got to talk.” A disheveled-looking DeVries maneuvered to the couch, set his crutches against the wall, and carefully sat down. With a heavy thud, the crutches fell over.
"Damn things,” he muttered.
Rarely at a loss for words, Axel's voice now took a temporary vacation. He stared at the man and the slightly bulky cast emanating down from his knee.
DeVries straightened out his leg, wincing as he completed the action. Silence stretched ominously in the office.
"I, er, I had an ac-accident.” The normally precise DeVries never stuttered.
Obviously, today was a day for exceptions. Axel sank his face in his hands. This was serious. “So I see."
"Spent the whole damn night in the emergency room, waiting to be seen.” DeVries fluttered his hand as if to minimize his condition. “It's just a trivial accident, really. I fell down a flight of stairs, and broke my leg. Stupid of me."
By the anxious look on the man's lean face, Axel knew there was more. A broken leg, in this day and age, was no great cause for concern. With medicine's ability to initiate rapid regrowth of bone osteocytes, a broken femur would be completely mended in twenty-four hours.
No, there was more. Axel picked up his moon rock to examine its craggy surface. “What aren't you telling me, DeVries?"
Regency Society Revisited Page 1
