“I could return to the outcropping and see if this time portal is still open,” Shakira suggested.
“To what end? If it is open, then you’re both stuck again,” Ian said.
“I don’t care if I’m stuck. I can insist we leave for Wales immediately.”
“You’re assuming you’d return to the same year. You stand an equal chance of ending in a different time and a worse circumstance.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Risk arrival in a Roman encampment? I’m sure the legionaries would thoroughly enjoy themselves with you before they shipped you off to a slave market. Or, you could find yourself in the midst of a bloody battle,” Ian said.
She thought of the woman and child Alex dreamt about and the fate she faced if Ian was right. She sagged against the corner of the sofa, defeated by his logic.
“Neither of you had any idea how this portal, for lack of a better description works?” Miranda asked.
“We brainstormed different concepts but didn’t come up with anything useful. In the end, we just kept riding out on a regular basis hoping one day it would happen.”
"Tell me everything from the beginning again, including the storm part," Ian said between breaths as he blew on the coffee.
She repeated the story. This time she added the details about the agitation in the horses and the resultant static electricity. “Eclipse had similar skittishness this morning.”
“This weather thing...” Ian didn’t finish. He stared out the window, a faraway look in his eyes. “I wonder--”
Shakira perked up and sat forward. “You have a theory, I can tell. I’m game to hear anything, so, please go on.”
“I wish I did, but Stephen Hawking I’m not.”
“Now you sound like Alex.”
“Well, it’s true. Science isn’t our expertise. However, Hawking might be the way to go, if he’d talk to us. Does anyone at your law firm know him?” The intense expression disappeared as Ian made a dismissive gesture with his mouth. One of those, like that’ll happen expressions. “Not that he’d believe us anyway.”
“I’ll ask, but I doubt it. That’s if I still have a job. Speaking of the weather, what day is this? It was frigid when I left.”
“September seventh, why?”
“It can’t be. The time shift occurred September fourth, and we’ve been gone three months.”
“No, it’s only September. Alex told me last Friday you were coming for the weekend. If you’d been gone months, we’d have made inquiries.”
“But we were gone months. Christmas is in a couple of weeks.”
“Can this be true?” an incredulous Miranda asked Ian.
“You both seem to think I have the answers when I’m as in the dark as you are.”
They quietly sipped their coffee for a few minutes. The conflict in the passage of time bewildered Shakira. She’d taken only the mandatory science classes required by the university. Now, she wished she’d taken more or paid greater attention in the ones she’d attended.
Finally, Ian offered a possibility. “I remember reading one common theory says time, spacetime isn’t linear, but curved.”
When the statement drew blank stares, he elaborated. “As you travel and spacetime bends around, you’ll eventually reach the point where you started.”
“Sorry, still lost,” Shakira said and lifted her shoulders in silent apology.
“I’m afraid I can’t articulate the concept any better, but I have an idea.” Ian turned to Miranda. “Our parent company has special interest channels in the States. They do shows on hypotheticals including interviews with astrophysicists and theoretical physicists on time travel. Let’s ask them for a name and contact information of someone who might meet with us.”
The prospect cheered Shakira. An expert with the tiniest of clues might help with Alex’s situation. She’d never forgive herself if she cost him his life.
Ian rested his arms on his thighs and leaned closer, in a fatherly way. “I need to ask you something. Think hard before you answer.”
Her moment of cheer faded. The little caveat about “thinking hard,” before she answered wasn’t good. People say that when they’re going to ask a question you won’t like. She swept the air with an open hand. “Ask away.”
“This business about joining the abbey-why there, why chose such an obvious place to hide?”
“I felt I had no choice. I had no money. If I simply rode off, I had no means to buy food and shelter for Eclipse and I. I don’t know how to live off the land. Even if I somehow managed, without protection, how long before I was discovered by a band of men and raped or worse? The abbey offered the only sanctuary.”
He listened, an inscrutable expression on his face. Silent for what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke. “I know Alex like I know myself. He’d never have gone to the outcropping without you. If Miranda and I were in the same circumstance, I wouldn’t, not without her.”
Shakira had a sick feeling where Ian’s questions were leading. She opened her mouth prepared to explain further. Ian gave her no chance.
“With a stable full of adequate mounts, you left on your favorite one. The abbey is a straight shot from Elysian Fields, but you didn’t take the direct route. You stopped at the outcropping, allegedly to see if the gauntlet disappeared. You say you hoped it had, for Alex’s sake. It would indicate the portal opened and might again.”
“What do you mean allegedly?” she snapped back, getting increasingly pissed off by Ian’s tone.
“Could you have had another motive, a subconscious reason you don’t care to acknowledge or discuss?”
“It’s apparent you already have one in mind. I’d like to hear this subconscious reason.”
“Did you go secretly wishing you might catch the portal open and accidentally find yourself returned?”
“What a cruel thing to suggest.” The rebuke came from Miranda.
His brows shot up a fraction. “I think I have a right to ask. Alex is my best friend and his life’s in jeopardy. I’m curious how he just happened to get left behind.”
“This is my fight Miranda,” Shakira said.
Offended, she turned back to Ian. “He’s your best friend but my husband. I love Alex. I left because I thought it was best for him, for his safety. I stopped, yes. If the glove was gone, I’d know he stood a chance of coming home. That’s the reason, the only reason. Why don’t you believe me?”
“I merely questioned if you might’ve had another motive.”
“What am I supposed to say in my defense? Where is this doubt coming from?”
“To me, your behavior isn’t logical. Let’s analyze it. You bought into gossip told by a jealous woman. If that wasn’t enough, who do you ask to verify this story—a simple liege man to Alex.” Ian’s demeanor shifted from fatherly to condemning.
Shakira started to respond to the challenge.
Ian raised his hand cutting her off. "You, a lawyer, trained to ask questions and look for the loopholes, didn’t question the logic of Blanche or Simon’s statements. The king sent his son and heir to campaign in France. Do you honestly think he'd keep a healthy, capable soldier like Alex, or I should say Guy, back here to twiddle his thumbs?"
"Well--"
"I'm not done. Did you ask Alex if there's some truth to the tale? No. You wonder why I suspect your actions."
“I—”
“You concoct some half-baked, crazy scheme that had no chance of succeeding. Even if you truly intended on going to the abbey, you had to know Alex would figure where you went.” Ian sat back, skepticism evident on his face.
Shakira hated the distrust and suspicion she saw in him. Hated the fact everything he pointed out appeared true when seen from eyes other than hers. He was wrong about her intent and motivations, but it didn’t look that way.
"I admit, in hindsight, it was stupid, horribly, horribly stupid. I told you, I panicked. I should’ve talked to Alex. But at the time, I thought he’d lie to protect me.
"
Ian looked unconvinced.
“There was no ‘if’ in my intention at the time.”
“Lucky coincidence, your detour and the portal’s opening.”
“I swear on my life, I did not plan on the portal opening.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not your life at stake,” Ian said, flatly.
"Do you think he'll have the same doubts about me as you?"
"I've always known Alex to be a fair man,” Ian paused, "In the past, at least."
Chapter Forty-Nine
Shakira drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Thank you for coming with me," Shakira said to Miranda and Ian with a weak smile. By mid-afternoon London time, only hours after her return, the Americans called with Dr. Oliver Gordon’s name.
Ian contacted him and Gordon agreed to meet with them the next day. Gordon’s college-age son was mad about medieval reenactment events. In return for meeting with them on such short notice, Ian agreed to give his son a small speaking role in his program about the Crusades.
Shakira focused on the closed door and mentally rehearsed what she'd say to him for the hundredth time. She needed answers without revealing too much.
"I’m afraid he’ll laugh in our faces," she said.
"I wouldn't think so,” Ian reassured her. I Googled him. He's done a lot of research on time travel. He's written articles and said it's possible, we just haven't figured out the means yet."
The secretary's phone buzzed. After a few muffled words, she hung up. "Dr. Gordon will see you now."
The three entered. Ian introduced himself and shook hands with Gordon.
Gordon’s office overlooked the Cam River and Baitsbite Lock. The sun’s reflection off the water backlit the scientist in blinding, white light, kind of like the God figure in an old BBC comedy Shakira watched as a child.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” Shakira said, shaking his hand.
A few feet away, Miranda stood mesmerized by the computers next to a mounted display of the universe. On one monitor, an astronaut in a spaceship flew horizontally across the screen counterclockwise. On the second pass, he was a little further from the top as he galloped on horseback. The third time across, he was driving a chariot. By his fourth trip, he reached the bottom of the monitor and lumbered along on a woolly mammoth. Then, the sequence repeated itself, all the while the old Cher tune, If I Could Turn Back Time played.
In the second, a bald cartoon female with almond-shaped black orbs for eyes on an otherwise featureless face stood in an open door. Dressed in a skimpy black teddy with thigh-high stockings and spike heels, she bid the viewer to enter with a wave from one of her six arms, while "Welcome to Alpha Centauri” was spelled out in neon rain behind her.
Shakira had seen similar characterizations of alien life-forms in various sources, but the choice of outfit belonged to Gordon. She looked him over out of the corner of her eye. The knife creased jeans...who presses their jeans anymore, the plaid sweater vest and white, neatly ironed shirt, she pictured for a professor. The bar-tart alien he designed didn’t jibe with her preconceived image of the academic.
"Cute," Miranda said to Gordon as he shut the music off. “I’m Ian’s wife, Miranda.”
Gordon shook her offered hand. "Nice to make your acquaintance, please sit."
They took seats in front of Gordon’s desk as the secretary returned and set a tray of coffee down then left closing the door behind her.
Gordon poured each a cup without asking if they wanted one.
Shakira pegged his age as late fifties. Pink cheeked with a warm smile, he had a genial quality that reminded her of her father. Like her dad, Gordon aged well. His dark hair was shot through with fine strands of grey. Although short, his beefy frame appeared solid without the paunch older men often get.
"Well, you must have some pretty unusual questions to ask if it takes three of you to pose them," Gordon observed stirring the cream in his coffee. "Who wants to go first?"
Ian and Miranda turned toward Shakira while they relaxed back in the chairs. "Fine, I guess it's me then."
"It is your story to tell," Ian said in a silky voice.
Shakira breathed deep and let it out. "This is all hypothetical, a case of what if."
"I understand."
She retold the extraordinary events of the day she and Alex traveled back. Ostensibly using an imaginary couple she brought up the odd weather, the sudden restlessness in the horses, and static electricity. She left out the details about their other physical reactions.
Dr. Gordon didn’t scoff at the story. He sipped the coffee and listened, but his shrewd scrutiny never left Shakira's face. Only after she finished did Gordon’s expression change. His furry brows scrunched into a bushy "v" behind frameless glasses and he put the cup down. He blinked rapidly as if he were doing mental calculus, then his brows unwrinkled, and he smiled so his lips curved high into a computer-like emoticon.
"Unusual premise, where did you get the idea?"
"Ah...it...ah...just came to me."
"I see." He paused as though analyzing her answer then continued. "If I understand your question, you want an explanation how this could occur?"
All three nodded.
"Please, indulge me and answer a few questions. Insatiable inquisitiveness, it's the bane and boon of the academic mind."
"Certainly," Shakira replied. What choice did she have?
"Why seek a personal meeting with me? All this has been discussed in various books and periodicals. What's your real reason for being here?"
The pointed question knocked her for six. "I...I..." she stammered before she blurted the weak lie, "I wanted some thoughts on time travel from the point of view of someone who's made a serious study of it. I'm writing an adventure novel involving this element." She ignored his guttural grunt at the mention of a novel.
"Does your story take place in England?" Gordon asked.
Shakira nodded.
"Not one of those tales claiming Stonehenge has hidden mystical powers, I hope, because it doesn't. I've investigated the area extensively."
"No."
"You mention a granite outcropping, do you have a place in mind?"
"I’m exploring a couple of different locales."
"The couple, your...umm, hero and heroine, is it their intent to change history?"
"No. I personally don't believe history can be changed. It is what it is. How can anyone change what has already occurred?"
"The concept is referred to as self-consistency. It maintains the time traveler is the one on the journey, the mobile entity. The traveler cannot alter the existing events--create what we call a paradox."
"Makes sense to me," Shakira said.
"Good, I agree with that principal too. I'm glad we don't have to debate the point." Gordon stared hard at her. "I still find it interesting three of you are so keen on research for this fantasy novel. Anyway--
"In your story, two people went back and only one returned. Are you asking me how to close this portal or how to predict when the doorway will open again so the other person can get out, hypothetically?"
He stretched the word, enunciating so a hint of skepticism struck each syllable. He suspects. Shakira shot a worried glance at Ian, who looked equally unnerved.
A horrifying thought formed on the heels of her panic. What if Gordon wants to see the locales she spoke of, see the outcropping? What if he demands to bring others? He could refuse to offer an opinion until she cooperated. Without guidance, she'd never be able to help Alex. What a choice. Flounder about, clueless as to what action to take next or exposure. A bunch of physicists poking around would be disastrous. If they did figure a way to bring Alex home he'd be treated like a freak or worse, an exhibit, their pet project. Even if he managed to extricate himself from the grip of scientists, he'd be hounded and made a joke of by the press. His career would be ruined, his life a shambles.
Bottom line though, she needed help. Risk the portal's secret or
risk losing Alex to the fourteenth century. What a conundrum? Hopefully, this was the right choice.
"Miss Constantine?"
"Yes?" Preoccupied, she’d been staring off and hadn’t answered. Her gaze flickered over to Gordon, the question forgotten. "Sorry, what did you ask?"
"This time tunnel—opened or closed?"
"Open. Something must be the catalyst, a wormhole perhaps?"
"Could your fictional couple have stumbled onto a pre-existing wormhole? Unlikely. A wormhole is a passageway across space, a time saver, the straight line, so to speak, between two points in the universe." His attention moved from Shakira to Ian to Miranda, "With me, so far?" They nodded in unison. Apparently satisfied, he continued.
"However, there are a number of cons involved with this premise. First, the general belief is wormholes are vast, possibly millions of miles across. Travel through them is believed impossible. Even with a space ship, by our calculations the wormhole would shut too fast. A ship passing through would be destroyed before it could go from one end to the other.
"For your travelers to survive and find themselves over six hundred years in the past suggests wormholes might be smaller than previously thought.”
“There’s no ship in the story,” Shakira said.
“All right, let's move on and consider the time elements of your couple. Their adventure lasts three months or so the duo thinks, but when the one returns, only three days have passed.” Blue eyes locked on Shakira. “Clever touch."
Gordon dug in his rear pants pocket and removed a hanky with a flourish. He pulled the wire temples of his glasses from his ears and wiped each lens in a rapid circle, "Now you want a logical explanation." He lifted the glasses to the sunlight and checked for smudges, then slipped them on again, fixing the individual earpieces.
"My inclination is to say they traveled over the area where spacetime bends around and meets the point of origin. Einstein’s theory claims under certain conditions this is possible."
"I told her the same thing," Ian said.
Gordon took a paper and pen from his desk drawer and drew an example of a closed tube to represent spacetime. Along the side, he sketched a graph that showed the couple traverse forward. "As you can see, eventually they arrive at the start point or close to it. But for them, it was a three month journey."
Journey in Time (Knights in Time) Page 25
