Both men turned at the sound of movement behind them as Remus and Gervais pushed their way through the trees onto the jagged rock of the ridge. Claire followed several paces to the rear of the legionnaires, her face set in the same perpetual frown that she’d been wearing the last few days. She glanced at Malcolm with eyes filled with frosty anger and he looked away, unable to hold that judgemental gaze for long. Claire had repeatedly pleaded for Malcolm’s help to save her family, which was something he’d tried to explain to her was not nearly as simple as she’d made it out to be. In fact, he’d told her firmly, the entire idea was not only ludicrous—it was dangerous and reckless and most likely not even possible. But Claire hadn’t wanted to hear any of it, sticking with single-minded determination to the conviction that he had to help her. The latest conversation had happened less than an hour ago, with their talk going much the same as all the previous ones before it had.
Malcolm and Flavius had been walking side by side, discussing the differences between the three great Greek philosophers Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, when Claire appeared beside them. She barely glanced at Flavius, her face dark with anger as she thrust her wax tablet at Malcolm.
Malcolm paused in his conversation and glanced at the writing, which said: Why won’t you help me? He shook his head in resignation. “You know why. We’ve been over this a hundred times.”
Claire snatched the tablet from his hands and scribbled furiously on it.
“Perhaps I’ll leave you two alone,” Flavius said, looking amused. “We can finish our discussion later.” He clapped Malcolm on the back. “Good luck, Artturi. By the looks of this child, I think you’re going to need it.”
The Roman dropped back to walk with Remus and Gervais, still chucking to himself. Malcolm had told his friend the girl wanted something from him and wasn’t interested in taking no for an answer, and that’s why she’d been pestering him so much. But he hadn’t told the older man what it was she wanted, of course, and Flavius was too polite to ask, though Malcolm could tell as the days wore on that the Roman was becoming more and more curious.
Claire finished writing and turned the tablet. Nothing will go wrong if we’re careful. Trust me.
“Famous last words,” Malcolm grunted. He lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that saying about the road to hell is paved with good intentions?”
Claire blew air out of her nostrils in frustration as she scribbled furiously. Malcolm waited patiently, accustomed now to the long pauses in their conversations as she wrote. She finally finished and showed him what she’d written. Think about what we can accomplish together, Malcolm. We can change the world we come from for the better.
“How?” Malcolm said. He put his hand on Claire’s arm, holding her back before he drew his sword to hack a path through some undergrowth. He returned to the girl when he was through, sweating now as she showed him her tablet.
I already told you how. Gerald had a plan. We just need to follow it.
Malcolm chuckled. “That pipedream again?”
It’s not a pipedream! Destroy DakCorp and Julie never dies and none of this ever happens.
Malcolm sighed. “It’s not that simple, Claire.” They’d been over this many times, and nothing he said ever seemed to make the slightest impression on the woman. “I already told you about the grandfather paradox.”
Claire rolled her eyes as she wrote. I’m not planning on killing my grandfather, Malcolm!
“You know the name’s not literal,” Malcolm said, lifting a low-hanging branch for Claire to pass beneath. “The theory encompasses all of time travel. Anything we do to change the past is hypothetically a contradiction. Think of it this way. Suppose by some miracle you manage to destroy DakCorp. Then what happens?”
Then Julie lives and Gerald never goes to jail, Claire wrote, her eyes shining.
“Yes,” Malcolm agreed. “Maybe that does happen, but maybe not. But the real headscratcher in all of this is how could you go back in time to change the past if the reason you created the serum in the first place never materializes in our new future?”
Claire started writing before Malcolm had even finished talking. She turned the tablet for him to see when she was done, looking smug and sure of herself. It won’t matter then because that future will be set, with no need for a serum, so no need to try to change the past.
“But you already would have changed it,” Malcolm pointed out. “Don’t you see, that’s the paradox. Besides, there are a lot of physicists who say even if time travel was possible, changing the past can’t be done anyway.” Malcolm paused for a moment as he arranged his thoughts. “You’ve heard of modal logic, right?” Claire frowned and shook her head. “Simply put, modal logic studies reasoning that involves the words possibly and necessarily. As in, it is necessary that or it is possible that—and then fill in the blank.”
Claire sighed, then wrote, Do you have a point, Malcolm?
“Think of what you are proposing in this way. If it is necessarily true that the past happened in a certain way, then it is false and impossible for the past to have occurred in any other way. A time traveler would not be able to change the past from the way it is—they would only act in a way that is already consistent with what necessarily happened.”
Bullshit!
“It’s not bullshit,” Malcolm said, getting annoyed now. “It’s philosophical debate.” Malcolm waited, already preparing a response as Claire wrote on her tablet. She’d become quite adept at writing and walking at the same time, he had to admit, and in no time she was finished.
But everything you’re talking about is in relation to the theory of physical time travel.
“So?” Malcolm said, frowning at the words. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting her to say.
So, Claire wrote. We’re not time travelers. Not in the sense you mean, anyway. We’re reliving past lives, remember? So all that crap you’re babbling on about doesn’t apply to us. Malcolm opened his mouth to respond, but Claire held up a finger, letting him know she wasn’t finished. She erased, then wrote again. Besides, I can prove your modal theory is wrong.
“How?” Malcolm asked.
I already changed the past at least once that I know of.
Malcolm blinked, realizing where she was going with this. “You’re talking about the Titanic,” he said, feeling his gut twist with unease. He’d forgotten all about that. Malcolm had scoffed at the idea of Claire sinking the Titanic when Imani and Jim had suggested it. But judging by the look on the girl’s face, he was starting to wonder if she really had managed it somehow.
Yes, Claire wrote. Tell me what you remember happening to the ship.
Malcolm shrugged. “It hit an iceberg in the North Atlantic in 1912 and sank. More than 1500 people lost their lives. There were several different factors for it going down, as I recall. They were going too fast, it was foggy, and the lookouts didn’t see an iceberg ahead until it was too late. You can’t possibly expect me to believe you were responsible for all of that.”
I was, Claire wrote, tears suddenly forming in her eyes. But that’s not how I remember it from our time. She erased what she’d written and then wrote for several long minutes as Malcolm walked in silence beside her. Finally, she nudged his arm that she was done, showing him the words crammed onto both sides of the tablet. The ship never sank in our original timeline. I remember seeing tons of pictures of the Titanic when she arrived in New York, so I found some paint in one of the passageways and went on deck to draw a crest on the ship’s hull. I figured Gerald was bound to see it. There was no one on deck because of the cold, but the lookouts saw me and they started shouting at me to stop.
“And because of that, you think they didn’t see the iceberg,” Malcolm said, understanding now as Claire worked to erase her words.
Claire nodded her head as she wrote. I never meant to hurt anyone. It was an accident.
Malcolm’s eyelids fluttered as he reviewed what he’d read about the Titanic’s sinking. He frowned. “There’
s no mention of you at all, Claire,” he said. Her eyebrows furrowed as Malcolm continued, “The Titanic had six lookouts who worked in pairs on two hour shifts. They all survived the sinking, and not one of them ever mentioned seeing a girl doing what you claim you did.”
So? Claire wrote.
“So, don’t you find that just a little bit odd?” Malcolm replied.
Claire shrugged. No, I don’t. Maybe it slipped their minds, or maybe with everything that happened they simply forgot about me. Malcolm snorted, but said nothing as Claire gave him a dark look before she erased and added, All I know is I changed the past on that ship, which proves your modal logic is worthless. We can and will change the future. We just need to be careful.
“Even if you did unintentionally have something to do with it, Claire,” Malcolm said, trying to swing the argument back his way. “What you propose doing to stop DakCorp is different. You can’t just eradicate capitalism. It’s impossible.”
Gerald said it could be done!
“Your husband was delusional,” Malcolm said. “Most communists are.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed at that. Better to be a communist than a robber baron for Big Oil.
Malcolm flushed at that, caught off-guard by the unexpected swipe at his father. “What happened to you, Claire?” he asked to change the subject away from his family. “You never bought into that kind of socialist crap when we knew each other in High School.”
I met Gerald and he opened my eyes to the injustices of our world.
Malcolm snorted, louder than he’d intended. All budding communists lived in fairyland in his opinion, at least in the beginning anyway. But then reality hits and they realize the nirvana they’d been promised is really just for the chosen elite and not for them. But of course, by then, it was always too late. He had a sudden memory of his father telling him about the Cuban Missile Crisis back in the sixties. Malcolm hadn’t even been born yet, but he’d been fascinated by how close the world had come to annihilation.
“If you’re not a communist by the time you’re twenty,” Malcolm’s father would say, puffing on his ever-present cigar, which ironically was always a Cuban, “then you have no heart.” He always laughed before the next line, taking his time and savoring the delivery. “And if you’re still a communist by the time you’re forty, you have no brain.”
Malcolm shook his head, knowing Gerald fell in the latter category. The truth was, Claire’s husband had been a bleeding heart his entire life, and his becoming a communist wasn’t much of a surprise at all. A part of Malcolm’s mind whispered to him that he was being a little harsh on Gerald, but old resentments stuck with you like scars. They might fade over time, but the wounds were always there beneath the skin, ready to remind you of the past.
Malcolm almost blurted out loud what he was thinking, but the dark look of warning in Claire’s eyes made him quickly revise his words. “Gerald was always a little naïve, even back in High School,” he said diplomatically instead. “I think he gave you false hope about all of this. It’s not like you can just pluck a moment out of time and poof, capitalism evaporates. It’s a system that evolved over centuries, Claire.”
What about that Scottish guy? Claire wrote. Gerald told me about him, but I can’t remember his name now. The one who invented capitalism. What if we stop him?
Malcolm’s eyelids fluttered. Adam Smith, born June 5th, 1723—died July 17th, 1790. Smith had been an economist and philosopher who’d written The Theory of Moral Sentiments and An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. Smith was known as The Father of Capitalism, and it was he who had laid the foundation for the various free-market systems much of the western world still used in the twenty-first century. Take him out of the picture, and who knows what might happen down the line, Malcolm realized. He felt a moment of unease as Claire stared at him expectantly. Was she actually proposing that they kill the man if they somehow managed to land within his timeline?
“I don’t know his name either,” Malcolm said evasively.
Claire’s face turned cold as she wrote. You’re lying! You don’t forget anything.
Malcolm shrugged. “So what if I am? I told you I’m not going to help you, Claire. And I meant it, so you might as well just give up now.”
Claire shook her head, her face set in lines of stubbornness as she wrote. Would you prefer I try this on my own then?
“You won’t,” Malcolm said confidently as he trudged through the trees.
What makes you so sure?
“The fact that you have no idea what you’re doing,” Malcolm stated bluntly. He stopped and turned to look down at Claire, determined to get through to her once and for all. “I have no doubt when it comes to matters of science that there’s no one that can match you, Claire. We’re living proof of that. But we’re in my discipline now, and you’re like a baby lost in the woods here.” Malcolm waved an arm at the trees around them. “So, if we really can change the past, then all it would take is one mistake in this or some other timeline, and everything you hold dear could be gone just like that. Are you really willing to risk that?”
It is already gone. My family are all dead.
“Yes,” Malcolm conceded as they started to walk again. “And that’s a shame. But at least you still have them in your memories. That can’t be taken lightly. Think about it. If there really is no chance of a paradox for us to worry about, what happens if you make a mistake? What if something you do in the past stops you and Gerald from meeting in the future? Julie would never be born then, and the worst part is you wouldn’t even know it.” Malcolm paused as a sudden image of a man lying crumpled and covered in blood while a young, frightened Claire stood over him rose in his mind. He thrust that image aside. “Who knows what you might change and how many lives you might affect, whether for the good or bad. Are you really willing to risk all of that for a one in a trillion shot at saving Julie’s life?”
Claire hesitated in indecision, looking miserable as she stared down at her tablet.
Malcolm put his hand on her thin shoulder. “I’m sorry. If I thought even for a second there was a way—a safe way—to do this, then I would. But there just isn’t. The risk to future generations is just too great.”
Will you at least think about it some more? Claire wrote.
Malcolm shook his head. “No, Claire, I won’t. I am truly sorry about what happened to your daughter and Gerald. I really am. But when this all started, I thought this past lives crap was nothing but mumbo jumbo bullshit. I hated the world and what it had done to me. All I saw when those agents arrived was a way to end my suffering with a shred of dignity.” Malcolm looked down at the ground, his life back in Texas nothing but a distant, horrible memory now. “But against all the odds, your crazy serum worked, and it’s given me more than I could have ever dreamed or hoped for.”
So, you’re being selfish, Claire wrote. This is really just about you.
Malcolm pressed his lips together as he thought, knowing there was some truth to her words. He drew air into his lungs before letting it out with a sigh. “Maybe I am being selfish, Claire. But you’ve got to understand what I was before and what I am now. I was nothing back there; nothing but a broken man with only pain, misery, and finally death to look forward to. But if I were to help you do this, then whatever we do could potentially put me back in that goddamn wheelchair for good.” Malcolm glanced at the girl, letting her see not only the dread in his eyes at the thought but the determination as well. “So I’m sorry, but there’s no way in hell I’ll do anything that might make that happen. Not for you—not for anyone. And if you try anything on your own, I promise you I’ll be there every time to stop you.”
You owe me!
Malcolm rolled his eyes in exasperation. “For what, Claire? What do I owe you for?”
For saving you by getting you out of that wheelchair.
Malcolm hesitated, fighting to control his sudden anger. “And you owe me,” he finally said, the words low and harsh
. “I never said a word to anyone about what happened. No one, you hear me? If anything, it’s you who’s owed me all these years. I’d say the serum finally makes us even!”
Claire had looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, then had scribbled one word before she’d stalked off. Bastard!
Malcolm was joined by Flavius again after the girl left, and they’d resumed their discussion on philosophy until reaching the ridge and Noreia—though Malcolm had been moody and mostly unresponsive with the Roman. Now, he stared down at the ruined city as conflicting emotions swirled in his chest. He was being selfish, he knew, yet his argument was sound. Trying to change the past would be like trying to walk through a minefield while wearing clown shoes. Even the slightest misstep could set off a string of events that would be catastrophic for the future—saving Gerald and Julie, while a noble endeavor, could not compare to that.
“We should get going,” Flavius said, breaking the somber silence that hung over the ridge.
“And go where?” Remus asked, his voice heavy with despair. “Rome?” He gestured to the burning city. “The barbarians are all around us. We’ll never make it.”
“Then we’ll just have to find a way to avoid them,” Flavius said as he headed back toward the trees. “And if that doesn’t work, then we must hope our friend Artturi can continue to protect us. Once we reach the pass, we’ll be safe.”
“That will take at least a week,” Remus grumbled as he and Gervais turned to follow the older Roman.
Flavius paused, sighing as he glanced up at the sky before turning around. “Do you have a better plan, Remus? Because if you do, please share it with the rest of us.”
Remus glanced at Gervais beside him, then sullenly shook his head. “No, Flavius, I do not.”
“Then it’s settled,” Flavius grunted. “We head for the pass and make our way to Aquilea.”
Malcolm moved to follow the Romans, surprised when Claire fell into step beside him. He glanced sideways to see she held the wax tablet out almost shyly for him to read.
Past Lives (The Past Lives Chronicles Book 1) Page 31
