The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack - Mark Hodder [129]
"And what do they gain from it?"
"A life in which they are able to pursue opportunities without restraint in a quest for personal fulfillment."
"Fulfillment?"
"The sense that you have explored your inherent abilities to their utmost."
"Yes, I understand," replied Beresford, thoughtfully. "But surely if a person's opportunities are unbounded, then the possibilities increase? Doesn't that make it impossible to explore them all, and extremely difficult to settle upon any one area which can be explored to the point of fulfillment?"
Oxford looked up and frowned. "You make a good point, Henry. It's true that many people in my time are frustrated not by limitations but by an inability to make choices. They feel their lives are without direction and struggle to find their place in society."
"Whereas the humble `Victorian' labourer," mused Beresford, "knows his place almost from birth and almost certainly never gives thought to an idea so ephemeral as `fulfillment' except, I venture to suggest, in reference to a hearty meal and a pint of ale!"
"Done!" exclaimed Oxford.
"What?"
"The control unit. Fixed! It's a makeshift repair but it'll get me home, where I can give it a proper overhaul before coming back."
"To 1837, you mean?"
"I have some business in 1840 to take care of first, but yes, I'll come back, Henry. I'll bring you a gift from the future as a token of thanks for the hospitality you've shown me these past few days."
"For how long will you be gone?"
"My Lord Marquess, the concept still eludes you, doesn't it? I'll be back mere seconds after my departure, even if I'm away for years from my perspective. Would you have Brock fetch my suit from upstairs?"
"Certainly," responded Beresford. He pulled a cord that hung beside the fireplace. "You intend to leave at once, then?"
"There's no time like the present." Oxford smiled.
The valet appeared, was given his instructions, bowed, and departed.
Beresford lifted a bottle of red wine from beside his chair and took a swig from it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Oxford eyed him disapprovingly. "It's a little early, don't you think?" he asked.
"My dear friend-it's never too early!" advised the marquess, languidly. "Besides, it's a wonderful restorative."
"Curing a hangover with red wine is a sure way to become an alcoholic."
"Nonsense! Besides, I can assure you that if you really do disappear into the future right before my eyes, the shock is liable to kill me unless I take a spot of wine to soften the blow!"
Brock reappeared carrying the time suit with its attached cape, the boots with their stilts, and the helmet. Oxford took the items, picked up the control unit, and followed Henry Beresford out of the room, along the hallway, around a corner, and into the big ballroom. They crossed this, opened the veranda doors, and exited the house.
The man from 2202 slipped into his suit and affixed the control unit to his chest. He placed the helmet on his head, pushed his feet into the boots, heaved himself up onto his stilts, then bent and shook the hand of the man from 1837.
"You really believe it, don't you?" said Beresford.
"Yes. Wait here. I'll be back in what for you will be just a moment."
He strode out onto the grass.
Oxford had managed to restore a channel between the control unit and the helmet. It transmitted his instructions, which were read straight from his brainwaves, but the connection wasn't stable enough for the augmented reality function.
He set his destination: ten o'clock on the evening of February 15, 2202; location: the garden of his house in Aldershot. He