Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [110]
He was tempted to go farther afield, to find out what life would be like in the twenty-third century. Or in the fourth millennium. But in the end he decided to let it go.
A new skyscraper, the Claremont, would soon be going up. It was in Center City, with a magnific ent view of the new city hall and the Parkway. They weren’t taking reservations yet for condos, of course. But that was not a problem for Shel. He simply moved downstream a year and a half and secured a penthouse, which became his base. He furnished it lavishly, installed the best computer he could find, and bought a giant 3-V projection system. He spent more time there than he did in the town house.
He debated showing it to Dave. But that would mean explaining why he’d violated his assurances about traveling into the future. He knew Dave would say it was okay, forget it. But he’d conclude that Shel couldn’t be trusted. The future, for Dave, and maybe for both of them, was still a scary place.
Shel’s career with Carbolite had come to seem impossibly mundane. Dave’s decision to leave Penn inspired him to pull the plug. The morning after they’d returned from watching the moon shot, Shel gave Linda his resignation. Effective in thirty days.
She was shocked. “I thought you were happy here, Shel. I had no idea you were contemplating anything like this.”
“I’ve been happy,” he said. “It’s not that. But I came into some money, and the truth is that I’d just like to take it easy for a while.”
“Okay.” Linda sighed. “Shel, you understand I won’t be able to hold the job open for you.”
“Of course.”
He was tired. Traveling took a lot out of him. He never quite knew what time it was. Or what day of the week. After he’d talked with her, he went back to his office to work on a sales brochure for the new solar-energy system they were preparing to market.
STORM clouds gathered through the day, and it was raining when he left. It was a Thursday afternoon. He and Dave were planning to go out again Saturday, back for another party with Voltaire, which had rapidly become Shel’s favorite pastime. His French had improved immeasurably. He wasn’t fluent, certainly, but he could not remember a time in his life when he had so much enjoyed himself.
The storm was breaking up and drifting east toward Jersey when he got home. He put aside the work he’d brought along and crashed for an hour. Then, on a whim, he called Helen. “If you don’t have anything planned,” he said, “I’m looking for a beautiful young woman to take to dinner.”
“I’ll see if I can locate one,” she said.
“Ah, mademoiselle, surely you josh with me.”
“Surely. How’s Voltaire coming?”
The response jolted him. Then he remembered that he’d mentioned during an evening out last weekend that he was reading the French philosopher. “Okay,” he said.
“Good. All right, Shel, if you don’t mind, I’m in the mood for some pizza.”
“You’re going to give me a cheap date.”
“You know me.”
“YOU seem down tonight, Shel.” She nibbled at her salad.
“No, I’m good.”
“What happened?” She lifted her Coke, looked at him, and put it back undrunk.
The scent of candles mixed with the warm aroma of oregano. The candles were inside globes mounted on the walls. “I quit my job today.”
“You left Carbolite?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was bored.”
“Okay. That’s a good reason.” She smiled at him, inviting him to explain where he was going next.
“I thought I’d just take some time off and decide on a new career path.”
That must have sounded foolish, but she didn’t react, other than to show she sympathized. “You going to be all right?” she asked.
“You mean for money?”
She said yes with her eyes.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Money’s not a problem.”
The pizza came, and he thought about inviting her to join him for an evening