Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [66]
“How may I help you?”
“Scientific advances of the past sixty years, please.”
The screen gave him a series of categories: ARCHAEOLOGY, ASTRONOMY, BIOLOGY, ELECTRONICS, GEOLOGY, MATHEMATICS, MEDICINE, PHYSICS, ZOOLOGY. “Please choose one.”
He stared at the screen. What would happen if he did a general search and entered his own name? What would he read about himself?
God, he was tempted.
“Sir, would you prefer alternative choices? Perhaps delineated more specifically?”
What had been happening in the world over these last sixty years? Was the nation at peace? Had we succeeded in getting rid of nuclear weapons? Had the religious fanatics gone away?
Did we still have elections?
“Sir?”
Most of all, he wondered what his own life had been like. He turned away from the screen and looked behind him, half-expecting to see an older version of himself coming toward him. Smiling at him. Reassuring him.
CHAPTER 18
There is nothing done by human hands that ultimately time does not bring down.
—CICERO, PRO MARCELLO
SHEL and Dave arrived in Alexandria during the late fall of 149 B.C., more than a century, according to Plutarch, before Julius Caesar invaded the area in his war against Ptolemy XIII and accidentally burned the Library down. “That’s probably not the way it happened, though,” said Shel, who’d read everything he could find on the subject. “It might have been the Christians who did it. Which would have been a few hundred years later.”
“Persecuting pagans.”
“That’s correct. They were demolishing everything associated with the old gods. Temples, statuary, manuscripts, anything they got hold of was burned or wrecked. The guy behind it here was, umm—”
“Theophilus,” said Dave. “He didn’t approve of pagans. But nobody’s really sure who was responsible. The Library might have survived as late as the seventh century.”
Shel checked a paper notebook. “Caliph Omar,” he said.
“Right. The story is that he thought the books would either contradict the Koran, in which case they should be destroyed, or they would agree, which would make them superfluous.”
“Never a shortage of idiots.”
The celebrated Alexandria Lighthouse commanded the mouth of the harbor. It was situated on the island of Pharos and connected to the main-land by a walkway. It would in time be declared one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Like the Library, it would eventually vanish.
“Did Alexander really found this place?” Shel asked. “I couldn’t find anything definite.”
“That’s the legend. I don’t think anybody really knows.”
The anchor of the Library complex was the Museum, named for the Muses. It was a majestic structure, wide as a football field, and could easily have served as a temple. It was two stories high at the center, rising to five along its periphery. A silver dome rose over the roof.
It was built of white marble and polished stone. The surrounding grounds were filled with statuary and fountains and greenery. A pair of colonnades connected it to three buildings of comparable grandeur though of more modest dimensions. “This is my father’s kind of place,” said Shel.
They wore togas and sported beards again. Two of Dave’s female friends had complained about the beard, suggesting he was getting pretentious. Helen had simply raised her eyebrows and asked Shel whether he and Dave had a bet going. They strolled quietly through the complex, marveling that the ancients were capable of such magnificent architecture. Seeing artists’ representations, and seeing the real thing, constituted vastly different experiences.
The grounds were filled with visitors. Some appeared to be scholars. Children played variations of tag and threw balls around while their mothers watched. As Shel and Dave approached the Museum, a group of teenagers made their exit, descending the marble steps. There was an older woman with them. A teacher, possibly. They looked relieved, happy to be outside again. And Shel thought how some things never change.
Two statues, each about twenty feet high, flanked the approach: a winged female and a bearded deity who