Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [70]
The director tried to wave it off. “I’m just the librarian,” he said. “But you’re very kind.” He had a sharp nose and narrow features, but he looked congenial, and Shel got the impression he’d have been right at home in Philadelphia.
“We’ve come a long way to find Shel’s father,” Dave said. “We know that he was an admirer of yours and of the Library. He was a world traveler, but he’s disappeared.”
At a signal, Ajax collected the two plays and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Aristarchus. “I hope no harm has come to him.”
“As do we. In any case, there’s a possibility he would have come to the Library to speak with you.”
“What was his name, Davidius?”
“Shelborne. Michael Shelborne.”
“Interesting name. It would be difficult to forget. But I’m sorry to say, I have no recollection of such a person.”
“May I show you his image?”
Aristarchus frowned. “You have brought his portrait with you?”
“Yes.” Shel produced four photos of his father. Two in business suits, one casual, one in a lab coat. The director’s eyes widened. “What are these?” he asked.
“Photos, sir. It’s a new technology. I don’t think Alexandria has it yet.”
“No. I should say not. But yes, I have met this man.”
“Can you tell us when?”
Aristarchus cleared his throat. Tried to remember. “He was only here briefly. And I wouldn’t remember him, I don’t think, except for his strange accent. Like yours.”
“I see.”
“Yes. He was very interested in the Library.” He smiled at the memory. “Of course, everyone is. But Michael insisted on taking us out to celebrate. Me and half the staff.”
“To celebrate what?”
“I never really understood that part of it. The completion of a journey, I believe. It was something like that.”
“Can you give us a general idea when he was here?”
“Oh, it’s been two or three years. At least. I’m not sure.”
“Do you think any of your colleagues might remember?”
“Come upstairs with me, and we’ll ask.”
NOBODY knew definitely. Two years ago last summer, I think, said one of the staff. No, another insisted, it was shortly after my brother died, four years ago this fall. In the end, they could not narrow it down enough to be of any use.
Aristarchus expressed his regrets. Then asked a question of his own. “Ajax did not understand why you had checked out several books, returned them promptly, and apparently planned to check out the entire works of Sophocles. During the course of the afternoon.”
“We were doing research,” said Dave.
“So I understand. Nevertheless, in perhaps an excess of caution, he notified his supervisor. The supervisor saw something odd. And he notified me.”
“Odd? In what way?”
Shel thought he already knew.
“Gentlemen, I saw something I cannot explain. Rather like your, uh, photos.”
Dave played it straight. “And what might that be, sir?”
“You have a metal object of some sort.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It produces light. I wonder if you would be so kind as to show it to me.”
Dave translated for Shel. Shel nodded. “Show him.”
Dave produced the gooseberry. “You probably saw a reflection,” he said.
“Perhaps. May I ask what it is? And what you and your associate were doing with our books?”
The tone did not sound threatening. Merely curious. “We’ve done no harm,” said Dave.
“I did not mean to suggest you had. I would simply like to know who you are. And what has been happening.”
“My name is Davidius. This is Shelborne. We are visiting scholars.”
“I know what you have said. There is no need to repeat it.” He held out his hand for the gooseberry. “May I see it, please?”
Dave gave it to him. “Be careful with it,” he said.
Aristarchus examined it. Ran his fingers along the sides. “It’s very smooth. Is this actually metal?”
“Plastic.” Dave used the English word. He didn’t know a Greek equivalent.
“What is ‘plastic’?”
“It’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like metal. But more pliable.”
“I see.” He found the lid. Opened it. The screen lit up, and the red power lamp came on. Aristarchus almost dropped it. But he hung on. Icons appeared,