Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [71]
It might as well have been a cannon blast.
Aristarchus flipped the gooseberry into the air. Dave, who was ready, caught it on the fly.
“It speaks,” said Aristarchus. His voice had gone up an octave.
“There’s an explanation,” said Dave.
Aristarchus stared at it. “I’m sure there is.”
Dave looked to Shel, and Shel studied the ceiling.
“The supervisor,” said Aristarchus, “thinks you are messengers from the gods. I am almost persuaded he is correct. What language is it speaking?”
“It’s English.”
“I’m not familiar with it. But I suppose that is of no consequence. How does it speak? Who lives within?”
“I can explain.”
“Please do.”
“No one is inside. It is advanced technology.”
“Really? You can produce light in a piece of metal? Plastic? Whatever you call it?”
“Yes.”
“And this thing speaks?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“It said it was ready to operate.”
“And when it operates, precisely what does it do?”
Dave turned to Shel. “I can’t see any harm in showing him.”
“Go ahead,” said Shel.
He brought up the Achilles and held it so Aristarchus could see. The sun was shining through a skylight. The director shielded his eyes and watched the pages flicker past. “The entire play is contained in this thing?”
“All of the plays we looked at today.”
“Incredible. It produces a better product than an army of scribes.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
“It was built. At home.”
“Clovian tells me that is a place called Philadelphia?”
“Yes.”
“I would very much like to visit this Philadelphia.”
“It is very far, sir.”
“I’m sure. Though I have never heard of it, it is clearly the capital of the world.” Aristarchus held out his hand for the gooseberry.
Dave hesitated. Then, once again, gave him the device.
He examined it. Turned it over. Held it up to a window. Raised the lid again and watched the lights come on. “I would like to buy it.” He closed the lid and laid the gooseberry on the table. “Will you sell it?”
“I’m sorry. We cannot.”
“We would offer a very generous price. Perhaps you could even get more of these?”
“I wish we could, Aristarchus. But it is impossible.”
“May I ask why?”
“Distance,” he said. “It is very hard to reach Philadelphia from here.”
“I see.” His lips tightened. “Davidius, I cannot in good conscience allow you to leave with this instrument. I don’t know yet what use we would make of it, but it is a matter we would wish to explore.” He leaned forward, and those intense eyes swung to Shel. He understood who would make the decision. “I prefer,” he said quietly, “to let reason prevail.”
While Shel considered his answer, the director got up, walked to the door, and opened it. One man came into the room. Another took station directly in the doorway. “Perhaps,” he continued, “you would be willing to let us retain this for a time. So that we may unravel the technology. Perhaps manufacture some of our own. Again, we would pay generously for the privilege.”
“I would not wish to insult you, Aristarchus, but please believe me that your best technical people would not be able to duplicate this.”
“I fear I must insist.” The librarian picked up the gooseberry. And inserted it into his robe.
The guards moved closer.
Dave went back to English: “Time to go home,” he said.
“Good idea,” said Shel. “Do it, but don’t make any sudden moves.”
Dave nodded. Reached casually into his toga. One of the guards, who was almost as tall as Dave, and considerably beefier, frowned and came a step closer.
Dave pulled out the converter. All eyes locked on it. He looked at Shel, who hadn’t moved. “We going to do this on a count of three?”
“You go.”
“Me? What are you—?”
“A demonstration. I’ll be there when you get there.”
“English again?” asked Aristarchus.
“Yes,” said Dave. He turned back to Shel. “And if you’re not there?”
“Don’t come back.”
“Shel—?”
“Just go.”
“You can’t even speak the language.”
“I’ve got enough to get by.”
Dave shook his head and lifted the lid. “This is crazy, Shel,” he said. Then he pushed the black