Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [91]
The world fell away.
He was an old man.
Shel had to look closely to be sure it was his father. His hair had turned white, and his skin was pale and creased. He wore a beard now.
Michael limped forward, gait uncertain, and put his arms around his son. “Adrian,” he said, “is it really you?”
“Dad—What happened?”
“I had an accident. Adrian, it’s so good to see you.”
“Good to see you, Dad.” They embraced again, then pushed apart to look at each other.
“My God,” said the old man, “I never expected to see you again.”
They clung to each other. Albertino came in but stood off to one side, pretending that nothing unusual was happening.
Then Michael turned irritable. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you. Do you have any idea what we’ve been through? Everybody thinks you’re dead.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Michael eased himself into a chair. Then glanced at Dave. In Italian, he asked, “Do I know you?”
Dave replied in English: “I’m Dave Dryden, Professor.”
“Oh, yes.” He turned a withering eye on Shel. “So much for keeping things quiet.”
“I won’t say anything,” said Dave.
Michael nodded without taking his eyes off his son. “Let’s hope not.” He signaled for Albertino to leave them. “Do you realize what you’ve done, Adrian?”
“No, Dad. As a matter of fact, I don’t know what I’ve done. Maybe you should explain it to me.”
“Sit,” he said. “It took you a long time. Coming after me.”
“I didn’t know where to look. All you told me was ‘Galileo.’ ”
“Oh.” He smiled. “Did I do that?”
“Yes.” It was almost a shriek. “You’ve been here—what?—thirty years?” The question hung in the air.
“And you were in Alexandria.”
His lips curved into a wistful smile. “I went there first, right after you left the house.” He stopped. Had to think. “Or maybe it was Cicero first.”
“Cicero?”
“During the period when they were trying to stop Caesar.” He shook his head. “No, I went to the Library first. I made several trips that night before I came here.”
“Dad, I wish we’d known where you were. We could have—”
Let it go. “It hasn’t been a bad life.”
“I’m sure.” Shel cast a contemptuous look around the interior. No power. No phone. No TV.
“Look, I’m glad to see you, son. You know that. And I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful.”
“What happened?” asked Shel. “Why didn’t you come back?”
“I’d have gone back had I been able. My God, it feels strange to have you here.”
“Dad—”
“You and Dave can stay awhile, right? Spend some time with me. There’s a lot to see. But when you go home—”
“Yes . . . ?”
Michael hesitated. “When you go home, I want you to take the instruments apart. Get rid of them.”
“You’re going back with me, Dad.”
“Adrian, no. I’m happy here.”
“What?”
“I’ve been here a long time. This is my home. I’ve a good life here. Much better than I ever had working at Swifton.”
“Dad, that’s crazy. This place is primitive.”
“Not really. You’re right, in a way. Civilization’s just getting started. But this is where it’s happening.”
“Come on, Dad. You’re talking like a crazy man. The truth is, we’ve just come from your grave site.”
It was an accusation. A heavy silence settled on the room. Michael sighed. “I’m sorry to hear it. It’s one of the temptations with the converter, isn’t it? You can always move forward and find out what happens tomorrow. That’s not necessarily a good thing.”
“Dad—”
“Don’t give me any details. Please.”
“Dad, I want to get you out of here.”
“It feels so strange to be speaking your kind of English again.”
“Why did you do it? Why’d you stay here? You promised you’d come back. And call me. You remember that?”
“I remember.”
“So what happened?”
“There was an accident.”
“How? Did the converter break? Power pack run down? What?”
He looked tired. Looked as if thinking about it wore on him. “Adrian, it’s designed to find a solid surface, reasonably horizontal, so you