Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [95]
“So what do we do now?”
“Send the lady some more work. Why not one each from Aeschylus, Euripides, and Aristophanes? And we might include one or two of Hero dotus’s commentaries. Nobody’s ever seen those before.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Dave, “what’ll blow their minds: The memoirs of Thales of Miletus.”
“The scientist?”
“More than that, Shel. He was the guy who invented science. Not much is known about him except that he wanted people to look for rational explanations for everything. But nobody realizes he’d left behind a series of journals. They might be the most valuable thing we have.”
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s send them to her. And you know, there’s someplace else I’d like to visit.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Outside, there was a squeal of brakes and angry voices. Somebody yelled something about kids in the street.
Shel paid no attention. He was still looking down at the schematic for Zeus at Olympia.
THAT weekend, they went back to Alexandria and spent a couple of hours talking with Aristarchus. They expressed their appreciation for his assistance and told him how grateful the future world was to recover so much of Alexandria’s treasures. Ultimately he asked the question that must have been on his mind since the beginning: “Do you visit other times and places, as well?”
“Yes,” Shel said.
“Ancient Egypt?”
It seemed odd to be sitting in Alexandria in 149 B.C. listening to someone bring up ancient Egypt as if it were a remote time. But of course, he was thinking one or two thousand years before his own era. “If we wished, we could go there.”
“Where else do you go?”
“This is the earliest time we’ve visited,” said Shel, whose Greek had improved considerably.
“I see. But you could go back earlier?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And, if I may—”
“Yes, Aristarchus?”
“I must confess I’d like very much to visit your world. Is that possible?”
“Let me think about it,” said Shel. “It would require some preparation.”
“I would be extremely grateful.”
“Of course,” said Shel. “We’ll try to arrange it.”
“I wonder, also, whether any of our dramas have been staged yet? In your time?”
“Not yet,” said Shel. “Unfortunately, we’re having a problem getting people to accept the authenticity of the documents.”
“How could that happen? Surely they know where you got them.”
“No, they don’t.” Shel tried to explain, but it was too complicated for his Greek, and Dave took over. When he’d finished, Aristarchus sat quietly stirring the herbal drink he’d ordered.
“So the future is not quite as welcoming as you said.”
“No,” said Shel. “I may have exaggerated.”
Aristarchus laughed. “Take me there, and I will vouch for their authenticity.”
Dave broke into a broad grin. “You’d be the hit of the season on Down the Line.”
“And what is that?”
“A forum.”
“I can see that the action is not practical.”
“Probably not.”
“I could give you a signed statement.” This time all three laughed. “So what will they do with the books?”
Dave was reluctant to answer. “Ignore them, probably,” he said. “For the time being.”
Aristarchus sighed. “It’s almost as if the Library will be destroyed a second time.”
“No.” Shel’s eyes blazed. “The books will survive. One way or another, they will. You have my word.”
The director looked out his office window at the sky. It was night, and the Lighthouse cast its beam out to sea. “Before you came, it is what I thought, too.”
CHAPTER 27
Rejoice! We’ve won!
—PHEIDIPPIDES, BRINGING THE NEWS FROM MARATHON
ATLANTIC Online carried a story by a prominent Greek scholar stating that the Kephalas Papers, as the plays had become known, were clearly a fraud. “It is impossible to imagine that anyone,” it read, “could confuse these pathetic impostures with classical drama. (Dr. Kephalas), no doubt, has allowed her enthusiasm to cloud her judgment.