Timeline - Michael Crichton [69]
There were murmurs from the others.
Stern cleared his throat. “Actually,” he said, “I don’t think I’m going.”
:
Marek had been expecting it. He’d watched Stern during the briefing, noticing the way he kept shifting in his chair, as if he couldn’t get comfortable. Stern’s anxiety had been steadily growing ever since the tour began.
Marek himself had no doubts about going. Since his youth, he had lived and breathed the medieval world, imagining himself in Warburg and Carcassonne, Avignon and Milan. He had joined the Welsh wars with Edward I. He had seen the burghers of Calais give up their city, and he had attended the Champagne Fairs. He had lived at the splendid courts of Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Duc de Berry. Marek was going to take this trip, no matter what. As for Stern—
“I’m sorry,” Stern was saying, “but this isn’t my affair. I only signed on to the Professor’s team because my girlfriend was going to summer school in Toulouse. I’m not a historian. I’m a scientist. And anyway, I don’t think it’s safe.”
Doniger said, “You don’t think the machines are safe?”
“No, the place. The year 1357. There was civil war in France after Poitiers. Free companies of soldiers pillaging the countryside. Bandits, cutthroats, lawlessness everywhere.”
Marek nodded. If anything, Stern was understating the situation. The fourteenth century was a vanished world, and a dangerous one. It was a religious world; most people went to church at least once a day. But it was an incredibly violent world, where invading armies killed everyone, where women and children were routinely hacked to death, where pregnant women were eviscerated for sport. It was a world that gave lip service to the ideals of chivalry while indiscriminately pillaging and murdering, where women were imagined to be powerless and delicate, yet they ruled fortunes, commanded castles, took lovers at will and plotted assassination and rebellion. It was a world of shifting boundaries and shifting allegiances, often changing from one day to the next. It was a world of death, of sweeping plagues, of disease, of constant warfare.
Gordon said to Stern, “I certainly wouldn’t want to force you.”
“But remember,” Doniger said, “you won’t be alone. We’ll be sending escorts with you.”
“I’m sorry,” Stern kept saying. “I’m sorry.”
Finally Marek said, “Let him stay. He’s right. It’s not his period, and it’s not his affair.”
“Now that you mention it,” Chris said, “I’ve been thinking: It’s not my period, either. I’m much more late thirteenth than true fourteenth century. Maybe I should stay with David—”
“Forget it,” Marek said, throwing an arm over Chris’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” Marek treated it like a joke, even though he knew Chris wasn’t exactly joking.
Not exactly.
The room was cold. Chilly mist covered their feet and ankles. They left ripples in the mist as they walked toward the machines.
Four cages had been linked together at the bases, and a fifth cage stood by itself. Baretto said, “That’s mine,” and stepped into the single cage. He stood erect, staring forward, waiting.
Susan Gomez stepped into one of the clustered cages, and said, “The rest of you come with me.” Marek, Kate and Chris climbed into the cages next to her. The machines seemed to be on springs; they rocked slightly as each got on.
“Everybody all set?”
The others murmured, nodded.
Baretto said, “Ladies first.”
“You got that right,” Gomez said. There didn’t seem to be any love lost between them. “Okay,” she said to the others. “We’re off.”
Chris’s heart began to pound. He felt light-headed and panicky. He balled his hands into fists.
Gomez said, “Relax. I think you’ll find it’s quite enjoyable.” She slipped the ceramic into the slot at her feet, and stood back up.
“Here we go. Remember: everyone very still when the time comes.”
The machines began to hum. Chris felt a slight vibration in the base, beneath his feet. The humming of the machines grew louder. The mist swirled away from the bases of the machines. The machines began to creak and squeal, as if metal was being twisted. The