Time Will Tell

In a stale and ostentatious lecture hall in Prague, Susan shifted on her seat, the dark floorboards beneath her creaking with the sudden imbalance of weight. For a rich velvet cushion, it was decidedly uncomfortable and hard. Dr. Dannington, attired in an innocuous faded tweed coat with brown leather elbow patches, his round golden glasses perched at the end of his nose, droned on and on and on about the treasures of the past.

Treasures. What a joke. The man seemed to find joy in making her suffer.

Who cared about the rocking horse Teddy Roosevelt rode on as a toddler? Or the stories antique dishes could tell? The tiny mourning locket with a snipping of a spouse’s hair from some insignificant woman? Nostalgic nonsense like that made her eyes cross.

Seriously, what significance did the study of antique LEGO or novelty lava lamps hold for the present or future populations? One word: none.

Susan sat up straighter, her lips curving into a small smile. What mattered most—what her genius mentor had sacrificed everything for in that fated travel last month—was—

“The absence of Dr. Rippolini is most regrettable at our gathering. However, we are graced with her mentee, a re-established member of the Society of Travelers, Dr. Susan Barrows.”

The hall echoed in applause and Dannington ushered her forward to the podium, leading her by the elbow. He leaned in close and spoke in her ear.

“Now, we don’t want a repeat offense like we did the last time you presented. Do keep that in mind. I would hate for anything…untoward to happen to you should you decide to spread more of your heretical ideas.” He gestured to the side of the stage, where shadows of muscular goons lurked just out of the light. They stood, their gazes laser-focused on her. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug and walked off.

Susan dropped her notecards on top of the dark stained podium and took a steadying breath, ignoring the blatant threat.

“Thank you, fellow scientists, colleagues, Dr. Dannington.” She nodded to the man who’d introduced her, the sole acknowledgement he deserved. He’d been behind her first banishment. Then the society was oh so kind to write to her last month to let her back in. As if they were going against their better judgement.

Her ideas had been so brilliant, they’d had to let her back in. And her mere presence, with a reinstated membership, was a one-fingered salute to all who controlled the narrative.

Dannington.

“It is indeed an honor to be able to present to you my thrilling new research of historical importance: Tangible History.” Still, there was hope that they’d listen, see the value. Her years of hard work and calculated planning would pay off. “Tangible History. What is it exactly? It’s a way to experience the important moments of the past in a firsthand manner.”

“Here it comes, again,” someone muttered from the front row. It was followed by a few harrumphs of agreement in the audience. Always the rebel, Susan wasn’t there to placate the masses. She forced a smile and continued.

“Experience, by way of simple observation, will be key. Nothing done to change the course of events. I’m sure we’re all aware of the traveler rule of thumb. The longer one is there, the more the river of time will force you out. With our invention, the traveler, with a keen mind and the proper training, will be able to slip through time quickly, witness Bell’s first telephone call, Herschel’s comet discovery, or the exact moment Newton came up with gravity, then slip out again and be free to draw the correct conclusions of their significance, and by turn, the importance of the event for the present and future.”

That was the key to Susan’s research. Why would anyone prefer to hold onto a flawed memory or story in history? Certainly not her, child of divorced parents, made to grow up with the liar. People could hold onto their rose-colored pasts all they liked. Susan craved the truth. Others deserved the same.

“Imagine if you will, a graduate student, from an unknown university, researching a paper and having the ability to go back to a precise moment of discovery. They can draw their own conclusions of the success of the invention, observe antiques and relics as a direct observer, saving valuable time and energy. Then contrast that with what we have now, with historians assimilating written words from say, the Prussian War, and what is known about the culture at the time, postulating present and future narratives that could be erroneous. Filtered facts based on who is allowed to filter it. The victors?” She took stock of the audience, seats filled with members of an exclusive society, the aristocracy of science in most cases, sponsored by government funding. Her blood seethed beneath her skin.

“Who decides what is ‘misinformation?’ Those who control the narrative.” Her thoughts shot again to Dr. Rippolini. How her mentor was controlled in the last mission. “So elitist. So dictatorial. So…fearful.” She leveled her gaze at the hall. “Do away with the filtration and what’s left? Truth.”

Some members made a show of leaving their seats and walking out of the lecture hall. She’d struck a nerve. Good. History needed to be written correctly. Rewrite the books. Heck, maybe books would be obsolete soon. They were, after all, written by the winners, an unbalanced portrayal of events, not recording both sides.

“With Tangible History, it’s not up to the top scientists and historians what is labeled as information and misinformation. Instead of gatekeepers, the everyman will be capable of determining that for themselves.”

Out of the corner of her vision she saw Dannington step closer to her. A prickle of alarm worked its way down her arms.

“But what of the dangers of time travel?” A voice dared to interrupt her.

Susan narrowed her eyes, trying to find the source.

Third row. Center seat.

The scientist sat with his arms crossed, lips pressed together in false disbelief. Dr. Kurtis.

“Dangers?” she asked, not hiding the sneer from her lips. She’d been waiting for a question from one of Dannington’s sycophants.

With a smug expression on his pompous face, an arrogant tilt of his head, and steepled fingers, Kurtis spoke again.

“I was asking about the effects of time travel on the human body. Surely, you’re not claiming there isn’t a toll on somebody somewhere. A body part could go missing.” A pin dropping would have sounded like a bomb in the silent hall.

“I understood you. I was merely trying to comprehend why you’d bring up the question when just in last month’s society serial there was a paper that reported on the studies of the harmless nature of time travel. I see that information may not have been given to all. A gatekeeping measure. For shame. No, on the missions conducted, there haven’t been any issues with the human body. No fingers went missing in the travel. Not a scratch on an arm. Not a hair came back mussed. Our portal doors to the past or future are just that, a doorway. Nothing to hurt the human.” Susan flicked at a speck of dust on her sleeve.

“I see. But isn’t it true that Dr. Rippolini never returned from the last mission?”

Her hand froze, mid swipe.

“That is the reason you are here today, is it not?” he continued.

The muscles in Susan’s jaw tightened as she worked through his scathing statements. How dare he.

“Dr. Rippolini did not just…disappear.” She waved her fingers before her for effect. “She was silenced. Made to disappear. By one of you present in this hall.”

Gasps of outrage met her from the audience. Kurtis sat back, satisfied. The derailment had worked.

“Dr. Barrows, it seems your time is up.” Dannington smiled to the audience in a placating manner.

She had to redirect the attention to her presentation again, for a chance that one person would care. With that last outburst, she’d lit the fuse to the imaginary powder keg and labelled herself as subversive and seditious, playing right into their hands. The invite to the conference had been a ploy. They’d planned to remove her, no matter how her presentation had gone.

Well, she’d see about that. Screw being banned and the bullies at the wings. She’d worked too hard to stand silent. Ignoring Dannington, she continued, pouring all her energy into her last stand, fists balled, blood boiling, voice vehement and fierce.

“We, as scientists, must focus on the past so we don’t continue the same pattern of mistakes. That is the reason nostalgia could damage exploration.”

Dannington chopped one hand against his opposite wrist. The large men swarmed from the sides of the stage. Formed a semi-circle around her. Only seconds before she’d be carried off to who knew where. Susan retrieved a small, gilded lipstick tube from her pocket and opened the cap. A red light shot up to the ceiling. Activated.

She continued rapidly, running out of time to deliver her message, “With the knowledge of truth to decide what happened in history, humankind can stop being a puppet controlled by the master”–she shot a challenging look to Dannington–“and prepare for the future. That is why Tangible History is so important.”

“Now,” Dannington shouted to the goons.

“Pro honore Rippolini. In tempore peregrinatione confido!” Susan slammed the device against the podium, creating a tiny amber portal. The men leapt as one. She barely slipped through as their feet left the floor and the portal closed. Notecards fell from the podium and pattered against the wooden stage—a single card landing face up. Dannington crossed the distance to it.

For Rippolini. In time travel, I trust!