Cragbridge Hall, Book One: The Inventor's Secret (15 page)

He paced the room, stealing occasional glances at the wardrobe. Could there be some sort of connection between watching something in the Bridge and the past itself?

Derick changed screens with his rings. He searched for the words
Oscar Cragbridge
and
time.
Immediately several articles and videos appeared about the Bridge, explaining how it merely portrayed images from the past, but did not actually go into the past. Another article made a big deal about how the plans weren’t public and how no other scientist had been able to replicate the Bridge. Derick looked at the bottom corner of his view—over 200,000 search results. He could imagine that most of the entries were more of the same. The Bridge had always been big news.

He knew it seemed crazy, but after a day like the one he’d had, anything was worth trying. He added a word so his search read
Oscar Cragbridge time travel.
He glanced through the first hundred results—more of the same. He moved the screen to show the last results. On the last page, he found a reference to a university newspaper from nearly thirty-five years ago. He scanned the summary.

Back then, some people had theorized that time travel could really be possible. The university had held debates, and among those who spoke was Oscar Cragbridge.

Derick looked at the year and did the math. His grandfather must have still been a professor then. Derick read the synopsis. The writer quoted Grandpa only once: “We shouldn’t waste our time trying to change the past,” Grandpa was quoted as saying. “But learn from it and move ahead.”

Derick wished he could see his grandfather debate. He’d bet his grandfather did rather well. He was always so smart and passionate. Suddenly a thought occurred to Derrick: maybe he could see the time-travel debate.

Turning back to the Bridge, Derick selected his grandfather’s journal, hoping for an entry about the same date listed in the article. There was. Derick selected it and watched.

His grandpa was much younger. He stood behind a table in a buttoned-up shirt and shabby blazer—typical Grandpa. Across from him at a different table was another man, who, in contrast, wore a finely pressed suit.

A moderator stood and began. “Welcome to our debate on the ethics of time travel.”

The subject still sounded absurd—like discussing the pros and cons of the boogie man—totally out of place at a university.

The moderator continued, “As we have determined that it is theoretically possible to travel through time, though no one has ever achieved it, we have scheduled this debate to explore the ramifications of time travel. It may prepare us for the day when the theory becomes possible in practical terms.”

Derick smiled to himself. This was over thirty years ago and time travel still wasn’t possible.

“And of course, we have selected the heads of the two teams,” the moderator went on. “Both are pursuing research on the subject and hope to be the first to discover how to time travel.”

Derick had no idea his grandfather had researched
that.
Maybe those studies had led to the discovery of the Bridge. “First, the valedictorian of Stanford University’s college of science, Oscar Cragbridge. He is the leading scientist sponsored by ITT University.” A decent amount of clapping sounded throughout the hall. Derick moved the perspective of the Bridge to see a full house of viewers waiting to hear the speakers.

“And of course, we would also like to welcome Charles Muns, an independent businessman and owner of Muns Industries. He has been involved in several scientific discoveries and is funding the other team.”

“Thank you for having me,” Muns said calmly. Derick looked at him closely. The man was slender, with flawlessly styled blond hair. He had piercing blue eyes and a thin face with a sharp chin.

“Let’s get right to it,” the moderator said. “Dr. Cragbridge, if we ever discover the ability to travel through time, what ethical dilemmas do you anticipate?”

Derick watched as his grandfather rose and ran his fingers through his hair. He had hair! It had thinned quite a bit, but it did exist at one time, “I believe that if time travel becomes possible, it should be pursued with every degree of caution. Playing with time would be, at the very least, very delicate. If misused, or even ignorantly used, it could prove fatal. We must take every precaution not to interact with the past or the future, but only to observe it.”

“And why is that?” the moderator asked.

“Because we do not understand the characteristics of time. If we change something in the past, it could have huge ramifications on the present and the future.”

“Of course we could change things,” Muns said, a genuine smile on his face. “What is the use of time travel if we cannot change the past? We could eliminate entire tragedies and save thousands—millions—of lives. It would be an utter waste to not use this tool to help our fellow human beings.” Every word seemed well chosen, like he’d read it from a teleprompter.

“What is the use? What is the
use
?” Grandpa’s tone was incredulous. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you just ask what is the use of time travel if we do not change the past?”

“Yes,” Muns responded calmly.

“The use is the same benefit history always has had—we
learn
from it. The past is not something we wallow in. We should not change what has happened, but learn from it—become better.”

“But the wars,” Muns protested. “We could stop Hitler before his first invasion. There would be no Third Reich, no concentration camps, no slaughter of millions of Jews.”

Grandpa’s head bowed. “The Holocaust was truly a tragedy, but we have learned from it. And how many great heroes came of that tragedy? Think of those who risked their lives, those who learned how to forgive, boys who left home to fight a tyrant, families who hid Jews because they believed in the importance of humanity. How many millions of students have read about those events in history books and vowed in their own hearts and minds that they would never let such a thing happen again?”

“But if we do not change those events, it would be like sentencing them to die all over again,” Muns said.

“No!” Grandpa hit his podium. “Their deaths have already happened. It is the supreme disregard and disrespect to make those deaths mean nothing. We must
learn
from the past.”

“Let me give you another example,” Muns said, moving from behind his podium. “What about the
Titanic
? What if you had the power to warn the captain and prevent more than fifteen hundred people from dying in the icy waters of the Atlantic? What would you do?”

Derick watched as his grandfather once again bowed his head. “Even if I could prevent the tragedy,” he said slowly, “I would not change it. I would sit in this room and cry all over again for the victims.” He raised his head. “We cannot change the past. We can learn from it and then look ahead. We make our own futures, building on the foundations of our past.”

“No!” Muns said. “If my team discovers the secrets to time travel—and we will—we will right all wrongs. We will correct the mistakes of history.” He looked at Cragbridge for a reply.

Derick watched his grandpa stand silently for a moment. Then he slowly licked his lips and spoke. “Then heaven help us that you never discover time travel.”

17

The Watchman

Abby woke up, her sore muscles screaming. She’d slept in an awkward position with a Florence Nightingale biography as a pillow. When she looked at Carol, asleep atop
Pride and Prejudice
, it all came rushing back.

Abby blinked long and hard. The few hours of sleep definitely weren’t enough, but she had no desire to sleep anymore. She checked the clock—5:30 a.m. She still had half an hour before she had to meet Derick. She turned on her rings and looked at a page with the columns of letters. In the process, she accidentally bumped Carol’s arm, who snorted and changed her position. Abby looked over the letters they’d found in the books last night. She and Carol had to be on to something. There had to be a message in the letter, and it had to be from Grandpa—she just couldn’t figure out what it said. Maybe when she showed Derick ...

Abby had a flash of inspiration. “Wait a second,” she said to herself. “We probably only have half of the letters. I bet Derick has the other half.” Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She must have been really tired. In a moment, she was contacting Derick with her rings.

“What?” Derick asked. He’d synced up, but the picture showed the ceiling of his room. He hadn’t bothered to turn and lift his hand so the camera in his rings could show his face.

“Derick. Wake up,” she commanded. “I need you to do something.”

She heard a groan, then saw his half-open eyes and tousled hair. “Did you figure it out?” he asked, sounding more awake.

“We’ve found something,” Abby answered. She told him about the books and highlighted letters. “But they don’t make sense as they are; I’m pretty sure the message is incomplete.”

“Because the other half of the letters are in my books,” he said.

“Wish I’d figured it out that fast,” Abby admitted.

“I’ll go through them all and meet you at breakfast,” he promised.

“Make sure you log them like I did.” She sent him the file of the columns and letters. “Chart them by how they’re marked. I think that’s important somehow.”

“Agreed,” he said. “It will probably take a while. Let’s just meet at breakfast. Oh, and I have something else to tell you. See ya then.” Derick logged off.

Abby looked down to see Carol still fast asleep. She hadn’t even flinched.

• • •

Abby pushed her sausages around her plate with her fork. She’d forced herself to eat her eggs, but her stomach was too unsettled for sausage.

“Are you going to eat that?” Carol asked. She’d cleaned her plate and was motioning toward Abby’s sausage.

“No. Go ahead,” Abby said, and slid her plate closer to Carol.

“Thanks,” Carol said, stabbing one sausage and then the other. “When is your brother going to get here? Not that I’m eager or anything. You barely gave me any time to get ready; good thing I’m naturally beautiful. That’s what my mom always told me anyway. Makeup just finishes the beauty. Then again, my dad says that even a barn looks better painted.”

Five minutes after Carol had finished both of Abby’s sausages, Derick ran in.

“Finished,” he said. “Sync up.”

In a moment, all three students looked at the chart with Derick’s additions.

“Can you make any sense of it?” Derick asked.

“Not really,” Abby admitted. “With your letters, we have more information, but it doesn’t look complete. We don’t have any more groups, though—still four. And the double-underlined row has to be ‘of.’” Abby switched her rings to the web and began punching in letters.

“So,” Carol interrupted, “Is this when you guys tell me what this is all about?”

“No,” Abby and Derick said at the same time.

“Okay, okay,” Carol said, her hands in the air.

Abby sighed. “I’ve put it into that logarithm on the web twice now and it still doesn’t come up with anything.”

“Wait,” Derick said. “Do you remember that time we went to London for a family vacation?”

“Yeah,” Abby said.

“I forgot my bag on the subway. It had some of my books in it—
The Jungle Book
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
, and I think two more. Grandpa gave them to me.”

“So we could be missing letters from those four books,” Carol realized.

“Most of the books only had one marked letter in them,” Abby said. “So let’s see if I can program in four blanks. Here we go.” She watched her screen intently. Still nothing.

“Wait,” Carol said. “Put them in a column at a time, like just the boxed letters.”

“Okay,” Abby said moving her fingers. “If the code has one blank in the word that the boxed letters is supposed to spell, then there are a few possibilities: hail, haul, hall.”

“Wait. Hall! Would
Cragbridge
fit for the circled group?” Carol asked. They both studied the letters. It was missing an R and a B, but it fit.

“Let me try the underlined letters with a blank. It came up with
Watchman,
” Abby said.

“Watchman of Cragbridge Hall,” Derick said. “That’s the name of the tower, right?”

“Yeah. It’s basically the logo for the place,” Carol said.

Abby immediately thought of the blazer her grandpa wore with the tower embroidered beside the lapel. The same symbol was on the netsites. But the real thing stood proudly atop Cragbridge Hall, the center building of campus, and rose at least two stories taller than the rest of the roof; its stone walls were capped with a round room and a spire. Thin windows circled it. The style was old, but the building looked new and strong.

“Alright,” Derick said, glancing at his watch. “We have twenty minutes before class. Let’s go find a way in.”

• • •

The three made their way to the center of Cragbridge Hall and up to the third floor. Abby tried to picture the tower in her mind and approximate where it would be.