The Loved and the Lost (27 page)

“The results of Journeyman Hansum's proposal,
let us not presume,” Arimus suggested, smiling sincerely.
“After all, the feed to the public started
as soon as he entered the room.”

This startled Elder Parmatheon and he sat up straight.

“They heard what I said?” he asked.

“Of course,” Arimus answered with a smile.
“Uh, shall we take a seat?”
he said looking around. There were no extra chairs.

“You can speak standing,” Parmatheon said bluntly. He had obviously arranged this.

“Elder Parmatheon,” Cynthia Barnes interrupted. “I am the chairperson of this Council. I'll direct things, if you please.” Parmatheon gave a wave of his hand and sat back belligerently. Elder Barnes turned to Hansum and Arimus. “Please forgive us. I'll call for more seats.”

“No need,” Hansum said, striding to the foot of the table. There he took a deep breath, found his center and allowed a relaxed smile to spread across his face. He was feeling a lightness he hadn't enjoyed in a long time and, as he made eye contact with each person, not reacting to any of the hostility he saw in many of their glances, he channeled Mastino della Scalla. He would try to act as he thought the long-dead noble would have done when facing a hostile group such as this.

“Thank you very much Madame Chair and honored Council members, for the chance to present a proposal for another trip back to the 14th-century. Its objective will be to appraise when the best place would be to intervene and rescue my wife, Guilietta. I would also like to thank the public, whose interest in this matter means a great deal to me. It gives me added courage to go on and . . .”

“The delegate will refrain from playing to the public,” Parmatheon interjected.

“Elder Parmatheon Olama,” Cynthia Barnes chastised. “I warn you again to not speak out of turn. However, Journeyman Hansum, the elder is correct. Please confine your presentation to the Council.”

“Of course, Madame Chair. My apologies.” But Hansum wasn't sorry. He had mentioned the public on purpose, to make his point that the public was with him. He wanted the Council to remember that. He smiled and continued. “I would emphasize that this mission will not be a mission of action, but one of reconnaissance only. No unforeseen events can happen, as we will not be coming out of phase.”

“We've heard that before,” Parmatheon said blithely. Cynthia glared at him.

“Journeyman Hansum, continue, please,” she said.

He nodded and did so. “I was fascinated to hear how scientists studying time travel are anxious to continue this . . . project. While for me, it's a mission to save my family, it has also become an experiment to find out more about time travel, in this case the nexus points.”

“Those are the theorized points in time when, people who otherwise can't travel through time, may be able to do so?” Elder Barnes asked.

“As I understand it, yes, Madam Chair,” Hansum said.

“Theory,” Parmatheon said. “Only theory.”

“As I said,” Hansum continued, “this is to be an exploratory mission. To begin with, we won't even send people back. Your scientists have proposed, and received, preliminary agreement from their A.I. counterparts, to send back any number of out-of-phase cameras. They will follow multiple situations and hundreds of people for extended periods of time. The purpose of this would be to make sure that some unsuspected individual, who only looked peripherally involved with a situation, wasn't really the cause of some major action. Only after identifying every possible juncture, and these hitherto unsuspected free agents, would we personally go back for a closer examination to see if we could find a nexus point there. That's when, and only when, we would begin to formulate a final plan of intervention.”

“Any number of out-of-phase cameras?” Elder Parmatheon guffawed. “And all the Mists of Time viewers and people to watch them? Watching hundreds of situations and people for extended periods of time? You want us to commit all these resources?”

“As your scientists suggest,” Hansum smiled.

“It sounds like a careful, step-by-step plan to me,” Elder Barnes observed.

The scarecrow-shaped Demos floated over and whispered in Elder Barnes' ear. Her eyebrows rose in surprise and she put two fingers to her temple, to take in more information.

“I am informed that one hundred and fifty million people, half the population of the planet, are watching these proceedings,” she announced. With her hand still to her temple, she continued. “And well over ninety percent are communicating they want us to approve Journeyman Hansum's proposal.”

“Irrelevant poppycock,” Parmatheon objected. “The public is not knowledgeable about all the nuances of time travel or aware of the great responsibilities . . .”

“You're the one talking poppycock, Elder Parmatheon,” Cynthia Barnes rebutted. “Time travel is new for us too. This Council is new. We don't have any experience in a situation like this.”

“By law, the Council has the legal right to make the rules . . .” Parmatheon argued.

“How can you make rules for situations you've never experienced,” Hansum queried.

“What's more important than sticking to protocol?” Parmatheon shot back. “Besides, you're just a hard case troublemaker who caught the imagination of the pub. . .”

“Order! This meeting will come to order,” Elder Barnes demanded. “Journeyman Hansum, do you have any more to add to your proposal?”

“Well, Madam Chair, there is one other thing that wasn't in our proposal.”

“I knew it,” Parmatheon grumbled, and Hansum continued.

“I think the Council might like to know,” he was again aiming this at the public, “that besides trying to rescue Guilietta, we would now like to ask permission to bring back Guilietta's parents at the same time.” The Signora had become a well-loved figure to the public. She reminded people how mental illnesses used to destroy so many wonderful people. Hansum was counting on the public to be further enthralled with the idea of rescuing and curing her. But not so Elder Parmatheon Olama.

“And now he wants to bring back a crazy old lady who's been dead a thousand years?”

“Excuse me, elder. That is my mother-law,” Hansum retorted, surprising himself at his anger, but also playing it up.

“Elder Olama, apologize,” Cynthia demanded.

“Yeah, yeah. No hard feelings. Now, are you finished?” he asked Hansum.

“Yes, sir. I suppose I . . .”

“He's finished, let's have a vote.”

“Elder, I warn you . . .”

“I demand a vote this instant,” Parmatheon insisted.

“I think you have to take the public into . . .” Hansum started, but the Council's chairperson and co-chair were starting to argue in earnest. He tried to butt in, but stopped when he felt Arimus's hand on his shoulder.

“I will run this meeting,” Cynthia shouted.

“I demand a vote!” Parmatheon insisted. “I demand it!”

“Parma, you're such a . . .”

“I demand it.” he repeated. “It's within my rights.” There was a silence “It's . . . within . . . my rights.” Parmatheon looked to Demos and the A.I. nodded reluctantly.

“Very well,” Elder Barnes conceded.

Hansum went to object again, but Arimus shook his head, motioning with his chin toward the sleeping Cassian Olama. ‘Of course,' Hansum thought. ‘The old guy from the 31
^st
-century will veto any negative vote.'

“Okay, let's have the vote,” Parmatheon began. “All who agree that . . .”

“I'll call the vote, if you please,” Cynthia corrected. “All who are in agreement with Journeyman Hansum's plan, please raise your hand.” Hansum looked down the table. Two hands went right up, including the chairwoman's, followed by a third, fourth and fifth. Then, Elder Barnes asked, “Those against?” Parmatheon's arm shot up. Then six more went up, albeit more slowly.

“Finally!” Parmatheon said smugly, standing. “Now we can go home before that Tadodaho makes good on his promise to get me into a sweat lodge . . .”

“Not quite, my fellow, it's not the last word,” Arimus said.
“There's one more at this table, whose voice must be heard.”

He gestured to Elder Cassian Olama.

“Oh come now, he hasn't even been listening,” Parmatheon spat. “The legal and rightful Council has ruled.”

“Twelve people voting on something they're ignorant about doesn't make their decision right,” Hansum argued, “just because you're the . . .
authorized
Council.”

“Watch your tone, young man,” Parmatheon warned.

“Quiet, both of you,” Cynthia Barnes broke in. “Elder Arimus is right. Wake Elder Olama and explain . . .”

“He doesn't want to know what's going on,” Parmatheon continued arguing. “He just does what Arimus tells him.”

“I said wake him up.”

Arimus tapped his sub-dermal, to send the sleeping Olama a message. The old man didn't stir. He tapped again. Still no answer. He went over and put a hand gently on his shoulder, looking directly at the old fellow's smiling face.

“Excuse the disturbance of your most happy dream.
It's time to wake up and . . .”

Elder Cassian Olama's head slipped off his upturned palm and crashed to the table.

“Call a medical A.I. Quickly!” Elder Barnes shouted. “Lay him out on the . . .” Arimus put up a hand.

“Please don't bother,” he said,
putting two fingers to the neck of the still-smiling corpse.
“The grand old man told me just the other day
his implants advised death was about a week away.
He told me to tell that more time in this mortal coil he's forsaken,
and that no extraordinary measures are to be taken.”

“Well, that's it then,” Parmatheon said, slapping his hands on the table and standing. “No veto and the vote stands.”

Hansum exploded with anger. “You can't do this! It's not right! And . . . and you still have an elder from the future here. Elder Arimus can take Elder Cassian's place!”

“I don't think so . . .” Parmatheon said, smiling and wagging a finger knowingly. “He might be qualified, but he's not certified.” The room was silent and looked to Arimus.

“Unfortunately, he is correct.
Although an elder from forward in time is my lot,
A member of my own era's Time Travel Council, I am not.”

“And you can't bring one back because of the blackout,” Parmatheon added. “Well, at least he sticks to the rules.”

“NO!” Hansum screamed.

“Quiet, insolent boy,” Parmatheon scolded.

“Elder Parmatheon,” Chairwoman Barnes said harshly. “The Council may have voted one way on a particular item, but I am still the head of it.”

“As to that, I have another vote to put forward.” And then Parmatheon spoke very slowly. “I call for a vote on the installation of a new chairperson for the Council.” The room went dead silent and Cynthia's eyes went wide.

“I nominate Elder Parmatheon,” a woman from Central America said, obviously as planned.

“I second,” a man from Northern Europe added.

Parmatheon looked hard at Cynthia. “Well, you've been insisting you run the meetings. Call the vote, Madam . . . chair.”

“All . . . all in favor?” Cynthia asked, and seven hands went up.

“Carried!” Parmatheon cried, and he quickly went to work. “Arimus, you and your radicals will be put under house surveillance until the Council can decide, once and for all, what we should do with you.”

“Demos,” Cynthia Barnes shouted to her A.I., “Aren't the A.I.s going to take action?”

“Tell her, Demos,” Parmatheon said confidently. He had obviously done his homework.

Demos looked at her human straight in the eye.

“Cynthia. All three hundred million A.I.s have communed and debated this. We have decided,” she turned and looked at Arimus. “As people from your future can neither travel forward nor backward in time, and admit time is unfolding differently from what you know of as history, we believe it would be better for humankind to err on the side of caution and . . . do nothing at the moment.” And with that all the A.I.s backed themselves up against the longhouse wall and fell silent.

“That's right,” Parmatheon said. “Sometimes it's best to do nothing!”

“It's not . . .” Hansum began, but Arimus pulled him aside.

“Sideways, attend.
Transfer yourself to our friend.”

Instantaneously, Sideways site transported onto Hansum.

“What are you doing?” Parmatheon asked. “No funny business.” Arimus ignored him.

“Shamira and Kingsley, Lincoln and Medeea,
My children, go to Hansum and of Sideways take hold.
It is time to just do something bold.”

“Stop! In the name of the Council I demand . . .” Parmatheon shouted, but it was already too late.

The Sands of Time were spinning around Hansum and the other teens. The members of the Council backed away, Parmatheon's sup-porters screaming at their A.I.s to do something. The twelve A.I.s all looked at Talos and Sideways, straining their faces. They were trying to exert some control, but the two A.I.s from the future just laughed.

“I am the leader of this Council and you must obey me,” Parmatheon Olama shouted frantically, but nobody was listening. Arimus touched his communications node and silently communicated with the teens.

“I cannot travel back in time, my children,
but in your collective abilities, I have full trust.
Go back to Verona and, without hesitation,
do what you must.”

“How about you and Talos,” Hansum asked. “Will you be okay?”

“Do not fear, be off on your way.
We'll find fine amusements
in Parmatheon's angry display.”

“We're off on another adventure, Med,” Lincoln said, smiling.

“Life with you is one big adventure,”
she thought back.