Under A Velvet Cloak (27 page)

“I realize that not all of you are truly devoted to anything as dull as database management,” the professor said. He reminded Kerena vaguely of Morely, which helped. “So we are offering an inducement: the outstanding student will receive the demonstration unit we use here in class, hardware and software. It is superior in all respects, state of the art.”

As an inducement it seemed to fall flat. It seemed that most students were satisfied with their own units, and never intended to look at a database again after this. But Kerena was intensely interested: she wanted that unit, as she lacked her own. What she had was one Kermit had rented for her. It was, he assured her, serviceable. But it wasn’t hers; she couldn’t take it back with her.

That was a private qualm: she had traveled back in time, but could she take a future artifact into the past? She hoped she could, because she would keep it secret, allowing no one else even to know of it, let alone use it, so it would have no effect on the ordinary world. But she wouldn’t know for sure until she actually tried it.

“Now for basic definitions,” the professor said. “We are here to learn to understand and use the standard relational database. A database is essentially a collection of information organized into a table: times, costs, stock numbers, orientations, sources, addresses, cautions, whatever. A relational database is two or more tables operating in tandem, when the total information is too complicated for a single table. We’ll review examples of every type.”

The class evinced polite boredom, but Kerena was fascinated. She quickly discovered that a table in this context was not a support for a meal, but a criss-cross pattern of lines forming cells in which the bits of information were stored. It could be just about anything; it would certainly do for storing secrets, once she figured out how to properly record them.

Day by day the professor took them through it. Each student used an individual computer unit to project the selected type of database on a virtual screen, and manipulated the words and figures there. Kerena’s were in script; it didn’t matter. From the first day the professor picked up on her attitude, appreciating her extreme interest, and gave her leeway. Often she had questions that seemed stupid to some of the others, and might have been so, but he answered them carefully. She had started from abysmal ignorance, but rapidly forged toward the head of the class.

Between the daily sessions, she did homework with Kermit, visited the many wonders of this realm, and made love with him. Often, for he was quite conscious of the brevity of their romantic association: pleasure postponed was pleasure lost. Taken as a whole, it was a glorious week.

She won the database unit, of course, as the outstanding student. The professor made to shake her hand as he gave it to her, but she leaned forward and naughtily kissed him on the mouth. The class applauded; they knew that not only was it a cute gesture, it would give him several nights of restless dreams. Her standard issue blouse had somehow managed to flash interesting frontal curvature, just as her short skirt flashed fascinating nether curvature as she sat. Other girls in class, observing her, had made open notes on more than database techniques.

“It’s a nice unit,” Kermit remarked when they were alone. “Enough storage to hold a small universe, yet small as a coin.” For the unit was a disk that could be set on the tip of a finger without overlapping much. “Powered by a mini-nuke.”

“A what?”

“A tiny nuclear power plant that will last indefinitely. This will never need an external power source.”

“That’s nice,” Kerena agreed, understanding only that it was a desirable feature.

“Fissionable, too.”

“Fishing?”

He smiled. “I love it when you tease me. Fission. That means it splits.” He demonstrated by squeezing it correctly, so that it fell into two thinner disks. “Entangled, of course. That means that whatever happens to one, happens also to the other. So you have instant automatic backup. That’s useful, if you happen to mislay one.” He squeezed them back together.

Kerena had learned a prodigious amount about databasing, but had somehow not picked up on this feature. She liked it.

But now their time together was coming to an end; the term was almost done. “You know I-is there any chance-” he started, abruptly awkward. He was more than smitten with her.

“I really
do
have to return to my own time,” she said.

“But can you visit? I’ll never forget you.”

Kerena considered. Why not? She liked him and this future; it would be a nice safe place to relax on occasion. “When I can,” she promised.

They made love. Then Kerena addressed another matter. “I want to keep this databose with me always, but I don’t want folk of my time to know. How can I
do
that?”

“Easy. Hide it in plain sight where no one will see it.”

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Not at all. For example, if you wear it as a bauble at your bosom it will be taken as jewelry to attract the eye, and the eye will immediately forget it in favor of your divine breasts.”

That seemed to have merit. “But it’s recognizable as what it is, a database.”

“A token computer,” he said. “That would hardly be noticed here, but if there are no computers where you live, that could be a problem. Maybe you could hide it inside an ornament.”

Kerena had an idea. She produced Morely’s Roman coin, which she had kept for sentimental reason. “What about this?”

“Ideal! A replica of an ancient artifact. People wear those too.”

They worked on it, and managed to fasten the disk onto the back of the coin so it didn’t show. The coin was attached to a thin chain around her neck. Kerena opened her shirt and let it dangle down between her breasts. “Thus?”

“Ideal!” he repeated, leaning down to kiss a breast. “I’ve forgotten it already.”

Kerena had one more thing to do before she left this future. She wanted to make her first relational database entry, to be sure the device was in order. When she was by herself, she selected the introductory secret: her own. She had never told anyone, and never wanted any to know, but she had been horribly jealous of her lovely older sister Katherine, the magnet for men when Kerena was nothing.

She touched the disk. The virtual screen and keyboard appeared before her. She typed the verbal indexing component: Kerena-jealousy-Katherine. Subject person, emotion, object person. The script appeared on the screen. She checked it and saved it, closing it.

She summoned the image of her sister Katherine as she had been then, lovely at age fifteen. Since then of course the girl had aged, borne children, become a stout grandmother, and of course lost her youthful beauty. There was no jealousy any more. But the fact that it had once existed remained secret, and Kerena never wanted it known. With an act of will she transferred the image to the screen, where it appeared hole-graphically, three dimensional. She saved the picture and closed it.

Then she focused on that emotion, putting herself back into it, feeling the ugly feeling. The intangible essence of it appeared on the screen, a dusky pattern of textures with muted fire hidden underground. She concentrated, and it digested down into computer coding and saved it to the database.

Three aspects: description, image, feeling. Three databases that related to define the whole. She had done it. She shut down the virtual computer.

Now to verify that she could summon it back at will. She reactivated the virtual computer. “Kerena, jealousy, Katherine,” she murmured, touching the disk.

The picture of her sister appeared, smiling as though alive. The feeling returned, suffusing her. It had definitely been recorded. Her first entry was complete.

Jolie, observing, was highly impressed. Nox was developing a formidable tool for her office.

And you must never tell,
Kerena thought to her.
It is a trade secret that must never be known by any other, lest the paradox of anachronism be invoked.
Jolie had to agree.

She had gotten what she had come for. With this device she could record every secret she encountered, and recover it when she chose. Because the secrets would be indexed by any system she chose, she would be able to locate them at need.

She made love to Kermit one more time, and so did Molly. Then she got by herself and faded out of this scene, returning to her own time.

Kerena did not return straight to the warren and her friends there. She paused on the way to take stock. Because of the danger of anachronism, she had to keep the database secret from all but Molly, who would never betray her because of personal loyalty, and Jolie, who would not do it because it was her mission to protect the timelines. Yet she had to be free to use it, or it would be no good to her.

She also suffered from a peculiar unrest. Maybe it was merely the dislocation of returning to her own time, but it seemed like more. There was something she had to do, but she didn’t know what it was. She couldn’t rest until she found out.

She slowed her backward travel and spied a lovely land around her. This was Ireland, centuries after her own time.

She hovered, invisible, looking for a nice and private place to rest. She was aware of forest, field, village, and lake. One region attracted her; it was somehow compatible. She floated there and discovered a dense swamp with a faint path leading to a huge water oak tree inhabited by a hamadryad, a tree nymph. That seemed ideal.

But there was something else. There was a huge nexus of significance associated with that spot. Kerena was drawn to it like a moth to a lamp. What was so important about this isolated site and time?

She phased in to the small dry region by the trunk of the water oak, becoming tangible.

“Oh!” It was a startled girl. Kerena, distracted by her awareness of the larger import, had not noticed the pedestrian aspect: the person sitting by the tree.

She would have to bluff through and depart. “I apologize for disturbing you. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“You popped out of nowhere! And you have strange clothing.”

How could she explain either the popping or the futuristic dress? She should have taken out the Cloak and used it to mask her presence. “I was traveling in a different mode. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“That’s all right,” the girl said, recovering. She was about Kerena’s physical age-fifteen-and startlingly beautiful. In fact she reminded Kerena of her lovely sister at that age. She had honey colored hair and sky blue eyes, fine features, and a body the shape of man’s desire.

And, Kerena realized with a shock, she was the focus of the significance. This lovely creature was destined to change the world in some remarkable fashion.

“Is something wrong?” the girl asked. “You are staring.”

Kerena hastily averted her gaze. “I apologize again, for being rude. There is something about you that fascinates me.”

The girl laughed, like the music of a trickling brook. “I am nothing. But you-you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re magic. Like the hamadryad.”

Kerena glanced up into the tree, spying the tree nymph, who nodded. One magical creature knew another.

This threatened to get complicated. “I believe I should leave now,” Kerena said.

The timelines fudged. Jolie stepped in, moving them back a few seconds.

“I hate it when she does that,” Molly said.

“I have no choice,” Jolie said to Kerena. “You were diverging.”

That brief dialogue was internal. Kerena spoke again, externally. “I am magic,” she agreed. “But not like the dryad.” This time, to her surprise, there was no timeline trouble. Was she supposed to tell this girl the truth?

“I’m surprised too,” Jolie said. “I’m sure you mustn’t tell her about me, but maybe the rest aligns.”

“There’s something about you,” the girl said. “As if we are destined to be
good
friends.”

“That is not possible,” Kerena said. And the boundaries fudged.

Jolie moved them back to try again. “Perhaps so,” Kerena said. “Yet I am not free to tell you very much about myself.”

The lines fudged. What was this? Nox was supposed to be secret.

“I know,” Molly said. “You have to tell her-then make her forget. There must be some reason.”

“Tell her only to make her forget? This is ridiculous!” But the the lines fudged again.

“I don’t understand it either,” Jolie said. “But it may be so.”

“Well, I’ll try it,” Kerena said dubiously. And the timelines straightened out.

Jolie took them back for another try.

“...destined to be
good
friends,” the girl was saying.

“Maybe we are,” Kerena agreed. “There is enormous significance associated with you.”

The girl laughed again. “If you were a boy, I’d be suspicious of your motive.”

Kerena joined the laugh. “I have had my own experiences with boys. They have only three things in mind, and two of them are on my chest.”

“And the third under your skirt.” The girl smiled, and it was like sunshine in the glade. “I’m Niobe.”

“I’m Kerena.” They shook hands, then hugged; it seemed natural.

“Do you know, seeing you, I can begin to appreciate what the boys are after,” Niobe said. “I don’t think I ever saw a prettier girl.”

“That’s because you must lack a
good
mirror. You’re the prettiest I’ve seen.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“No.” Kerena glanced up into the tree. “I see you have befriended the dryad. Ask her.”

Niobe turned to face the tree. “Come down, dryad, if you think it’s safe.”

The nymph of the tree came down. That impressed Kerena; dryads were extremely shy of mortal folk; the girl had succeeded in befriending her. She was their height, without clothes, and lovely in the manner only her kind could be.

“Which of us is prettier?” Niobe asked. This wasn’t any competitiveness on her part, but genuine curiosity.

The nymph studied them. She shook her head and made gestures with her hands.

“She says we aren’t comparable,” Niobe said. “Because I’m innocent, and you’re-” She didn’t finish, flushing.