Читать книгу Felix Taylor Adventures 2-Book Bundle - Nicholas Maes - Страница 8

The deadline was looming. General Manes was giving the TPM a last inspection; Dr. Lee was prepping medications in a lab; and the professor was looking after “travel arrangements.” Because Carolyn had vanished without explanation, Felix was left to wander the station on his own.

As he walked about aimlessly, his thoughts turned to their mission. How much danger lay ahead of them? Would the TPM roast them to cinders? If they reached the past, would they make it back alive? Most important, would they find the lupus ridens? Billions of people depended on their efforts, yet their chances of success were just about zero.

To distract himself from these depressing thoughts, Felix paused before a large, sliding door. From behind it there came the sound of … cracking, followed by the pattering of feet. Curious, he opened the door and walked onto a “halo” court.

“Duck!” Carolyn cried.

Instinctively he dropped to his knees and a cringed as a “halo” ball whistled past him. Rubberized, three inches wide and containing circuitry at its core, it was programmed to “attack” any figure in the vicinity. The purpose of the game was to avoid the ball by bouncing off the padded walls and employing a series of complex gymnastics. Felix was pretty good at the game and could usually last well over a minute. But that was nothing compared to Carolyn’s performance.

Instead of one ball, she had five in play. Each was set on maximum speed. The game should have been impossible, but Carolyn was dodging all five “halos” with ease, by contorting her limbs, climbing the walls and performing flips, cartwheels, and jumps — twice she leapt eight feet in the air. When she scaled one wall, dropped to the mat, rolled across the room and hopped to her feet, Felix raised a hand in disbelief. His gesture caused two balls to attack.

“Ow!”

“Stop!” Carolyn yelled. The halos fell to the mat.

“Are you okay?” she panted. She was dressed in a Zylex suit whose light green shimmer matched her eye colouring.

“I’m fine,” Felix replied, massaging his arm. “Those balls pack a wallop.”

“Personally, I find them slow for my taste.”

“Have you undergone alpha-wave adjustment?”

“Of course. How else do you think I could move so quickly?”

“And did I see signs of combat training …?”

“I’ve mastered fifteen martial arts.”

She said this matter-of-factly, as if her skills were commonplace. Felix had more questions to ask, but a voice addressed them on the room’s intercom.

“Felix and Carolyn,” Doctor Lee spoke up. “Could you come to my office? We have some details to go over.”

“We’re on our way,” Carolyn replied, stepping to the exit. As she crossed the threshold, she yelled, “Attack!” Instantly the balls came alive and, if Felix hadn’t leaped outside, they would have pummeled him senseless. Carolyn smirked.

A minute later they joined the doctor. A quiet man by nature — his ERR only heightened his shyness — he led them over to two “treatment” stations. As soon as they were seated, their blood chemistry was scanned. A robotic arm with needles appeared and injected them a dozen times over — with anti-viral compounds, blood-coagulants, vitamin supplements and other chemical “boosters.”

With these meds dispensed, they followed the doctor to a glassed-in cubicle. At his command, three chairs rose up from the floor. And then a glowing, twelve-inch sphere rolled beside them and floated in the air until it reached eye level.

“Italy, 71 BC,” the doctor announced.

The sphere projected a 3D map, which filled the room. Felix recognized Italy’s boot-shaped outline; but instead of the Common Speak names for its cities, the ancient Latin ones appeared — Roma, Tarentum, Neapolis, and others.

“Panarium,” the doctor spoke, causing the globe to project two maps this time. One showed Rome with its famous seven hills and, farther to the east, a town named Panarium. The second showed a town with the exact same name, only it was a hundred miles south of the first.

“As you can see,” the doctor said, “There are two Panariums. While Aceticus is precise in most regards, he doesn’t state which Panarium the flower can be found in. We’ll hazard a guess and dispatch you to the one nearest Rome. If we’re wrong, you’ll return to us and we’ll send you to the second one, or the town closest to it. Okay?”

They nodded.

“This brings us to the time portals. Temples,” he called out.

Again the sphere projected a map, only this one showed most of Western Europe. Numerous points were flashing on its surface, in Italy and other countries as well.

“Each flashing point,” the doctor explained, “is a temple that we know about from ancient times. Some were built after 71 BC, but that doesn’t matter. We’re establishing portals in each of these temples — including the one Mr. Taylor discovered. The second Panarium doesn’t contain any temple — that’s why we’re sending you to the one near Rome — but there are temples not too far from it, in Paestum or Pompeii. The point is, once you enter any temple’s inner recess, the portal will deposit you here.”

“But can’t anyone be transported?” Felix asked. “What will stop some Roman from being whisked to the present?”

“We have programmed bio-protocols in your DNA. Only you will be able to move through the portals.”

“How long will the portal stay open?” Carolyn asked. “Will we be working against time?”

“No. The portal has a half-life of two hundred years. And if it’s covered over, I mean, if it isn’t exposed to the elements, its “charge” could last indefinitely. Now do you see that blip in the Panarium near Rome? That’s your point of entry. It is a temple of Minerva — the goddess of wisdom. Let’s hope her wisdom rubs off on us.”

Again they nodded. Because the doctor had “unplug-ged” the sphere, they assumed he was done with them and rose from their seats. But he motioned them to sit again, as his face assumed a grim expression.

“Have you heard about the butterfly effect?” he asked.

“I have,” Carolyn volunteered. “It’s the change you can trigger in the present or future by travelling back in time and altering events. So if you killed my great-great-grandfather, say, his descendants would vanish, including me and my father.”

“That’s right,” the doctor said, nodding. “Now, our calculations tell us that you can change our present only if you harm someone or reveal some hidden aspect of the future — if you teach them about nuclear fission, for example. That is why, no matter what, you will not kill or injure anyone, even as a matter of self-defence. And you must not talk in any way about our future. The survival of our world depends upon your vigilance. Do you understand?”

The doctor glared at them. Understanding the gravity of his words, they promised to follow his instructions exactly.

“In that case,” he concluded, “I wish you both the best of luck.”

The trio stood. Shaking hands with them, the doctor revealed that the professor was in a room across the hall where he would provide them with some “travel” information. Without another word, he exited the cubicle and joined the general in his inspection of the TPM.

Carolyn and Felix crossed the hall and, sure enough, found the professor seated in a cubicle. In front of him were two bundles of cloth. Surrounding him were several stacks of books, many of them with Latin titles. At the sight of these, Felix grinned: books always made him feel optimistic.

And then there was the professor himself. He was peculiar-looking. He was bald and wrinkled and frail and stooped over: clearly he had rejected all revitalizing treatments. To judge by his vivid and lively expression, he had also turned his back on ERR. Finally, his glasses were so thick and clumsy — the frames kept slipping off the bridge of his nose — that they gave him a decidedly comical air. There was nothing comical about his gaze, however: his eyes radiated a vast intelligence.

“All right,” he began, motioning them to sit. “Our first task is to determine who you are. In the unlikely event you get stranded in the past, the ancients you encounter will ask where you’re from.”

“Tis pothen eis andron,” Felix murmured.

“Precisely!” the professor declared with delight, “I didn’t know you were trained in Greek! My, my, you are full of surprises.”

“What did you just say?” Carolyn demanded.

“It comes from a poem called The Odyssey,” Felix said. “It means ‘Who are you and where do you come from?’”

Chuckling still, the professor said the locals would ask about their Common Speak and why Carolyn didn’t know any Latin. They would inquire about their status too — were they peregrini (foreigners), slaves, or citizens? Finally, their relationship would stir their curiosity, as well as the fact that they were travelling solo.

“What do you propose?” Felix asked.

“First,” the professor said, “you are brother and sister.”

“They won’t believe it,” Carolyn snapped. “We don’t look at all alike.”

The professor laughed. “That’s not quite true. Both of you are tall, fair-complexioned, and blue-eyed. The Romans will assume you’re from the north; indeed, you’ll claim to come from Prytan — that is, modern-day Britain — and say you are descended from a line of Druids.”

“What’s a Druid?” Carolyn asked, with a touch of impatience.

Felix told her Druids were leaders among the ancient Celts — he didn’t dare mention they were priests as well because Carolyn would resent this reference to religion.

“Your father, Felix,” the professor pressed on, “has dispatched you to learn the Romans’ customs. You have spent three years with Sextus Pullius Aceticus who happens to live in Cisalpine Gaul — northern Italy, of course. This is where you learned your excellent Latin. Indeed, you have proven such an adept student that Aceticus has adopted you and rendered you a citizen.”

“What about me?” Carolyn asked.

“Ah yes. Your father died recently — the Druid and not the general — and that is why you have joined your brother. In your father’s absence, he leads the family. And before returning to Prytan, to become head Druid, Felix has decided to take a tour of Rome. That’s not a bad biography, if I say so myself.”

Felix was impressed. This story would account for their overall strangeness and grant them a certain freedom of movement. He was pleased, too, that his “adoptive father” was the author who had led them to the lupus ridens.

“Now then,” the professor went on, pointing to the two bundles before him, “after consulting my books, I have created two tunics for you — with help from an automated loom, of course. You have also been given a toga virilis, Felix, which will mark you off as a Roman civis.”

“Do I get a toga?” Carolyn asked, inspecting her clothes with a hint of suspicion.

“Women don’t wear togas,” the professor replied. “And that’s why I have provided you with a palla, or cloak. You’ll also find calcei, or leather sandals. As far as indumenta, or undergarments are concerned, we’ll dispense with the licium, an uncomfortable loincloth, and you’ll wear our modern products instead. If you’re asked about these, you’ll say they are worn in Prytan.”

“Why do I smell cinnamon?” Felix asked. He was sniffing a leather pouch.

With an elfish smile, the professor explained he’d had a stroke of genius. If the pair of them got delayed in the past, they would need some type of currency. Gold was impossible — the TPM would reject it — so something else would have to serve in its place.

“Why cinnamon?” Carolyn asked.

“Because back then cinnamon was very precious. A single pinch will buy you a bed for the night.”

Rising from his seat, he said they should go to their quarters and try their outfits on; quickly, too, as they would be leaving soon. He removed his glasses and polished the lenses, resembling a mole as he eyed them both.

“I envy you,” he said. “To think that you will escape our modern machines to gaze upon the Romans sends shivers up my spine. But be very careful. These people are as brutal as they are civilized.”

The pair nodded. Shaking hands with him, they took their bundles and left the room. As they headed toward two changing rooms, both were thinking the moment of truth was approaching. They were wondering, too, if they would get along: Carolyn found Felix odd, while Felix found Carolyn brash and pushy. On the other hand, they were glad they wouldn’t be travelling solo.

In his room, Felix stripped down to his Protek underwear and reached for the tunic, which was two linen squares sewn simply together, with two rough holes for his arms and head. Pulling on the garment, he bunched its folds around his waist and tied these in place with a thin, leather strap. His feet groped for the sandals, which fitted him well — instead of buckles, there were straps that he could tighten at will. That left him with the toga.

He was acquainted with togas because he had woven one once, just to see what the effect would be. It was two metres long and a metre wide, with three straight sides and a semi-circular one. The trick was to secure one end to the shoulder and wrap its length maybe twice around the waist, draping the loose end in the crook of one’s arm. It took him half-a-dozen attempts before he felt its folds were decently arranged. As an article of dress it was ridiculous and cumbersome.

He had barely finished dressing when a knock rang out. A moment later, General Manes walked into the room.

“Hello, sir,” Felix spoke. “What do you think? Does the toga suit me?”

“Very much so,” the general replied, attempting a smile but barely succeeding.

“Is it time?”

“I’m afraid so. Carolyn is waiting at the TPM and I decided to escort you myself.”

“I see. That’s kind of you.”

Following the general, Felix stepped into the hallway, his movements uncertain because the toga kept slipping. As they proceeded to the Vacu-lift, he could sense the general had something to say, but that he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

“Is something on your mind, sir?” he prodded him.

“You’re intuitive,” the general said with approval. “That’s one advantage of being ERR-free. I’m worried about my daughter, of course. Since her mother’s death four years ago, she is all I’ve got. She means the moon and sun to me.”

“I’ll do my best to keep her safe,” Felix promised. “Although she seems pretty good at looking after herself.”

“True enough,” the general agreed, with the tiniest smile. A grimmer expression quickly returned, “More to the point, the news from earth is very worrying. The infection rate stands at sixty-eight percent — it has increased by ten percent these last six hours. Not too many victims have died, but that will change within a week at most. I don’t mean to pressure you, son, but you’ve got to find that flower. Otherwise …” The general left this sentence hanging.

There was nothing else to say. Felix accompanied General Manes the rest of the way in silence.

A mere two minutes later, he and Carolyn were poised in front of the TPM. He felt like a sailor on the shore of the sea: on one side was the tranquil present; ahead was the future’s choppy expanse.

Carolyn stood behind him. He could see her reflected in the TPM’s dome: her palla was a perfect fit and she was utterly composed: she reminded him of the goddess Diana. Her father was watching from a distant console, with the same detachment and self-control. He was possibly about to kill his child, but his gaze was unwavering and his features calm. Even as he envied them their ERR, Felix suspected that they’d been robbed of something crucial.

A flashing light disrupted these thoughts. The TPM was primed and it was time to enter. With nods to the general, doctor, and professor, Felix inhaled deeply and crossed the threshold. His nose was itchy and wanted scratching but even as he raised his finger, a light burst forth and an electrical surge ripped through him.

In the hollows of the TPM, Felix Taylor was no longer to be seen.