All the Colors of Time (2 page)

There was a moment of hushed appreciation while seven people
tentatively explored the wonder of what they’d just done. Trevor Haley put a
damper on the wonder.

“Our masters aren’t interested in the future,” he said
drily. “They’re interested in the here and now.”

Magda Oslovski sighed and took off her glasses, laying them
on the table with a solid click. Most people considered her glasses a scientist’s
professional affectation. The state of medicine being what it was, there was no
reason for anyone to ever have to suffer glasses again. They were, in fact,
more expensive than the corrective surgeries available. Oslovski was hard put
to make anyone with 20/20 vision understand the mental benefits of being able
to make the “real world” go out of focus at will.

The faces of her team were just fuzzy enough that she couldn’t
read their expressions. That was good, considering what she was going to say.

“As I mentioned previously, General Caldwell and the Joint
Chiefs will be here next Monday. What that means, folks, is that he’s expecting
a full report on our accomplishments to date and probably some sort of
whiz-bang demonstration. He will, no doubt, be very pleased with today’s
progress. And, if the milestones continue to be met, we may have positive
reports to offer on Phase Five as well.”

“Oh, joy,” said Shiro, with nothing like joy.

“Do I need to remind you that we are under contract to the
Department of Defense and are bound, by that contract, to deliver the fruits of
our research?” Oslovski eyed the fuzzy faces.

A combination of mumbles and groans circled the table.

“All right. We’ve penetrated Negative 36. We’re going to
march back into our Operating Room, recalibrate our equipment and repeat Phase
Four. This time we’ll turn the clock back a little further—see if we can’t
extend Toto’s leash into the Violet range. And I want scrapings from his casing
to go to analysis for any signs of fatigue.” She glanced down at her wrist
watch, grimaced, put on her glasses and glanced at it again. “Let’s take a
lunch break. Meet in O.R. in an hour and a half.”

oOo

Shiro dug her fork viciously into the lettuce on her
plate, got too much and worried the excess off the tines. “This whole situation
stinks like yesterday’s garbage,” she said. “How can we just go merrily along
with our research when we suspect it’s going to be used to change history?”

“We’re under contract.” Trevor mimicked Oslovski.

“Huh! A contract with the devil.” Shiro bit into a radish.

“It’s not that bad . . . is it?” asked
George. “I mean, we don’t know that they intend to use it for anything heinous.
They said they wanted to go back to strategic points in time to—to—”

“Meddle,” said Trevor. “Oh, I know, I know—that wasn’t the
official language. What was the wording they used? Oh, yes—’rectify and
enhance.’ As if there was a whole lot to enhance. There hasn’t been a war
anywhere on the globe for close to twenty-five years. No Communists have slunk
up the continent from South America, no petty dictators have reared their ugly
heads—successfully, at any rate—and the so-called Super Powers are behaving
like kissin’ cousins. How the hell do you enhance that?”

“Ah,” said Shiro, waggling her fork at him. “
That’s
the whole point! One man’s poison
is another man’s dessert. What is good for the world does not necessarily seem
good to all the officers and gentlemen being put out of work by what is good
for the world. Nor vice versa. For years there has been talk about combining
the military branches and putting them under the control of the National Guard
and the United Nations. More military bases are closed every year. You know
they feel the squeeze.”

“And you think,” asked George, “that
that’s
what they want to rectify? The shortage of wars?”

“They’re soldiers, George,” said Trevor. “Soldiers are
trained to fight enemy soldiers. With enemies in such short supply, there’s not
a whole lot for them to do these days. The money that used to buy them
technological gadgets is now involved elsewhere.”

“So, then the question arises:
Why
are they spending the last measly mega-bucks of their dwindling
budgets on time travel?” Shiro asked.

“Maybe,” suggested George, “they want to go back to a
simpler time when being a soldier was an honored profession instead of
something you have to apologize for in polite company.”

“I wish that was it,” said Trevor. “But I’m sure it isn’t.
If we hand them the past, we’re handing them the future right along with it.
Our
future—everybody’s future. It scares
the hell out of me.”

Shiro nodded, her mouth full of salad.

“Okay, me too,” admitted George. “But what can we do about
it? We’re just the hired hands. And, as Magda pointed out, we’re under
contract. The reputation and survival of QuestLabs is riding on our fulfilling
our obligation to the Defense Department.”

Shiro grimaced and pushed her plate aside. “There’s a heck
of a lot more riding on it than that.”

oOo

The sequel to the Phase Four experiment was as successful
as the original. Oslovski’s team sent Toto (Totable Temporal Oculus) back over
eight decades. With the exception of smaller trees and the presence of a
gardener and a few dorm-dwelling students (which shortened Toto’s planned stay
of ten minutes), the scene was much the same as it would be nine years later.

There were no cheers this time upon Toto’s successful
return, although the team’s junior members, Manyfeather, Khadivian and Walsh,
did exchange a “high five.”

Afterward, Magda Oslovski barricaded herself in her office,
ostensibly to draft a report for the Joint Chiefs. What she did instead was sit
in the glow of her computer terminal, staring at the data through unfocused
eyes. She took her glasses off, finally, and rubbed her eyes, then swore when
she realized she’d just turned her eye makeup into brown and black smudges.

She was almost relieved when her three senior researchers
violated the “do not disturb” message she’d left on her hall monitor. They
collected before her desk like recalcitrant kindergartners, managing to look
defiant and apologetic all at once. George Wu sat, Shiro Tsubaki perched on the
arm of his chair, and Trevor Haley stood behind them, hands buried deep in the
pockets of his blue lab coat.

“Have you been crying?” asked Shiro.

Oslovski shook her head and put on her glasses. “No, not
yet. Are you going to make me?”

They smiled with all the sincerity of the second runner-up
at a beauty pageant.

“Come on people, let’s hear it.”

Now they exchanged nervous glances. Trevor cleared his
throat. “Madga, we . . . We’re in a real dilemma over this
project. Or rather, over the use we’re afraid the results of this project will
be put to.”

“Frankly, the language of the contract bothers us,” said
Shiro. “We’re very concerned about the morality of our position.”

Oslovski was nodding. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this.
I can’t say I wasn’t dreading it, either.”

“Don’t you have any feelings about it?” asked Trevor. “Doesn’t
it scare you to think what a group of men facing the extinction of their way of
life might do with time travel?”

Oslovski made a peaked roof with her fingers and studied the
long, natural fingernails. “Before I say anything about my
feelings
, I have a duty to deliver the party line.”

They groaned almost in harmony and she held up her hand. “Hear
me out, please. I’ve got to say this. We are not the first scientists to be
confronted with this dilemma. Psychologists even have a name for it—Oppenheimer
Syndrome. Science is neutral—neither good nor evil. Only the end uses of
science can be viewed through a filter of moral principles or ethics. You know
all this; I’m not telling you anything new.”

She got up and began a deliberate stroll around her office. “Party
line, folks, is: We are not culpable for the actions of the people who purchase
our expertise or the fruits of our research. We make time travel possible and
our responsibility ends there. We aren’t accountable for what’s done with it
once it leaves this facility.”

“But, dammit Maggie, it
doesn’t
leave this facility!” Trevor moved to follow her. “Don’t we have anything to
say about that? Do we have to be associated with their . . .
historic enhancements?”

She stopped to look at him. “Are you suggesting we cast them
out into the world with our research notes and wash our hands of the
technology? Give them the recipe and make them find their own cooks?”

“We could do that, couldn’t we?” asked George hopefully.

Shiro shook her head. “We were talking about morality,
George. Is that any more moral than doing the work ourselves? Given our
research, they could find other people to do the work. The world would still be
up the tree without a paddle.”

“Creek,” corrected George.

“Fine. Creek, then. I feel we should keep the technology
in-house and exert some control over how it’s used. Can’t we do that?”

Oslovski shook her head. “I don’t see how.”

“Okay, Magda,” said Trevor. “You recited the party line.
Duty is done. Now, tell us how
you
feel about this.”

“Very uneasy. Close to crappy, in fact.” She circled back
toward her desk. “General Caldwell has been extremely close-mouthed about the
reasons the military community has targeted Temporal Research for support. I’m
not terribly comfortable with phrases like ‘enhancing history’ or ‘rectifying
cultural aberrations.’” She was back at her desk now, and seated herself behind
it. “Fact is, folks, we are bound by contract to deliver the ‘fruits of our
research,’ as the papers say, to our clients. Fact is, our administration will
hold us to that contract regardless of our moral inclinations. Let’s say we
default—refuse to continue. Best case, they take the body of our research and
use it without our cooperation, maybe even ban us from further work on time
travel.”

Shiro gasped. “Could they do something like that?”

“Read the contract, Shiro. It gives them the right to the
disposition of Temporal Shift technology.”

“So what’s worst case?” asked Trevor.

“Worst case is, they do all that and bury this whole
institute into the bargain.”

“So we’re powerless over our own creation, then. That’s what
you’re saying. We can’t do a damned thing.” Trevor’s fists threatened to rip
through his pockets. “Jesus, Magda, can’t we do
something?
”

Oslovski took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her
nose. “You ever hear of a theologian named Reinhold Niebuhr?”

Shiro nodded. George and Trevor shook their heads.

“Niebuhr wrote a prayer that included this passage: ‘God,
grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to
change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.’”

“That’s an answer?”

She shook her head. “It’s a . . . a yard
stick. If we start with wisdom, maybe we’ll be able to determine whether the
situation calls for courage or serenity. Right now, my best advice is accept
the situation as it stands and pray for a sign from God.”

They weren’t happy with the advice, she could tell that by
their glum faces as they filed out of her office. She felt sorry for them.
Hell, she felt sorry for
herself.
She
couldn’t even go holler on their administrator. She and Peter had already been
around the proverbial rocket silo with her ethical objections to letting the
military lead her research team around a blind curve. He’d reminded her about
the sacred neutrality of science.

“Screw the sacred neutrality of science,” she’d said. “Neutral
is not a synonym for amoral.”

“You’re a professional,” he’d said. “I know you understand
that there are also business ethics involved. Make your people understand. Make
them understand that their temporal research would have died on the vine if the
Defense Department hadn’t gotten interested in it.”

oOo

“Screw business ethics,” she snarled, as she threw herself
onto her living room sofa that evening. “Since when are business ethics more
important than human lives? Since when are they supposed to count for more with
scientists than moral integrity?”

“Since businessmen started managing scientists?” Her husband
poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

She grimaced. “God, yes. Bottom line. Party line.
Contractual obligations and scientific neutrality. And I, dutiful parrot that I
am, read it right off the cue cards to my Team. You should have heard me,
Vance. I actually quoted Reinhold Niebuhr to them.” She sighed and sipped her
coffee. “The poor man is probably spinning in his grave.”

Vance smiled. “I would have quoted Galata.”

“Galata?”

“One of my ilk—a psychologist. He said that human beings who
fail to adjust their situation will be forced to adjust their attitude toward
that situation.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, in the case of your crew, it may mean that they’ll
adapt by developing a thicker skin. Maybe focus on the technology itself, on
the, ah, scientific esthetic as opposed to the moral ethic.”

“I smell an ‘or’ in there somewhere. Faced with an
unchangeable something they either adjust their attitude or what—go crazy?”

He shrugged. “That has been the reaction of some minds to
unbendable obstacles.”

Magda shook her head. “No! Dammit, Vance, my Team should
not
be the ones to have to adjust their
attitude! It’s precisely because the military won’t accept and adapt to its
dwindling sphere of influence that we’re working on this project.”

“Mm-hm. Precisely. Because of their inability to adapt, they’re
funding your life’s dream.”

She glared at him, thinking that there was a definite dark
side to being married to the Team shrink. “That’s it, Mr. Psychologist. Make me
feel like a self-centered, spiritually bankrupt toad.”