A Chronetic Memory (The Chronography Records Book 1) (33 page)

“You actually made a real arrest?” Jazz sat up straight from where she had been lounging in a chair. “Not as a joke?”

Detective Rayes laughed, a big hearty laugh. “Yes, a real arrest, Jazz. One of the institute’s board members, in fact. And we have most of the rest of them in custody as persons of interest. It’s very likely they were aware of the whole scheme. They have been suspended from their duties and restricted from access until this whole thing is sorted out.”

“Who will direct the institute in their absence?” asked Ms. Harris.

“Well, they’re not
all
gone. The directors who were not implicated will remain. As I understand it, they’re meeting this morning with a few prospects to fill at least some of the empty spots.”

“Yes, they arrived just before I left,” said Anders. “I overheard several of them talking. Apparently, there’s a risk involved with chronography that we weren’t even aware of, but someone working independently has discovered.” He turned to Dani. “Dr. Seebak. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, from your studies.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“What will happen to the blackmail victims?” Anders asked the detective. “Obviously, they’ll be relieved of having to pay him, or whatever he was demanding, but will they be prosecuted for crimes he’d discovered?”

“For the most part, no. We can’t use evidence that we obtained without a specific warrant for that crime. It might open up other cases, though. We’ll have to see. We’re facing weeks, if not months, of work to go through it all.”

“This is really a big deal, isn’t it?” Shard asked. “I mean, we’ve been meeting regularly for a long time, but this time we really did something, didn’t we?”

“We did indeed,” said Ms. Harris. “And I think that’s worth a celebration. I’ve ordered pizza, and I just got notified it’s here. Figured you all wouldn’t mind an early lunch.”

Their enthusiastic response immediately confirmed it.

RIACH LABS, Alki Beach, Seattle, WA. 0930, Monday, June 19, 2215.

It felt strange to walk the halls of the institute, to be welcomed again after hiding for so many years. Lexil remembered visiting his mother here, before the accident, when she was bright and witty and drew people to her with charismatic warmth. Before she lay in her hospital bed, dying.

He shook his head to bring himself back to the present. Here they were, at the large conference room. On Saturday, they had met with the few remaining directors in the small meeting room next door. But today, they would meet with all the full-time employees to let them know about what he and Doc had discovered on Wednesday.

Those employees were streaming in now, taking seats. The research scientists took places up front. Most of the questions would come from there. In the back was a section reserved for interns. They needed to hear the presentation, but if they had any questions, they would meet with the research scientists later. It was easy to spot the interns; they all had light blue lab coats on.

The plan was to open up communications between the researchers and the interns as an attempt to restore the free exploration of ideas that the institute had been known for in its early days, when his mother was the inspirational head.

With the audience seated, Doc stepped up to the presentation platform.

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Mitchum Seebak, and I’ve been appointed to direct the transition after recent events. I’m assuming most of you have been notified, or have heard from a friend or co-worker, about what happened, but I wanted you all to get the full story, and have a chance to ask questions.”

A wave of murmurs swept the audience. Doc waited for it to die down.

“One of your directors, Dr. Hunter, has been arrested on suspicion of blackmail. I can’t give you details about the investigation, so hold those questions and wait for the official police announcement. Some of the other directors have been suspended until we know more about who was involved.” He stepped back and gestured to the three women and two men sitting behind him. “These five, who we know were not complicit in any way, remain to continue the work of the institute. They asked me to come help.”

More murmurs. Someone among the research scientists in the audience stood up. “Excuse me for interrupting, Dr. Seebak, but many of us recognize your name, and we know you were dismissed from this instituton some years ago, and you’re…” The man hesitated.

“Discredited?” Doc offered.

“Well, yes. I wasn’t going to use that word. But since you said it, I’ll ask the question that is going through all our minds: Why should we listen to you?”

“I can answer that.” All eyes turned toward another scientist. Good, thought Lexil. Marielle would tell them.

“You all know me, and most of you know I was here both before and after Dr. Seebak left. I can tell you with certainty that the grounds for his discreditation were completely fabricated—by the same people who are currently in police custody.”

The murmurs swelled to loud voices. She raised her voice to speak over the noise.

“In addition, his ongoing work with chronography has revealed a significant danger to the timestream. The question is not why you should listen to him, but how you could possibly refuse!”

“What do you mean, danger?” the man demanded.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” said Marielle. “Dr. Seebak? Please continue.”

“The danger is with the use of the VAO machine.” Doc held up the papers they had discovered in the sensor box. “We have a packet of research here that describes in detail the mathematics behind a timestream disruption that could make the stream collapse.”

“Hypothetically.” The man was certainly persistent; Lexil would give him that!

“No. There has already been a timestream disruption, and it was barely—barely—repaired. Because of the repair, we have no memory of it, but these papers document an actual occurrence.”

More murmurs. A woman rose from her seat. She glared at the other questioner until he sat down. “How could the VAO machine cause damage?” she asked.

“We need to study it more, but we believe that when the VAO conversion is recorded in permanent form, it removes objects from the timestream for that brief instant. At my private lab, we have ways of measuring disruptions. A small one might have no lasting effect. But remove the wrong object at the wrong time and you’ll have major consequences. We will be making no more VAO conversions until we understand when it is safe to do so.”

Another woman stood and spoke over the buzz of voices. “Excuse me, Dr. Seebak, but what kind of work are we supposed to do, if we can’t record anything? Are we all going to be laid off?”

The room fell silent.

Doc shook his head. “Ten years ago, before they named it RIACH, the founders of this institution were engaged in scientific research. I remember that, because I was one of them. It’s different now. You focus on gathering evidence in criminal investigations and sampling thousands of objects with the hope of finding something historically significant. That’s appropriate. You have ‘Anthropology and Chronographic History’ in your name, after all. And that kind of research will go on, but we will stop at the VAO conversion step, for now. There will be no recordings, not until we figure this out.

“But who better to figure it out than chronographic scientists? I propose that some of you, who want to return to scientific research, form a division to dig deeper, learn more, and open all our eyes to what can still be an exciting new field of scientific inquiry. Are any of you interested in that? Could I see a quick show of hands?”

Hands went up, a few at a time, and Lexil counted, because he knew he would be working with some of these people. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. A good number, he thought, but he was disappointed that almost all of them were from the intern section. From the way Doc had described their jobs, the interns must be tired of the tedium. I would be too, he thought. But he had hoped for inspired minds, and he was going to have to settle for glorified flunkies.

Doc was speaking again. “Good! Please come see me after this meeting so I can get your names. We’ll set up some interviews later. If there are no further questions, I’d like to introduce my associate, Lexil Myles. He has been working alongside me since he was a teenager. His research in temporal distortion, while unpublished, is leaps and bounds ahead of anything else in the field. This packet of papers that details the specifics of the disturbance from the altered timestream came to us in his handwriting, presumably from the Lexil that existed there.”

He paused, then grinned. “Good thing I had one of my own, because almost nobody else can read his handwriting!”

“Hey!” Lexil said. “It’s not
that
bad.”

Chuckles from the audience. He’d have a warmer reception when he got up there than Doc had faced.

His mentor was still speaking. “He’ll be heading up the new division, and reporting to the new board of directors.”

That was his cue. Lexil stepped over two steps straight up onto the platform. Long legs had their advantages. He took the packet from Doc and glanced at it. Two scrawled lines at the bottom of the first page, in an unfamiliar handwriting, reminded him he had one more project of his own.

The first line instructed them to take their findings to Marak Wallace and Detective Tom Rayes, and they had done that. The detective had already been working an angle on a related case, which ended up with Dr. Hunter’s arrest. Marak Wallace had cut through all the scientific data to the heart of the matter and used his considerable reporter’s influence to get the ear of lawmakers, the mayor, and the governor himself. As much as he disliked government oversight, Lexil had to admit that in this case, it had shut down the VAO conversions much more effectively than they would have been able to do on their own.

The second line was more puzzling: “D. Adams will be helpful with further study.” After the meeting was over, he meant to go to the administrative offices and check the employee lists for someone with that name.

People were waiting for him to speak. He held up the packet. “The research we’ve been doing at our lab ties in neatly with these records. We have a series of sensors that have been sealed for the last fifteen years, much like your observation boxes. We’ve paired them with sensors that are left open to whatever changes the timestream undergoes. The differences appear as blips—for want of a better term—on a viewwall and serve as a warning that something has changed.”

“Will you move those sensor pairs to this lab?” The voice came from the back of the room. As he was scanning the room, trying to spot the speaker, a young woman in a blue lab coat stood up. She continued, “Or will we be going off site?”

He glanced at Doc. Should he answer questions from the interns? There were so many of them, the meeting could get confusing quickly. But Doc nodded.

So he answered. “We’ll be bringing them here, and also installing new ones, with improvements we will be developing as part of the project. Those who work with us in the new division will get familiar with the sensors and their output very quickly. I have to warn you, though: We won’t be taking many interns.”

“I’ll look forward to the interview, then,” she answered, looking at him steadily. Cheeky, but kind of appealing, he had to admit.

She sat down and another man stood up. Not one of the interns this time. Good.

“I wasn’t able to post assignments this morning. Is this part of the changes?”

A better question for Doc, but he knew the answer. “As I understand it, we’re encouraging research groups to meet together at the beginning of each day, for now. We want you all to be fully informed as we make changes, and have an avenue for asking questions and getting answers. You’ll be able to assign responsibilities at those meetings.”

He answered a few more questions. Then they dismissed the group, inviting those who were interested to stay behind and leave their names. They were down to the last intern. It was the bold one who had spoken up during the questions. She reached out her hand to introduce herself.

“Danarin Adams. I’m very interested in working with your team.”

Lexil froze and took her hand automatically. He liked her handshake. It was firm, confident, totally competent.

This could work out well.

WALLACE HOME, Lower Queen Anne, Seattle, WA. 1730, Friday, June 23, 2215.

Marak welcomed her at the door, as usual. “Hey, Dani. How bad were the upheavals at RIACH this week?”

“You want to know the results of your handiwork?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at him and trying to hide a grin.

Kat came out of the kitchen, carrying a glass of iced tea. “Thirsty? He’s been pestering me all week to find out if I’ve talked to you.”

Dani took the iced tea with a nod of thanks.

“And she keeps saying, ‘Yeah, I’ve talked to her,’ and then clamming up. Sure glad I don’t have to interview
her
for a living.”

Dani laughed. She couldn’t ask for better friends. “Lots of changes. Seems like everything’s for the better, though. Except…” She looked at Kat. “…except finding out that your uncle was involved.”

“That’s hard to get my head around,” said Kat. “That person who did all those things—that’s not the uncle I know.”