Samantha Smart (20 page)

“Good. Then when can we meet? I’ll need at least two days to do the necessary research. Suki and Marvin, I’d appreciate your help in the lab here as well, if you can spare some time in the next couple of days.”

“Okay,” Suki nodded. “I’ll just tell my mom it’s more study group stuff.”

“Hey, Dr, Marvy’s on call, y’all,” Marvin assented. It seemed that, as a boy (and one who did well in school despite his ‘rebel rapper’ image), his parental rules were a lot more relaxed.

“Samantha, Brianna, see if you two can come here, say, Friday afternoon, after school or–I know you’ve mostly been at the hospital, Samantha–when you can. Can we say we’ll try for Friday at four?”

“All right,” Samantha nodded, adding “please, Professor, we need to bring my mom back.”

The Professor nodded solemnly, wordlessly promising to do his very best.

*

The next few days were very hard for Samantha. She missed being in school, the learning about other cultures and scientific properties and such, even just the social distraction. She spent most of her time at the hospital, reading magazine articles aloud to her mother, hoping somewhere inside that she could hear them. Jason was there as much as time allowed, and Samantha was beginning to develop a deep respect for him; it was obvious that he really, genuinely cared about her mom.
It must be weird,
she thought,
having to go through something like this with someone you’ve only been seeing for a week or two.

Todd was there a lot too, and their mother’s sister Tina. Samantha had begun staying with their aunt as well, after an initial few days of falling asleep in the chair in her mother’s hospital room. It was all really strange, even for Todd, who seemed agitated and out of sorts, though he attempted to maintain a facade of cool, teenaged detachment. At least it had been nice to be able to be with Polly again–there was no friend in times of trouble like a loyal, canine one, and Polly had gently licked her tears away the past few nights as she cried herself to sleep. In some ways, she had wanted to tell Todd the truth about what was really going on; Cindy was his mom too, and she often thought that he deserved to know. But logic insisted that he probably wouldn’t believe her story anyway, that she was lying or just totally crazy, cracking up from the stress of the situation.

The doctors were still mystified, though they had been in touch with Professor Smythe. He had actually given them his information, in hopes that by some small chance they could artificially synthesize some kind of antidote, but so far nothing solid had been accomplished to that end. Samantha sighed in her hospital chair, realizing that once again, The Professor was probably correct in his judgement that for an antidote to be created, a sample of the plant which had produced the poison would have to be acquired. It looked like her career as a time-traveler was far from over.

The police, too, had been in contact with The Professor. He had given them the same information that he’d given to the hospital, though had understandably withheld any further knowledge that he possessed relating to the situation. There was, Samantha was beginning to realize, a real chance that the government could pierce their bubble of secrecy and infiltrate it, seal off the museum and exploit the site like some alien crash-landing area in a science fiction movie. Would she ever speak to her mother again if this was to happen? She didn’t think so.

She had arranged for Jason to bring her to the museum at four, it being Friday now, almost an entire week that her mother had been in a coma. Todd and Aunt Tina had actually expressed interest in coming with her, as her explanation for going had been that she was helping Professor Smythe research the toxin that trickled ever-so-slowly through Cindy’s nervous system. Reluctantly, they had agreed to let her go alone after she fabricated a story about The Professor being a very reclusive man who didn’t function well around people that he didn’t already know. It had finally been agreed that Aunt Tina would pick her up at seven at the museum, and that afterward they would all have dinner together somewhere.

Jason was at the hospital at three and escorted Samantha out to the waiting car service car, kissing Cindy’s forehead before they left and making sure that Tina and Todd were okay. Samantha decided that he was a very good man despite his simple, sometimes immature behavior and made a mental note to try really hard to keep him and her mother together. The car ride was mostly silent, though he too expressed an interest in accompanying her to The Professor’s labs, hoping to be of help in some way. Samantha looked at him after giving him the same story she had told her family and smiled slightly through her tears, which welled up frequently in the past week. Yes, he was possibly a keeper.

She waved goodbye to Jason from the steps of the museum, having thanked him profusely for having been so concerned about her mom and for being there for her as well. It was a particularly cold night, and she tried to search her memory for a feeling of warmth that she’d had as she’d stood on the same stairs in the altered reality.

The Professor’s office was once again a lively center of activity. All her friends were, once again, already there and had apparently been being briefed on the details of their mission by the aging, many-degreed Englishman. They all hugged her as she entered, even the stoic ‘Dr. Marvy.’ She felt good.

“Everything’s ready Samantha,” The Professor began. “Suki, Marvin and I have been planning the mission details for days. We’ve even constructed more wrist-communicators so that everyone will have one now.”

“Thank you all so much,” Samantha spoke quietly, trying to hold back tears. “It really means a lot to me.”

“I need only relate a few things to you, as I have already to the rest of the team. Please listen carefully, for these things are very important, though they may seem trivial.” He cleared his throat. “ Do not touch anything,
speak to anyone
or in any way interact with the environment around you unless it is absolutely necessary.
This means life or death, or mission failure. We have supplied the team with food and water enough to last for three days.
If you cannot complete your mission within this time, you
must
return nonetheless to our present time. No exceptions.” Samantha nodded, swallowing gravely. “ Do not eat or drink anything from your surroundings; this is truly the distant past, and doing so will most likely result in violent illness for one or all members of your party.

“Be invisible if at all possible. Your mission, though it may seem a simple one of gathering samples, should not in any way affect the existence of other plants, animals or especially human beings you may inadvertently come in contact with. This is of the utmost importance.

“Do not camp where you might be noticed. Do not dally in distractions that may pique your interest; you have but one primary mission and your only other function should be to absolutely minimize any possible effect you could have on the ancient world around you. Remember, even a chance encounter with a harmless-seeming native could result in none of us ever being born.”

The friends all looked at each other, feeling almost as if they were some adult team of astronauts about to fly into the sun. Clearly, this was serious stuff.

“Finally,” The Professor concluded, “make sure you’ve got the
right plant.
I’ve given Marvin and Brianna palm computers detailing the plant’s visual, textural and olfactory, that is, scent characteristics. Brianna also has the little chemical testing kit I whipped up. Performing the chemical test should be fairly elementary, nothing beyond what any of you have had in school. And I know you’re all very bright,” The Professor cracked a smile. “I can’t think of any team I’d rather be sending to perform this task. Just
please
be careful.” He patted Marvin on the back and then indicated that they should follow him to the time machine room.

*

The time machine was as awesome as ever. Everyone had now experienced its effects, and all had consequently developed a healthy respect for the megalithic construction of some ancient pre-Mayans. The Professor had managed to duplicate the original stick of ‘chalk’ through painful research and questionable materials requisitions that he had submitted through the museum, giving them each their own hunk of the mysterious compound. He had also seemingly refined his knowledge of the device’s controls, and now manned them with a much more reassuring air of confidence. In a short time, the party found themselves clustered together atop the machine’s stone platform, fingers crossed for good luck.

It began. Once again, the world turned an electric blue and started to flicker. Incomprehensible symbols flashed through the minds of the would-be adventurers, dancing like fireflies on the insides of their eyelids. Reality seemed to ripple, like the spot on the surface of a pond where someone had just tossed a pebble–it was entirely surreal. Samantha and the others stared at their feet, trying to focus, trying to ground themselves in some awareness that they
did
exist, that they were real things, standing on solid earth. It was difficult.

Again, as before, it was over in an instant. The friends looked around, trying to get their bearings. They were standing in the middle of a desert area, with nothing but wide-open space around them. The edge of some encroaching jungle could be seen in the distance, the only interruption in an otherwise perfectly flat, dusty horizon. They turned to look at each other and almost simultaneously remembered the necessity of the chalk. Fortunately, perhaps, they had appeared on a plateau of rock, so it was easy to trace their footprints on the hard surface. Samantha wondered for a moment what would have happened if they’d appeared directly on the plain of sand, or even (heaven forbid) on the surface of a lake or river. She shivered at the thought of it as she dutifully traced her feet on the floor of thousand-year-old stone.

“Yo, that was, once again,
criz-azy
,” M.C. Marvin piped up, always the smiling, willing adventurer.

“I feel like I’m going to puke,” Brianna added sincerely.

“Time travel sure is, well, dizzying,” Suki put in. “It feels kind of like being on a roller-coaster without actually moving.”

“Word,” Marvin agreed.

“Well, it looks like we made it to somewhere resembling the right place,” Samantha opined, looking around at the arid landscape. There were some small desert plants in evidence, but the information they had suggested that the one they were looking for would most likely be found in a moister, more forested area.

“I guess we should head for that jungle over there,” Marvin said, a little unsure of himself. “At least, I think there’s more of a chance that we’ll find our sample in there.” The others agreed and the group began marching toward the ominous-looking horizon of dense trees and undergrowth, shrugging their backpacks higher onto their shoulders.

The company had brought a good amount of supplies with them, three days worth of food and water, a large, four-man tent and plenty of matches with which to build fires. It was, however, quite warm, being (theoretically) Central America, and no one was worried about freezing overnight. Their other supplies included sleeping bags, a few compact pots and pans and the various scientific equipment The Professor had given them: palm computers containing relevant information, the chemical analysis kit that Brianna carried and other small, useful items such as flashlights, fifty feet of strong nylon rope, razor blades and of course, duct tape. One never knew when such things would come in handy. They also each carried a high-voltage stun gun, in case they needed to protect themselves. The legality of anyone their age possessing the latter was questionable, but Marvin had come through again, finding a way to procure some from some street acquaintance or another, with Professor Smythe’s money.

It was a pity, Samantha thought, that they had been forbidden to bring any sort of camera or sound-recording device. The ancient landscape was truly wild and very beautiful; even the sparse desert they trudged through now was abuzz with the minute details of life that could hardly be documented earnestly in the twenty-first century. The jungle they marched toward, she imagined, would be even more filled with the sights and sounds of a world forever lost to naturalists of the modern era, and the budding scientist within her lamented the lost opportunity to capture the essence of what they experienced on video or audio.

The sun became hot on their backs as they walked. Even after only twenty minutes, everyone was sweating and trying not to break into their supply of water. The line where desert met jungle had initially seemed not so distant, but it quickly became evident that the trees that defined it were much larger than they had originally presumed, and that their chosen destination was in fact rather some miles away. Within the first hour, though, they were aware of their wrist-communicators crackling.

“Hello?” The Professor’s voice came through, weak and staticky but understandable. “Alpha Team, are you there?” He had given their group a catchy code name and seemed determined to use it.

“Yes,” Samantha replied, tapping the talk button on her unit. “We’re here, Professor. All’s well, I suppose. We’re sort of in the middle of a desert, but we’re heading for a wall of jungle about three or four miles away.”

“Oh, so that’s,” The Professor converted, “ six or eight kilometers. Good for you, then, agents! You’re on the right track. The plant you’re looking for is called, if you’ll recall,
Phylathimus Phylathum.
It supposedly grew in small ponds of brackish water, usually in the same area that trees with hanging moss would be found.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Samantha spoke back, wiping sweat from her brow and staring at the powerful sun.
No wonder these people worshiped the sun so much,
she thought to herself.

“Very good,” The Professor continued, sounding as if he was having trouble receiving them clearly. “We shall try to keep radio contact to a minimum unless something crucial is happening. I’m having trouble tuning you in perfectly; the time distortion to the signal is considerable. Also, if you hear any beeps like this,” the wrist-communicator beeped, “
Do Not,
I repeat,
Do Not
contact me until I contact you. This is in case there are any police or federal agents who may enter my office while you’re away.”