interviews.”
“I did. They don’t do you justice. I imagined you as a brilliant mode-shifter, slipping in and out of personalities.”
“That’s dissociative identity disorder,” I said. “It’s different.”
“Very good!” Ivy piped in. She’d been schooling me on psychological disorders.
“Regardless,” Monica said. “I guess I’m just surprised to find out what you really are.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“A middle manager,” she said, looking troubled. “Anyway, the question remains. Where is Razon?”
“Depends,” I said. “Does he need to be any place specific to use the camera? Meaning, did he have to
“He has to go to the location,” Monica said. “The camera looks back through time at the exact place you are.”
There were problems with that, but I let them slide for now. Razon. Where would he go? I glanced at J.C., who shrugged.
“You look to him first?” Ivy said with a flat tone. “Really.”
I looked to her, and she blushed. “I . . . I actually don’t have anything either.”
J.C. chuckled at that.
Tobias stood up, slow and ponderous, like a distant cloud formation rising into the sky. “Jerusalem,” he said softly, resting his fingers on a book. “He’s gone to Jerusalem.”
We all looked at him. Well, those of us who could.
“Where else would a believer go, Stephen?” Tobias asked. “After years of arguments with his colleagues, years of being thought a fool for his faith? This was what it was about all along, this is why he developed the camera. He’s gone to answer a question. For us, for himself. A question that has been asked for two thousand years.
“He’s gone to take a picture of Jesus of Nazareth—dubbed Christ by his devout—following his resurrection.”
Five
I required five first-class seats. This did not sit well with Monica’s superiors, many of whom did not approve of me. I met one of those at the airport, a Mr. Davenport. He smelled of pipe smoke, and Ivy critiqued his poor taste in shoes. I thought better of asking him if we could use the corporate jet.
We now sat in the first-class cabin of the plane. I flipped lazily through a thick book on my seat’s foldout tray. Behind me, J.C. bragged to Tobias about the weapons he’d managed to slip past security.
Ivy dozed by the window, with an empty seat next to her. Monica sat beside me, staring at that empty seat. “So Ivy is by the window?”
“Yes,” I said, flipping a page.
“Tobias and the marine are behind us.”
“J.C.’s a Navy SEAL. He’d shoot you for making that mistake.”
“And the other seat?” she asked.
“Empty,” I said, flipping a page.
She waited for an explanation. I didn’t give one.
“So what are you going to do with this camera?” I asked. “Assuming the thing is real, a fact of which I’m not yet convinced.”
“There are hundreds of applications,” Monica said. “Law enforcement . . . Espionage . . . Creating a true account of historical events . . . Watching the early formation of the planet for scientific research . . .”
“Destroying ancient religions . . .”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you a religious man, then, Mister Leeds?”
“Part of me is.” That was the honest truth.
“Well,” she said. “Let us assume that Christianity is a sham. Or, perhaps, a movement started by well- meaning people but which has grown beyond proportion. Would it not serve the greater good to expose that?”
“That’s not really an argument I’m equipped to enter,” I said. “You’d need Tobias. He’s the philosopher. Of course, I think he’s dozing.”
“Actually, Stephen,” Tobias said, leaning between our two seats, “I’m quite curious about this conversation. Stan is watching our progress, by the way. He says there might be some bumpy weather up ahead.”
“You’re looking at something,” Monica said.
“I’m looking at Tobias,” I said. “He wants to continue the conversation.”
“Can I speak with him?”
“I suppose you can, through me. I’ll warn you, though. Ignore anything he says about Stan.”
“Who’s Stan?” Monica asked.
“An astronaut that Tobias hears, supposedly orbiting the world in a satellite.” I turned a page. “Stan is mostly harmless. He gives us weather forecasts, that sort of thing.”
“I . . . see,” she said. “Stan’s another one of your special friends?”
I chuckled. “No. Stan’s not real.”
“I thought you said none of them were.”
“Well, true. They’re my hallucinations. But Stan is something special. Only Tobias hears him. Tobias is a schizophrenic.”
She blinked in surprise. “Your hallucination . . .”
“Yes?”
“Your hallucination has hallucinations.”
“Yes.”
She settled back, looking disturbed.
“They all have their issues,” I said. “Ivy is a trypophobic, though she mostly has it under control. Just don’t come at her with a wasp’s nest. Armando is a megalomaniac. Adoline has OCD.”
“If you please, Stephen,” Tobias said. “Let her know that I find Razon to be a very brave man.”
I repeated the words.
“And why is that?” Monica asked.
“To be both a scientist and religious is to create an uneasy truce within a man,” Tobias said. “At the heart of science is accepting only that truth which can be proven. At the heart of faith is to define Truth, at its core, as being unprovable. Razon is a brave man because of what he is doing. Regardless of his discovery, one of two things he holds very dear will be upended.”
“He could be a zealot,” Monica replied. “Marching blindly forward, trying to find final validation that he has been right all along.”
“Perhaps,” Tobias said. “But the true zealot would not need validation. The Lord would provide validation. No, I see something else here. A man seeking to meld science and faith, the first person—perhaps in the history of mankind—to
Tobias settled back. I flipped the last few pages of the book as Monica sat in thought. Finished, I stuffed the book into the pocket of the seat in front of me.
Someone rustled the curtains, entering from economy class and coming into the first-class cabin. “Hello!” a friendly feminine voice said, walking up the aisle. “I could not help seeing that you had an extra seat up here, and I thought to myself, perhaps they would let me sit in it.”
The newcomer was a round-faced, pleasant young woman in her late twenties. She had tan Indian skin and a deep red dot on her forehead. She wore clothing of intricate make, red and gold, with an Indian shawl-thingy over one shoulder and wrapping around her. I don’t know what they’re called.
