“I tried to call in,” said Noel. “Did you know that the comm booths at the shuttle terminal no longer reach this section of Chicago? Overloaded lines. I ask you, how long can this-”
“Blood pressure,” said Trojan. His blue eyes grew dim and stared into the distance. It was his way of tuning out, and it warned Noel to control his temper.
“Hell,” he muttered. “You’re right. It’s just that I want this assignment. I can’t stand modern life. It’s ruining my nerves.”
Trojan’s chuckle was a rumble deep in his throat. “We all know that. Here’s the infirmary corridor. Why don’t you get that cut fixed?”
“No time-”
“There’s time.” Trojan clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “After all, you don’t want to be scratched from your new assignment just because you flunked your physical.”
Noel stared at him a moment, drinking in his words, letting the knowledge, the relief, the triumph sink deep into his brain. Then he gripped Trojan’s arms and let out a muffled whoop.
“Really? You too?”
Trojan nodded, his grin spreading from ear to ear. Gripping each other, they began an impromptu jig in the middle of the corridor. A couple of smocked scientists stepped around them, disinterested, and used to the aberrations of historians. Down the hall, a door opened and a gray-haired woman with a face like a mountain crag looked out.
“Heitz! Kedran! Stop making that noise and report to your stations at once. Kedran, if you bleed on the floor I’ll have you mop this entire area.”
They stopped dancing at once and stood shoulder to shoulder at attention, like schoolboys caught in a misdemeanor.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Trojan.
“Yes, Dr. Rugle,” said Noel.
“One would think, Mr. Kedran,” said Rugle, “that you aren’t interested in traveling after all, since you didn’t bother to attend this morning’s orientation meeting.”
Noel pulled in his chin and tried to keep his dislike of the old harridan off his face. “I’m very interested, Dr. Rugle,” he said. “I got caught in a riot on the way to work.”
“A riot?” She frowned. “Can’t you think of a less mundane excuse? Get to your stations. Tchielskov has decided to take the day off, for some inexplicable reason, leaving us short of prep technicians. Processing is going to take at least two hours longer than usual. Your cooperation will help that procedure go more smoothly. Thank you.”
She vanished, her door closing. Noel and Trojan passed her office in silence, not daring to meet each other’s gaze. As soon as they turned the corner and entered the archives section, they glanced at each other and snickered.
“What an old bag,” said Noel. “Our cooperation will assist the procedure of processing to proceed in an ongoing direction. I’m glad I did miss the meeting.”
Trojan veered off to a coffee machine and got another cup. “Want some?”
“No. You know I hate the stuff.” Noel eyed him critically. “At the rate you’re swilling it-”
“Coffee drinking didn’t come into practice in Europe until the late eighteenth century,” said Trojan, slurping. “No coffee where I’m going.”
“You mean when you’re going.”
“That too.” Finishing his cup, Trojan refilled it again.
“You’re getting Agincourt,” said Noel, unable to hold off asking any longer. “The first modern battle in Europe. One of the finest examples of courage and achievement against impossible odds. Well? If you know we both got assignments, you must know what they are. Tell me!”
Trojan chuckled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“Did you get Agincourt?”
“You know I wanted Malta.”
“That’s just because you like the Mediterranean climate. Tell!”
Trojan let out a mighty sigh. “Yes, I got Agincourt.”
Noel grinned, his expectations wired tight. “And? Oh, hell, Troj, stop playing this out.”
“You got Constantinople.”
Excitement burst in Noel. He threw his arms in the air like a marathon winner and crowed.
Three people instantly appeared in the lobby of the archives: the librarian and two other historians.
The librarian shook his head indulgently and retreated without a reprimand. One historian grinned and shook Noel’s and Trojan’s hands. The other scowled.
Noel made himself sober quickly, although the excitement beating inside him was stronger than his own heartbeat. “Sorry, Rupeet. No go for you?”
Rupeet’s dark face scowled harder. He made no reply. His tall, fair-haired companion, however, shot Noel a rueful smile.
“Nor for me, I’m afraid,” he said in a soft, singsong voice. “We’re to wait until your lot returns.”
“We’ll only be gone about an hour, this time,” said Noel.
“Slack,” said Rupeet angrily. “Slack thinker. Slack planner. Slack in everything you do. You’re never properly prepared. You don’t read the manuals. You even missed this morning’s meeting-”
“Easy, Rupeet,” said Trojan.
“Damn it all! It’s forty-nine minutes,” said Rupeet. “Not sixty.”
Noel shrugged. “So?”
“You see? You see? It’s a crucial variation in the time streams. With the previous model LOCs we had only a thirty-six-minute return lap. It’s significant, Kedran. If you ever did half your job, you’d know that.”
Noel’s temper, ever quick to fly, was barely held in check. His eyes narrowed. “I know it indicates we can stay in the time stream longer with fewer adverse effects. I know it indicates a forty-nine to one ratio, with forty- nine of their minutes equal to one of ours. That gives us roughly two days in past time-”
“Exactly 1.667 days. More than enough time for you to make a mistake that could seriously alter-”
“Oh, give it up, Rupeet,” said Noel rudely and walked away.
Trojan fell into step with him. “You’re making an enemy there.”,
Noel shrugged.
“Office politics are sticky. It’s not wise to have enemies within the Institute. We have enough outside it.”
“I hate politics,” said Noel irritably. “We each have our jobs to do. There’s no competition. Why should he care who goes first?”
“Why did you?”
Noel glared at him, but Trojan was staring into the bottom of his cup.
After a moment Noel sighed. “Yeah, okay. You made your point. But Rupeet doesn’t love the past. He doesn’t have a feel for it, an understanding of its richness, of its texture. He doesn’t see the interweaving of the time streams as a poetry of the universe. He-”
Trojan’s quizzical look made Noel realize he was getting carried away. His face flamed hot and he cleared his throat.
“Uh, well, he just plods through and makes his recordings. We might as well send a pack mule on his assignments, for all the joy they bring him. He sees each assignment as another step to his promotion into the administration. It’s like a profanity. The whole experience is wasted on him.”
“It’s just fun for me,” said Trojan mildly, finishing his coffee and tossing away the cup. “When it stops being fun, I shall stop traveling. You always want to turn it into a religious experience-”
“Cute, Troj. Very cute.”
“Poetry of the universe,” said Trojan and snorted. “That wallop you took this morning must have addled your brain. Come on.”
Four hours later Noel strapped on his LOC, feeling it turn warm and settle around his wrist like an old friend. He walked through the sterile Laboratory 14, now filled with row after row of technicians, each sitting at a terminal, each linked into the data-retrieval-run system mat supported the massive time computer.
