All the Colors of Time Read Free

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