had, she said, made a truly astounding discovery.
I drove out to the site in record time, and beheld with wonder the shallow pit which cradled the skeleton of a woman judged to be in her seventies—old for the Middle Ages. And the truly astounding discovery?
In a clay amphora wedged beside the corpse was a crude paper scroll, covered in minute handwriting.
The script, of course, was in contemporary English.
* * * *
The following night I sat with Fiona in the conservatory, drank a glass of red wine and read a copy of Sally Reichs’ eleventh-century journal.
I have had a long and happy life, she wrote. I did what I had to do, I believe, and then found people I came to trust and love. I could have returned to the hillside, perhaps, and ventured home…but after two years in this age I had discovered something…someone…important to me.
But let me begin at the beginning, in a time far away from this one.…
I stared through the conservatory window and considered Sally Reichs. I tried to decide if she was a fool or a hero, whether she had unjustifiably killed Simon Cauldwell on irrational grounds, or if her premeditated murder had indeed saved the future from some unknowable chronic catastrophe.…
Outside, the sun went down in a blaze of crimson glory.
UNCERTAIN WORLD, by Eric Brown
Marshall sat on the balcony overlooking the bay, waiting as he’d waited patiently for the past two days. The sun set, and the stars came out above this strange new Earth. In the distance, along the coast, he made out the whitewashed adobe dwellings rising up the hillside. In the night sky, between Lupus and Scorpius, in low orbit, was the Christmas bauble brightness of his ship.
He stood and strode to the edge of the patio, as he’d done half a dozen times during the past forty-eight hours. A pair of Africans in kaftans smiled benignly up at him. Two other guards were stationed at the back of the villa, enforcing his house arrest.
He was on the coast of what had been Africa. Down below, on the sea-front wall, families promenaded, couples walked arm in arm. The sight of them created an ache in his chest. He had never felt so alone in his life, not even in deep space, in the photon sleet of the supernova where he’d lost his crew—all but his diminutive Thai deputy commander, Ki.
Where was she now?
They had separated him from Ki as soon as they had come down in the shuttle close to what had been Freetown, and he hadn’t seen her since. He had been debriefed—though they hadn’t called it that—by a woman as tall, attenuated and ebon as a Masai warrior. She had called herself Tem, and had asked him about his mission: How long ago had they set off from Earth? What had been their aim?
Incredulous at her ignorance, he had told her.
“And you say that your ship carried five thousand frozen colonists?” She spoke English, but heavily accented, so that Marshall was forced to concentrate to make out each word.
“Suspended would be a better description. They consume no food, nor use amenities when suspended. At journey’s end, when we found a suitable colony world, they’d be awoken. At least, that was the plan.”
The woman had asked how it was that he had set off from Earth two hundred years ago, and yet he seemed no older now than forty?
“We travelled at the speed of light,” he began. “You mean, you haven’t heard of Einstein?”
She had shaken her head, the simple gesture speaking volumes, and blandly asked, “And did you discover life out there, habitable planets?”
He had answered truthfully: no, and no…and asked questions of his own: What had happened to the Luna receiving station, to the United Space Corporation? And what had they done with Ki?
She had merely smiled and said, “In time, Mr. Marshall. In time,” and left him alone in the villa, angry and curious and not a little frightened.
What place for him in a world without the USC? It had been bad enough returning home having discovered neither alien life forms, nor colonizable worlds. But to return to an Earth that was ignorant of the original mission…!
What had happened in the two centuries they had been away?
He hit the balcony rail and almost wept.
* * * *
That night he dreamed of the supernova again. He heard the scream of the ruptured solar magnetosphere, the transmitted cries of his team as they realized they were doomed.
The primary had blown while his team were investigating a planet that had shown evidence of life. The world and his team—twelve good men and women—had perished in the merciless radiation blast-front, and he had had no option but to light out of the system with his deputy, Ki Pandaung, and head for Earth, defeated.
He came awake weeping with grief, then remembered where he was.
* * * *
In the morning he awoke to the intense dazzle of sunlight, and reached out. His hand encountered the coolness of a bed empty but for himself: no Ki.
They had come together during the homeward flight. They had always been close, but duty had filled their time and thoughts with other matters. Now, with no duty, and time on their hands, they had sought solace in each other, and the solace had been lifesaving.
He showered and moved to the kitchen. While he slept, the table had been laid with cereal and fruit. Last night he had stepped into the kitchen to find that a cold meal had been prepared for him, brought in, presumably, while he brooded on the balcony. Tonight he would remain in the kitchen, to catch his keeper in the act and demand some explanations.
He ate, and the food tasted wrong. As ever it was too sweet, with a chemical tang, and he wondered if his diet of shipboard nutrients for the past ten years had left him with an intolerance of real food. After the meal he felt nauseous.
He moved to the patio and stood staring down at the paved sea-walk, where citizens strolled in the bright sunlight. Loneliness swept over him in a wave.
The first thing he would demand, when the woman returned, was that he be reunited with Ki. It was bad enough to be denied freedom on an Earth he little understood—and which, presumably, did not understand him—but to be alone in this ordeal was intolerable, quite apart from the fact that he was worried for his lover’s welfare.
He wanted to cry out to the people down below, “What kind of world have you made in my absence? What kind of world, ignorant of Einstein and starships and science?”
He smiled. They would stare up at him, uncomprehending.
A noise, from the villa at his back, startled him. The woman, come to resume her ignorant questioning?
He hurried from the patio.
He found the intruder in the kitchen, and automatically assumed that he had caught the person who replenished his table.
She was short, black, shaven-headed. She dropped into a defensive crouch when he entered the room.
“Don’t move!” he called out. He pointed to a chair. “Sit down right there and tell me what the hell’s going on.”
Instead of obeying, she straightened and smiled at him. She approached and held out her hand. “Commander Marshall. You don’t know how privileged I feel to make your acquaintance at last. I have come to get you out of here.” She spoke with the same thick accent as the first woman.
Bemused, he shook the proffered hand. “You have?”
“Explanations later,” the women said. “Follow me.”
She slipped from the kitchen. He followed. A veranda at the back of the villa looked out over rising scrubland, with a margin of jungle in the distance. She tapped down the steps, paused at the bottom, and gestured for him to follow. There was no sign of