"But where will this mania for entertainment end? What will people do when they get tired of television? When they get tired of movies? We already know the answer - they go into participatory activities: sports, theme parks, amusement rides, roller coasters. Structured fun, planned thrills. And what will they do when they tire of theme parks and planned thrills? Sooner or later, the artifice becomes too noticeable. They begin to realize that an amusement park is really a kind of jail, in which you pay to be an inmate.
"This artifice will drive them to seek authenticity. Authenticity will be the buzzword of the twenty-first century. And what is authentic? Anything that is not devised and structured to make a profit. Anything that is not controlled by corporations. Anything that exists for its own sake, that assumes its own shape. But of course, nothing in the modern world is allowed to assume its own shape. The modern world is the corporate equivalent of a formal garden, where everything is planted and arranged for effect. Where nothing is untouched, where nothing is authentic.
"Where, then, will people turn for the rare and desirable experience of authenticity? They will turn to the past.
"The past is unarguably authentic. The past is a world that already existed before Disney and Murdoch and Nissan and Sony and IBM and all the other shapers of the present day. The past was here before they were. The past rose and fell without their intrusion and molding and selling. The past is real. It's authentic. And this will make the past unbelievably attractive. That's why I say that the future is the past. The past is the only real alternative to - Yes? Diane, what is it?" He turned as she walked into the room.
"There's a problem in the transit room. It seems the explosion damaged the remaining water shields. Gordon's run a computer simulation that shows three shields breaking when they're filled with water."
"Diane, this is a goddamn no-brainer," Doniger said, tugging at his tie. "Are you telling me they may come back unshielded?"
"Yes."
"Well, we can't risk that."
"It's not that simple ."
"Yes, it is," Doniger said. "We can't take the risk. I'd rather they didn't come back at all than to have them come back seriously damaged."
"But-"
"But what? If Gordon has this computer projection, why is he going forward?"
"He doesn't believe the projection. He says it's quick and dirty, and he thinks the transit will go fine."
"We can't risk it," Doniger said, shaking his head. "They can't come back without shields. Period."
She paused, bit her lip. "Bob, I think the-"
"Hey," he said. "We got short-term-memory loss here? You were the one who wouldn't let Stern go back, because of the risk of transcription errors. Now you want to let the whole goddamn bunch come back unshielded? No, Diane."
"Okay," she said, obviously reluctant. "I'll go and talk to-"
"No. No talk. Kill it. Pull the power plug if you have to. But don't let those people come back. I'm right about this, and you know it."
In the control room, Gordon said, "He said what?"
"They can't come back. Absolutely not. Bob was firm."
"But they have to come back," David Stern said. "You have to let them."
"No, I don't," Kramer said.
"But-"
"John," Kramer said, turning to Gordon. "Has he seen Wellsey? Have you shown him Wellsey?"
"Who's Wellsey?"
"Wellsey's a cat," Gordon said.
"Wellsey's split," Kramer said to Stern. "He was one of the first test animals that we sent back. Before we knew that you had to use water shields in a transit. And he's very badly split."
"Split?"
Kramer turned to Gordon. "Haven't you told him anything?"
"Of course I told him," Gordon said. He said to Stern, "Split means he had very severe transcription errors." He turned back to Kramer. "But that happened years ago, Diane, back when we also had problems with the computers as well-"
Show him," Kramer said. "And then see if he's still so eager to bring his friends back. But the point of the conversation is, Bob's made his decision on this, and the answer is no. If we don't have secure shields, nobody can come back. Under any circumstances."
At the consoles, one of the technicians said, "We've got a field buck."
They crowded around the monitor, looking at the undulating wave and the tiny ripples in the surface.
"How long before they come back?" Stern said.
"Judging from this signal, about an hour."
"Can you tell how many?" Gordon said.
"Not yet, but it's more than one. Maybe four, or five."
"That's all of them," Gordon said. "They must have gotten the Professor, and they're all coming home. They've done what we asked them to do, and they're coming back."
He turned to Kramer.
"Sorry," she said. "If there're no shields, nobody comes back. That's final."
01:01:52
Crouched beside the trapdoor, Kate got slowly to her feet. She was standing in a narrow space, no more than four feet wide, with high stone walls on either side. Firelight was coming in from an opening to her left. By its yellow light, she saw a door directly ahead of her. Behind her was a set of stairs, going steeply upward to the top of the chamber, some thirty feet above.
But where was she?
Chris peered over the edge of the trapdoor, and pointed to the firelight. He whispered, "I think we know why they never found the door to this passage."
"Why?"
"It's behind the fireplace."
"Behind the fireplace?" she whispered. And then she realized he was right. This narrow space was one of the secret passages of La Roque: behind the fireplace of the great hall.
Kate moved forward cautiously, past the wall to her left - and found herself staring out from the back wall of the fireplace in the great hall. The fireplace was nine feet high. Through the leaping flames, she saw Oliver's high table, where his knights were sitting and eating, their backs to her. She could not be more than fifteen feet from them.
She whispered, "You're right. It's behind the fireplace."
She looked back to Chris, then beckoned him to come forward. She was about to continue to the door directly ahead when Sir Guy glanced back at the fire as he tossed a chicken wing into the flames. He turned back to the table, resumed eating.
She thought, Get out of here.
But it was too late. Guy's shoulders twitched; he was already turning back again. He saw her clearly, his eyes met hers, and he shouted, "My Lord!" He pushed back from the table and drew his sword.
Kate ran to the door, tugged at it, but it was locked, or stuck shut. She couldn't open it. She turned back to the narrow stairs behind her. She saw Sir Guy standing on the other side of the flames, hesitating. He looked at her again, and plunged through the fire toward her. She saw Chris coming through the trapdoor and said, "Down!" He ducked down as she scrambled up the stairs.
Sir Guy swung at her feet, narrowly missing her, his sword clanging off the stone. He cursed her, then looked down at the opening to the passage below. Apparently he didn't see Chris, because immediately afterward she heard him coming up the stairs behind her.
She had no weapon; she had nothing.
She ran.
At the top of the stairs, thirty feet above the ground, was a narrow platform, and when she reached it, she felt a thicket of cobwebs clinging to her face. She brushed them away impatiently. The platform could not have been more than two feet square. It was precarious, but she was a climber and it didn't bother her.
But it bothered Sir Guy. He was moving very slowly up the stairs toward her, pressing his shoulder against the wall, keeping as far from the edge of the stairs as he could, clutching at tiny handholds in the mortar of the wall. He had a desperate look and he was breathing hard. So, the valiant knight was afraid of heights. But not afraid enough to stop, she saw. If anything, his discomfort seemed to make him angrier. He glared at her with murderous intent.