Slices of an Apple

I have been working on a time travel novel for a while, but I am stumped because I don't think it is possible to select a time and a location target for the same trip. So, I have decided to publish it in bits and bobs, hoping someone wiser than I might come up with a solution to my problem.

I

1

Min had considered her costume carefully. Halloween had never been a big deal in Korea, although she had taken a zombie walk in Hongdae a few times. She felt double dislocated. Here she was, a Korean working for an Indian company known for its nationalism, which had built its singular role in the antenna business by playing on nostalgia for ancient Indian advances in astronomy, in Dublin. Although the Connectivity Conference was over, and she was officially on her own time, she still felt a representative of her company, and a representative who hoped to move out of senior engineering into senior management. She had decided to be a gwishin. It was Korean, and started with a white hanbok, the usual dress for funerals in southern Korea, and her long black hair let down for the occasion was also the norm for gwishin. But for the facelessness of this ghost caught among the living she decided to show off a bit of Kenstel’s technical achievements. She wore a facial erasure mask, part of Kenstel’s range of invisibility garments. Although completely transparent from inside, the side towards viewers did more than just absorb light. It appeared as a shapeless void. It would have been fun, she thought, to go in a full cloak with only her hair showing, but it might also lead to collisions with other partiers. Now, until she turned to face someone, she appeared as she was in everyday life: a rather formal  korean woman who moved with unusual grace.

It was only as she left the lift and walked across the lobby of the Gresham did she realize the short-coming of her costume. It left no way to drink or eat. Before the night was over, she would be happy to be clear-headed. Now, she just felt a little silly.

Rafael Acosta, her ‘date’ for the evening, was waiting for her, dressed as a helmed angel, complete with the yellow and red plumes of the Acosta crest. Like Min-seo Lee, he was rather formal, and very aware of his ancestry. He claimed descent from Enrique de Acosta, who in the sixteenth century had been governor of Yucatan and Cozumel. His father, like their ancestor, was adventurous enough to go where the new action is, and had moved the family to  Brazil to enjoy that country’s tech boom. Rafael was the head of European customer relations for Panjiva, one of Kenstel’s major suppliers. His formality, his air of aloofness, was quite an asset. He felt no need to assert himself, but he was a very good listener. The two formal young and ambitious minions in world connectivity had hit it off because they were both formally shy, and didn’t quite fit the casual style of much of the tech industry. They were both beginning this evening with the subtext of trying to spy a bit on what each other’s employers had in the works. But for now, they just turned into O’Connell street towards the Liffey’s docks and revelry.



2

Kenneth Owens also dressed carefully that Samhain eve. He had laid out everything in advance, preparing for a journey. It was a rather warm night in Pilton, but his clothes for the night were suitable for the Peak District or the Highlands of Scotland or Snowdon. He had not eaten since this morning, not knowing how his stomach would react to his trip. He expected, hopefully, that it would feel just like  sleeping. As he dressed, he did not put his i.d. or money cards in his pocket. They would almost certainly be of no use for him when he arrived, but if they were taken from him in some way, he would not have them if he returned. ‘When I return,’ he thought. He put his phone, a Razer Tegenaria in a carefully buttoned pocket. He was not likely to receive any calls while he was gone, but he wanted to be able to record and perhaps process a lot of data quickly while he was away from his car. He was wearing his Google Galileos, but redundancy is good. He was even taking an old Microsoft Surface, with a 10 terabyte ssd drive. It was loaded with a ridiculous amount of data and calculating software, because he didn’t expect to arrive anyplace with good wifi connectivity. And, of course, he took his Swiss Army knife, useful anywhere. It was only 20:30 GMT, and the trip to Glastonbury Tor would take only ten minutes, but he wanted to make sure he was on time. Full moon would be at 22:38 GMT, or just about 22:27 locally. He hoped there would not be too many new agers there to observe the full moon, or his journey. His food and water were already in the car, along with a relic from an earlier time.

‘Nest, I’ll be out for a while.’ Ken spoke, surveying his little nest once more before snuggling down into Attila. The Hyundai was almost dull grey, except it had a subtle iridescence. He had almost bought a red one, which he had thought he would call the Red Dragon, since he hoped that a red dragon might be at his destination. But he had decided on the unpainted model as better for his purposes, and then he couldn’t resist a pun. It might be a while before he saw his nest again. He might never see it again. He had told no one of his planned trip, not even his mother, whom he usually talked with each week, who would be horrified to know what he was doing. If all went well, there would be much to explain and share. If all went badly, there would be nothing anyone could do to help. If all went well, no one might notice  his absence. If not, well, he didn’t know what if not well would look like.

Actually, Ken didn’t know what if all went well would look like either.

Einstein’s Apple Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future And time future contained in time past. T. S. Eliot Burnt Norton The distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion. Albert Einstein Letter to the family of Michele Besso I 1 Min had considered her costume carefully. Halloween had never been a big deal in Korea, although she had taken a zombie walk in Hongdae a few times. She felt double dislocated. Here she was, a Korean working for an Indian company known for its nationalism, which had built its singular role in the antenna business by playing on nostalgia for ancient Indian advances in astronomy, in Dublin. Although the Connectivity Conference was over, and she was officially on her own time, she still felt a representative of her company, and a representative who hoped to move out of senior engineering into senior management. She had decided to be a gwishin. It was Korean, and started with a white hanbok, the usual dress for funerals in southern Korea, and her long black hair let down for the occasion was also the norm for gwishin. But for the facelessness of this ghost caught among the living she decided to show off a bit of Kenstel’s technical achievements. She wore a facial erasure mask, part of Kenstel’s range of invisibility garments. Although completely transparent from inside, the side towards viewers did more than just absorb light. It appeared as a shapeless void. It would have been fun, she thought, to go in a full cloak with only her hair showing, but it might also lead to collisions with other partiers. Now, until she turned to face someone, she appeared as she was in everyday life: a rather formal korean woman who moved with unusual grace. It was only as she left the lift and walked across the lobby of the Gresham did she realize the short-coming of her costume. It left no way to drink or eat. Before the night was over, she would be happy to be clear-headed. Now, she just felt a little silly. Rafael Acosta, her ‘date’ for the evening, was waiting for her, dressed as a helmed angel, complete with the yellow and red plumes of the Acosta crest. Like Min-seo Lee, he was rather formal, and very aware of his ancestry. He claimed descent from Enrique de Acosta, who in the sixteenth century had been governor of Yucatan and Cozumel. His father, like their ancestor, was adventurous enough to go where the new action is, and had moved the family to Brazil to enjoy that country’s tech boom. Rafael was the head of European customer relations for Panjiva, one of Kenstel’s major suppliers. His formality, his air of aloofness, was quite an asset. He felt no need to assert himself, but he was a very good listener. The two formal young and ambitious minions in world connectivity had hit it off because they were both formally shy, and didn’t quite fit the casual style of much of the tech industry. They were both beginning this evening with the subtext of trying to spy a bit on what each other’s employers had in the works. But for now, they just turned into O’Connell street towards the Liffey’s docks and revelry. 2 Kenneth Owens also dressed carefully that Samhain eve. He had laid out everything in advance, preparing for a journey. It was a rather warm night in Pilton, but his clothes for the night were suitable for the Peak District or the Highlands of Scotland or Snowdon. He had not eaten since this morning, not knowing how his stomach would react to his trip. He expected, hopefully, that it would feel just like sleeping. As he dressed, he did not put his i.d. or money cards in his pocket. They would almost certainly be of no use for him when he arrived, but if they were taken from him in some way, he would not have them if he returned. ‘When I return,’ he thought. He put his phone, a Razer Tegenaria in a carefully buttoned pocket. He was not likely to receive any calls while he was gone, but he wanted to be able to record and perhaps process a lot of data quickly while he was away from his car. He was wearing his Google Galileos, but redundancy is good. He was even taking an old Microsoft Surface, with a 10 terabyte ssd drive. It was loaded with a ridiculous amount of data and calculating software, because he didn’t expect to arrive anyplace with good wifi connectivity. And, of course, he took his Swiss Army knife, useful anywhere. It was only 20:30 GMT, and the trip to Glastonbury Tor would take only ten minutes, but he wanted to make sure he was on time. Full moon would be at 22:38 GMT, or just about 22:27 locally. He hoped there would not be too many new agers there to observe the full moon, or his journey. His food and water were already in the car, along with a relic from an earlier time. ‘Nest, I’ll be out for a while.’ Ken spoke, surveying his little nest once more before snuggling down into Attila. The Hyundai was almost dull grey, except it had a subtle iridescence. He had almost bought a red one, which he had thought he would call the Red Dragon, since he hoped that a red dragon might be at his destination. But he had decided on the unpainted model as better for his purposes, and then he couldn’t resist a pun. It might be a while before he saw his nest again. He might never see it again. He had told no one of his planned trip, not even his mother, whom he usually talked with each week, who would be horrified to know what he was doing. If all went well, there would be much to explain and share. If all went badly, there would be nothing anyone could do to help. If all went well, no one might notice his absence. If not, well, he didn’t know what if not well would look like. Actually, Ken didn’t know what if all went well would look like either.