Museum Obscura

I have to be careful. Very, very careful. I should know, I built the darn thing.

I was using the small unit today. I’d tried with the big one, personally going back to purchase, but the stubborn ass wouldn’t sell. Didn’t trust me, didn’t trust my motive.

Well, a two-bit overseer whose name isn’t even recorded in history should be no match for me, but still, a nobody with a gun can beat a smartass nerd with some cutting edge tech any day. I didn’t want it to be today.

Through the scope, I could see my objective at the end of the counter.

Steady… steady…

Locked! Now, the switch…

While the overseer was distracted, I opened a tiny portal. I reached through, very careful not to touch the edges. Grab, slide, out of the way, pick up the duplicate, place it in front of the portal, grab a wooden ruler, push-slide it through, snap, close it down.

Done!

And there, in front of me, was the set of weights.

I’d been going for these for a long, long, time.

I picked up the two pound scale weight with shaking fingers. Traces of blood still clung to the edge that had cracked Harriet Tubman’s skull.

Yes!

My gloved hand slid the weight back into its wood socket. There was no way I was contaminating these precious object with my own DNA. I carried it reverently into the next room, my hidden treasure chamber.

A museum obscura, if you will. With all the treasures that time forgot.

There are some nice museum obscurae one can visit. Not exactly locked anymore, though some of the European ones are a bit hard to find. But I’ve visited many, usually hiding the more naughty or icky things from young eyes. Props to the exhibits that just make it difficult, and give you the choice of two paths. Those are the best.

But mine? Hidden, for a long while, at least till I can fix the glitches in the machine. Once the world’s made aware, it’s going to be a bitch to keep things ethical. It’s already been hell keeping my own activities under wraps.

I have some. But I’m no hero. Not an anti-hero, either. I don’t think.

Take my personal robot, for instance.

I built her. None of this factory pre-programmed nonsense for me! I wanted a cook, bangmaid, foil, and cheerleader all in one. So I made her, with all the parts I wanted, and none of the desire for self-awareness that came with the standard models. One that would ask questions, like Watson, and we could bask in the glow of collaboration without the inevitable betrayal. I’m not an evil genius, but even chaotic neutral geniuses need their needs met.

She clapped hands to her silicone-clad cheeks. “You got it!” She moved swiftly over to the case, already prepared, and opened it so I didn’t have to juggle both things at once. Reverently, I lowered it into the silk velvet.

This two-pound weight broke Harriet Tubman’s skull, setting her on the path of a conductor on the Underground Railroad. Retrieved Jan. 29, 2077.

“Did you see her?”

“Not this time, just the once before. I’ll meet her later – er, in her life. After she rescued her parents, I bought the prized possessions they took with them on their run to freedom.” I nodded to the worn ax, the feather comforter, the straw-plaited harness that Harriet herself made, to lead the horse and cart on their wild adventure. I traded provisions and a real harness for it. “I can finally put a plaque on that cabinet, now that I have the final object from that quest.”

“You must be so pleased.”

“I am. But I am also thinking about a new adventure, something challenging.”

“Like Excalibur?”

“Ehhh. So many watery swords being pulled out of every pond, dyke, and quarry. I can’t take the chance that one that’s already been found is the actual one, so I think I’ll let that go. Joyeuse, Charlemagne’s sword, has also allegedly been found, so I’ll refrain from testing the veracity of the claim. And the Honjo Masamune will also eventually be recovered, so no more swords.”

“You’ve done the obvious ones, Venus de Milo’s arms, the Sphinx’s nose-”

“Yeah, and those are both locked away in the Louvre and Egyptian Museum. Fitting, I thought. Didn’t take them much convincing, once they saw the breaks lined up on the broken bits that have. I threw in the rest of the Sphinx’s beard for free.”

“Generous.”

“Hardly, that money was eaten up in the first year when I hired the geniuses to tweak the positional program. Worth it, but long spent. But at least I don’t have to fear reappearing where the planet isn’t anymore, because they were able to compensate for Earth’s travel through space as well as time.”

“Small things, then. You said we have Abraham Lincoln’s hat?”

“Indeed, the Smithsonian has it, with other possessions of himself from the night of the assassination. I have a few obscure things, and I bought some things from Mary Todd before she was placed in the asylum. I tried to reassure her that her husband was looking after her, but, well, she was pretty far gone at that point. I did attend one of the public viewings of his body in the casket, and got pictures and video with my hidden cameras.”

Sarah – see, I’m not all bad, I gave her a name – wandered to the other cases, musing to herself. “Kate Shelly’s lantern, Hemingway’s last book before he could burn it. Shakespeare’s missing plays. A few Faberge eggs. Some of the missing royal crown jewels from many countries, including France’s chrism bottle, with some of the anointing oil still in it.”

“I only go after expensive items when there’s a good chance they won’t be found. My hands are off the Ark of the Covenant, the Temple treasure, the Holy Grail, Genghis Khan’s tomb. They may still be found. Even Gilgamesh’s tomb has a great likelihood of resurfacing. But small things, or things known to be destroyed?” I jerked my head towards another door. “That’s why the looted and burned historical libraries were first. Temples, too, many of them were cultural museums. Go and visit at the height of their power, record the tour given by the priests, come back the night before they were destroyed, and take the loot. Achilles’ armor, David’s sling, the Menorah from the Jerusalem Temple.”

“The night we spent moving everything from the Parthenon was amazing, better than a honeymoon.”

I smiled. “Indeed.” But it faded when I saw two podiums that would forever be object-less. “I should pull those plaques. I now know the Star Dust diamond doesn’t exist, and neither does the silver treasure in the Alamo. Somerton Man identified, El Dorado will be found, also the Amber Room. I did snatch the Rubaiyat off the Titanic, that was an adventure! So were getting both Benedict Arnold’s and Burgoyne’s swords. But now I need to find another quest…”

Sarah put a gentle hand my shoulder. “Maybe something will come to you in the middle of the night. But I know how to get you to sleep…”

***

“There’s someone else out there, doing what I’m doing.”

“What?” Sarah’s eyes showed startlement, confusion. Damn I programmed her well, hopefully not too well.

I could still hear the voice, echoing in my ears: “Sorry, Guv’nor, some other chappie came by, just an ‘arr agone. Look’t a lot like yer fathah, if’fn ya’s don’ mine me sayin’ so. One ’ta maids brung it in, like usual… come ta think uvvit, I’d’a nevah seen her afore, I know the others-”

“Someone got Queen Elizabeth’s poisoned gown. Right before I could buy it. Someone else either has my equipment, or I have a Moriarty, or something.”

Sarah’s lips firmed in a thin line, and she sat at one of the computer terminals. A few firm clicks later, she sighed, and rotated the screen for me to see the latest headlines:

ROGUE SCHOLAR UNCOVERS THE Q SOURCE

ROGUE SCHOLAR DOES IT AGAIN – FINDS CACHE OF RARE MOVIES

ROGUE SCHOLAR FINDS THE BISHOP’S TREASURE SHIP

ROGUE SCHOLAR FINDS STOLEN MANUSCRIPTS

It went on and on. Sarah murmured, “I swear, they weren’t there yesterday. You know I scan daily for such things.”

“I would never blame you for this. It looks like my tech, or something similar, but this one doesn’t care about quiet recovery. Just fame. Demurring to ‘excellent research’ that leads them to the right spot, eh? Yeah, sure, I have a piece of the Brooklyn Bridge to sell-”

ROGUE SCHOLAR LOCATES ORIGINAL STONE OF SCONE

“This isn’t good. They keep popping up, like they’ve always been there, going back years. They weren’t here yesterday.”

I was already working on the how. “If I were to adjust the lock-in, ignore the over-under when pinpointing a time, push for oh, say, three hours beforehand-”

“You can’t be seriously thinking about going after them!”

“I don’t have a choice. My cover, and my tech, are blown. It’s mine, and I have to protect it.”

***

It didn’t take me long to re-calibrate the large machine for three hours’ earlier. I was still wearing the same clothing from my previous foray, but this time, I added a hidden cosh. And a gentleman’s cane, containing a sword. I hid in the shadow of a convenient alley, growling at its denizens if they dared come near.

I waited.

Eventually, he came by.

It was the way he walked, that gave it away. Shoes and civilization and socioeconomic status and a more sedentary lifestyle, they all change the way a person walks. The person was not living in the same place and time as the others.

And the shoes were all wrong. I wouldn’t make that mistake. He was just about my size, I could take him...

I waited, and as soon as the shadow crossed my refuge, I stepped out, grabbed a lapel, and swung him into my space using his own body weight. The cosh was out and across his throat before he knew what happened.

And then the hat fell off.

Mirrors lie.

It was me, but twenty years older. Thirty?

I didn’t drop my guard. If anything, I tightened my grip a little, making my older self wheeze.

I hit the concealed button with my other thumb, and suddenly we were gone.

***

“This is your secret lair? Oh, come on! Hi, Sarah, go make me tea.”

Sarah’s perfect eyebrows shot up. Of course they’re perfect, I’d punched in each individual follicle by hand. She glanced at me, I shook my head no. “Make it yourself, asshole. You didn’t create me, and my maker wouldn’t order me about like some slave.”

“Ah, but I did make you. I don’t remember this happening, I wonder if it’s timeline crossover? Well, either way, I am the elder and you will obey me.”

She almost moved. Almost.

I got him secured to a chair. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to get us discovered? I would never be this stupid!”

“Eh, I got bored. We got bored. And Sarah couldn’t stop me, because my programming is just that good. She protested, but of course I got my way.” He – me? – grinned nastily at Sarah, who looked alarmed. “You were bad, so I had to punish you.”

Sarah’s eyes darted from me, to him, and back.

He looked around. “This place is much smaller than I remember. You really need to expand, go after the treasure ships. Low hanging fruit, and the chaos made by claiming the discoveries and moving treasure before anyone knows otherwise is such fun. I have enough money from black market sales to fund a thousand lawsuits, and I’ve bankrupted a few countries in the process. Such fun!”

I turn into – this?

Hmm.

My not-self was gazing hungrily at Sarah, and I could see him imagining punishments for this new intransigence. He – it – wasn’t thinking about me. I was insignificant.

Hmm.

I smiled, and turned to Sarah. “Sarah, would you give me your hand, please?”

Sarah was hesitant, but reached for me. I took her hand, whispered in her ear… the core passwords.

Then I squeezed her hand, making sure to press the button sequence into her palm. “Sarah, I release you from your programming. You are no longer my slave. I hope you’ll stay to cook and clean for me, because I suck at it, and then I’d have to build a cleaning robot chef, and that might be messy. But it’s your choice. Live your life as you see fit. Just, please, keep the secrets I have hidden here?”

“Yes!” Sarah just about jumped into my lap with joy, and I was hard-pressed. Literally. I build my robots quite sturdily, but she caught herself before she could smush me.

My older self was roaring, trying to countermand my orders, or something. He was going fuzzy, a sure sign that a timeline was changing, and we’d better do something fast before something exploded nastily-

“Quick, open a portal! I’ve got the trash!” I scurried to my seat, started typing furiously, hoping I could get the parameters for a nebulous future here to manifest.

A portal opened, but the edges were wobbly. Yellowy, not a good, solid, blue. It would have to do.

Sarah grabbed my not-self, chair and all, and threw him through the portal.

There was a flash, and a split-second glimpse of another Sarah. She looked sick, and sad. A moment, when two Sarahs stared at each other, and reached-

And the portal snapped shut.

Sarah was crying.

I got up, shakily, and put my arms around her. How do you comfort a robot, that has real feelings now?

“Please, if I may give you one last order? If I ever become… that… thing, you are to kill me. Seriously.”

She nodded, holding me as tightly as I was holding her.

We could see the computer beeping softly, as headline after headline vanished: ROGUE SCHOLAR FINDS-

ROGUE SCHOL-

ROGU-

RO-

Gone.

***

“’Allo there, Guv’ner! Wot can I do you for?”

“Good afternoon, my good man, do you have anything with costly fabric? The missus wants a certain something, maybe with Royal ties?”

“Ah’ve just the thing! One uv’ our goodly Queen’s maids jest brung it in, but summat ‘bout poison? Mayhap? Din’t stay long, din’t haggle much.”

“Not to worry, I’ll have it cleaned. Lovely embroidery, such fine stitching! How much?”

***

I stepped through the portal, pleased that the dress actually existed. Sarah was waiting, smiling, to shut the portal. The giant Colombian emerald set in gold on her finger glittered in the light.

“Welcome back, my love! I see the hunt was successful!”

“’Twas indeed, and I did get the paper for you. You can create the forged notebook, now, and I’ll plant it on my next excursion. That will solve who is Jack the Ripper for certain, after we watch the gruesome details on the time scope.”

“Right. Then we’ll move on to D.B. Cooper. Since we know where two of the bags of money ended up, I can plant evidence there too.”

“Maybe I’ll tackle the Temple Treasure after that…”

“Later. Let’s keep to the plots we have afoot, we’ll worry about possible future adventures later. Time to eat.”

The cooking and cleaning robots were much simpler affairs than Sarah, by orders of magnitude, but my darling fiancee carefully monitored them, to ensure we could free them if they showed the signs of becoming self aware. So far, they were quite happy to do the tasks we’d set for them.

I glanced over at Sarah as she set the poisoned dress in the case, smoothing the folds, and sealed it. It looked grand, aside the original Mona Lisa. The Louvre always had a forgery, so I could safely retrieve the original. And next to that, Pliny the Elder’s notes on Vesuvius’ explosion, lost in the cataclysm.

Sarah gently tugged me over to the table. “Admire later, for now, eat. Let’s talk possibilities for slipping you into a baby Scotland Yard, or perhaps an obscure archive, to plant my forgery.”

I hope I did enough to prevent the future Sarah and I both saw. It haunts me sometimes. Her, too. So we go a different way, and more intriguing way, with some curious additions to our museum.

Only time will tell.