Robin Hood 1192 (The Symbiont Time Travel Adventures Series Book 7) Read online

  Two

  Darkness had fallen, and our group of symbionts was gathered in Philo’s back yard, where he was grilling steaks and chicken. Even I, a vegetarian when I could manage such, had to admit the aroma was intoxicating, and I tried not to laugh at Kipp drooling in response to the odors that were caught in the wind currents, tantalizingly suspended in the air. We—Kipp, Fitzhugh, Juno and I—had made our trek across the street just as twilight was falling, and the sky had darkened to a shade of deep lavender that preceded the curtain of gray to come. On the western horizon, a last orange curve of the sun was clinging to life before disappearing for the evening, diminished and defeated for the day.

  Philo grabbed me around the shoulders and gave me a hasty kiss on the top of my head as he waved hello to Victor, the newest addition to the library at Technicorps, and his lupine symbiont, Fyre. I knew the only reason he’d invited them was in consideration of Vashti—his son’s previous lupine partner and now Philo’s casual companion -- and her attraction to Fyre. I tried not to roll my eyes as the love bug would be biting all evening. First, there was Elani and her feelings for Kipp. Now, we had Vashti and Fyre. Of course, there was nothing to prevent two lupines from bonding in our symbiont way. Humans might not understand, but our lupines have the intellectual and emotional capacity to match that of their humanoid companions, and they can and do “marry” just as we humanoids do when all the stars align. But one thing was for certain. A decision had to be made about one’s life choices, and that was either to bond, humanoid and lupine, for purposes of time travel or seek the stability of marriage with a like partner. I had done both in my long life and was content to go the traveling route, despite my occasional protestations and grumbling over proposed time-shifts. I actually liked my work and could envision doing nothing else.

  In any case, I was glad to see Philo looking happy again. He was my friend of longest acquaintance, and that longevity had bred complete trust between one another. When his wife left him to join their son, Silas, on a new adventure in life, Silas’s lupine partner, Vashti, remained with Philo. Vashti’s ethics were in constant conflict against the lack of such in Silas. I wasn’t sure if she would ever choose to bond and travel again. Smiling, I admired her lovely coat of gray mottled fur and was happy over how she’d recovered physically from the time I first met her in London in 1888. That had been a life-changing trip for me, too, since a trip to locate a missing Silas had morphed into a chase after Jack the Ripper. And I met a human man and fell deeply in love. I’d lost my zest for travel after that and occasionally longed to return to the side of one William Harrow. He’d given me a necklace of pearls; my fingers went to my neck to touch the coolness and alien feel of the tiny beads. But could a long-lived member of another species, no matter her human-like appearance, live with a human male? The odds would suggest the pairing would be a difficult one. A wet nose touched my other hand, which rested at my side.

  “You okay?” Kipp asked, glancing up at me. Of course, he knew my thoughts had drifted to Harrow, and he felt the squeeze of my heart in my chest as if it had been his own.

  “Yes,” I replied, reaching down to scratch his furry, broad head, completing the gesture with a gentle tug on his upright ear.

  Fitzhugh glanced up at me from across the small patio, and even though he wasn’t accessing my thoughts, I believed he recognized the expression on my face and knew my heart. We’d discussed how long the pains of lost love lingered, and he was as clueless to answer that age-old question as was I.

  Peter, to keep things lively, had found a Frisbee and decided to determine which of the lupines had more game. Juno, who’d outgrown her days of rambunctious play, took her place on the lawn, resting to watch the youngsters compete. But then a potentially awkward moment occurred, and several of us collectively held our breath to see what would happen. Fyre, although youthful, had a profound limp as result of a past injury. He would not have the ability to keep up with the others. Vashti, who enjoyed a good competition, had a crush on Fyre. So, what would she do? As Fyre, a very attractive lupine with some early gray touching his brown muzzle, lay down in the fragrant grass next to Juno, Vashti hesitated before walking over as if to rest with the two.

  “No,” Fyre said, gazing at Vashti, his tail wagging. “I want to see what you’ve got.”

  It said a lot about Fyre that he didn’t begrudge her a bit of fun, nor was he envious of the other lupines who dashed after the flying Frisbee. We all had to laugh as Kipp began to struggle to keep up with the females who benefitted from their sleeker bodies. It was obvious that Vashti was showing off, more than a little, for Fyre. After one pretty vigorous clash that left Kipp rolling in the grass, I called a halt. I knew Kipp’s competitive nature, and he didn’t have a shut-off valve.

  “Okay, guys. Time to cool down so that we can eat in a bit.” I glanced at Juno, who nodded her grizzled head in approval. It was not difficult to see that Vashti was strutting, just a little, as she walked back towards Fyre. She’d managed to put the unconquerable Kipp in his place with a firm body check.

  “Are you okay, buddy?” I whispered to Kipp, using our private form of telepathy.

  “Yes,” he said. “At least I think so. But I feel pretty embarrassed.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m bigger and stronger,” he began.

  “And sometimes it is about calculation and leverage,” I replied. “Remind me to put on a Bruce Lee movie.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Kipp, as well as Elani and Vashti, plopped down in the grass, taking a few moments to recover before eating. Elani, beautiful girl, was taking covert peeks at Kipp, keeping her actions veiled, lest he catch her in the act. Kipp, who was technically her supervisor at work, tried to act unconcerned and businesslike. He actually began twisting his head, looking up at the sky, his eyes following a duo of brown bats which were chasing invisible insects. Yes, I thought. Act as if you don’t care, Kipp. My money was on the persistence of Elani.

  “Philo, Kipp had an interesting notion about a possible time-shift to research the truth behind the Robin Hood legend,” Fitzhugh said. His words caught the attention of all of us.

  Philo paused in his managing of the grill to stare at Kipp, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Kipp replied. “The story of Robin Hood is a very common theme in human culture, one that has persisted since the early middle ages. And I’m intrigued by the constancy of the legends and the fact no one knows if there was a man who began it all, or if he was simply a myth created by the authors of the day.”

  “I don’t know how you would even pinpoint a time frame from which to work, Kipp. And that would be why no one has tried. The stories, as I recall, stretch over centuries and even the locations of his alleged activities are in dispute.” Philo took a sip of iced tea; the condensation was rolling off the glass in shimmering beads of water. After replacing the glass on the table, Philo dried his hands on the seat of his blue jeans. “The tales of Robin Hood were even around during my early years, things we grew up on.” Philo smiled at me as I nodded since I’d had a similar experience. “He was painted as a hero, and we used to play games imitating the legend when we were young.”

  “Well, I’ve thought about how difficult it would be to select a starting point and, with Victor’s help, was able to do a little research and have an idea.” Kipp was resting in the grass close to Juno. He often lay close to her, resting his muzzle across her flank. Kipp never stopped missing his mother, I realized, and Juno gave him some sense of that earlier bond. She was like a gentle, wise, grandmotherly type of lupine, and she had the unique distinction of being universally beloved. One might have thought that any being who’d lived as long as she might have carried some negative baggage, but it was not so with Juno. As I gazed at her, I was pretty confident I had a lot of negative baggage in my trunk.

  “A man named Joseph Ritson published what he thought to be the definitive history o
f Robin Hood. He, Ritson, was a friend of Sir Walter Scott, who went on to include Robin Hood in his book, Ivanhoe.” Kipp reached his massive head forward to lick fastidiously at his right forepaw, where he obviously saw something he didn’t like.

  “And what would you do with that information?” I asked. As I spoke, I realized I was trying to modify my tone, careful not to sound negative or critical of Kipp’s plan. Peter looked my way, clearly in the throes of excitement.

  “I thought that someone could go visit Ritson and find out where he got his information, which was specific as to where Robin Hood was born, when he died, and his true name. Depending upon the outcome of that interview, we might conclude that we can reasonably pinpoint a time and location to visit.” Kipp glanced up at me.

  “Kipp, that’s pretty vague,” I opined. As I felt the eyes of all present on me, I became defensive. “And I’m not being negative, just for the record book. I’m responding to this as an experienced, responsible traveler.” I took a deep breath, letting it flow out slowly. “You don’t plan a time-shift without a definitive starting place.”

  “And that is what you are supposed to do, Petra,” Fitzhugh remarked. He lifted a hand to smooth his mustaches and long beard, the gray hair stretching down to his chest. “No one here questions your experience or your gameness for the chase.”

  I knew if Fitzhugh continued with his kind, complementary words, that tears would follow along with my embarrassment. As loved as I felt in that small group, I didn’t want to cry. I confess I sometimes felt like I had lost my zest for travel and didn’t want to become a burned-out hulk at my relatively young age. The stress of traveling, however, had put a dent in my energy as of late.

  Since the lupines had cooled down, we stood and gathered around the table where the food was placed and took turns both preparing bowls of the chopped meat for the lupines as well as fixing our own plates. I, for one, was glad for the distraction, since it gave me distance from the feelings I’d experienced when Fitzhugh dropped a love bomb on my parade. And I was grateful when the talk went to other topics, including a construction project pending at Technicorps and the fact Philo needed a new roof and didn’t I need one, too. Between Kipp wanting me to buy a car and Philo being critical of my battered roof, I felt as if I might need to find a second job.

  Victor, who I’d noticed tended to be quiet and listen to everyone before issuing an opinion, stirred, catching my attention. He’d actually made a good addition to the library as an assistant to Fitzhugh after the previous one left. It had, traditionally, been a difficult position to fill due to Fitzhugh’s exacting standards and overbearing presence. But Victor seemed unfazed, and I’d come to appreciate his subtle but sarcastic wit and clever attention to detail. He was very good at his research and seemed content. I sometimes wondered if he missed traveling due to Fyre’s infirmity, but he didn’t appear restive. Maybe he was like me to a degree. He’d seen a lot—maybe too much—and it was good to not have the stress.

  “In researching Ritson, I suggested to Kipp that a pair of travelers might travel to 1795 when he published his collection of ballads about Robin Hood,” Victor said. It was clear he’d continued to think about the trip while the rest of us were easily distracted by a shiny new object of conversation. “They could request an interview and during that time attempt to discover what influenced his opinions about the legend.” Victor smiled. “Even if Ritson is reluctant to share, we are, after all, telepaths, and can still access his thoughts on the matter.”

  “What were some of those conclusions?” Juno asked.

  “He thought Robin Hood was born in 1160 and was active during the time of Richard the first. He also thought Robin Hood had some aristocratic background, was born in Nottinghamshire, and had the original name of Robert Fitzooth. He even was able to give an exact date of his death.”

  “That seems pretty specific,” Juno remarked.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Kipp said. “He either made it all up or got his information from some source.”

  The evening began to wind down, and after Victor and Fyre departed for home, the rest of us were left to relax in the lounge chairs or on the grass and watch the stars overhead. I found gazing at the sky left me drowsy and fought my eyelids drifting shut. There was always something soothing about staring up into the blackness of night, a calmness that came as darkness fell. Victor, for all his positives, didn’t share our collective history, and there were untold stories and even secrets that the rest of us maintained. Kipp, due to his raw genetic history, had displayed talents unknown to modern symbiont collectives. And we, those of us left around the remains of dinner, chose when and where to share those special talents. None of us wanted Kipp to become a sideshow attraction for Technicorps.

  “So, if we were seriously to consider such a trip in search of Robin Hood, would it be reasonable to make a shift back to interview Ritson?” Kipp asked. “And if that didn’t bear fruit, I understand there would be no basis to continue.”

  I glanced at Fitzhugh, who raised his eyebrows. Leaning forward, he picked up his glass of tea and took a sip before draining the glass. Silence followed for a minute, and the yard was filled with the soft sounds of the neighborhood settling down to rest as darkness became complete; the drumbeat thrum of unseen insects intensified as we became cocooned by the night. From a short distance away, we could hear the caterwauling of an owl in the nearby woods echoing against the backdrop of homes and habitation. Overhead, a silvered crescent moon was bright against an inky sky.

  “I’d like to propose first we do more research on Ritson himself and see if we can, from reading his publications, divine more information.” Fitzhugh nodded at Kipp. “Perhaps we can use the library to pull together some data and give it to you to study.”

  Kipp nodded his head, and I was happy to see he was being reasonable. I knew once he got a head of steam in his boiler, he could be a formidable presence to obstruct.

  We finally put an end to the festivities, and Fitzhugh, Juno, Kipp and I returned home. I was enjoying the evening but noticed Juno was yawning excessively and pleaded fatigue since I knew she wouldn’t. Fitzhugh and Juno almost immediately went to their room, while Kipp and I retired to ours, where I enjoyed the sounds that accompanied nightfall, sounds that carried a quality alien to the rest of us. My bedroom window was ajar, the aperture covered by plantation blinds for privacy, a gentle breeze rattling the wood. As always, Kipp lay next to me, his head heavy across my chest. Not all symbionts were as close, and as I recalled, Tula had preferred her old woolen blanket on the floor next to the dark void of my closet. I knew Kipp didn’t think of me as his mother, but there was something in our relationship that met his need to be nurtured. I didn’t mind, and obviously some need of mine was met, too.

  We spent some more time digesting Ivanhoe, which was not a particularly easy book to read. Many of the references were archaic, and unless there were annotations, the meanings would be lost to contemporary readers. Fortunately, I’d lived during the times when Ivanhoe was written and could manage to plow through most of it. But the work had become tedious, and finally, I’d put the Kindle away. Kipp drifted off just before me, and I lay there staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep; my thoughts were busy considering a possible time-shift and all the positives as well as negatives.

  Kipp was restless, moving in his sleep, moaning a little, his lower jaw sagging as he began to pant. In the tangled world of dreams, Kipp was back on board the Titanic again, and facing us was the young woman calmly walking her Great Dane as the deck began to tilt. Around us, people milled, anxiety and fear welling to the point of contagion. In Kipp’s dream, the woman’s eyes met mine and she smiled, thinking she and I were in the same boat, literally. Neither of us would be permitted to take our canine companions on board a lifeboat and neither of us would leave without our companions. Of course, I had another method of exit through the gift of time travel, and she didn’t. The Dane’s dark eyes met Kipp’s, and even though he kn
ew Kipp was no dog, he wagged his tail; he was a friendly, affable beast.

  As the nightmare continued, I pondered my choices. There were three that I considered. First, I could do nothing and allow Kipp to struggle and, perhaps, resolve an internal issue. Second, I could enter his dream telepathically and change the outcome. Third, I could awaken him. I chose the latter, since I had not the heart to let him hurt and couldn’t figure out a way to manipulate the dream to a happy ending. There was nothing about the Titanic that was happy.

  “Kipp,” I murmured softly, placing my lips next to his ear.

  “What?” he awoke suddenly, filled with confusion. Kipp tried to sit up, but I gently pushed at his shoulder.

  “No, it’s not time to get up,” I whispered.

  He settled back and placed his head on my chest, allowing me to gently stroke his head.

  “Petra, I know I’ve given you a hard time over your reluctance to take on some of these tougher trips, but I’m getting a better understanding of your feelings. These do take a psychological toll on us, don’t they?”

  I didn’t answer his question since the response was obvious.

  “And considering the fact you’ve traveled for many more years than have I, I can only imagine some of the, uh, baggage you carry with you.” He pushed his jaw into my chest, almost to the point of pain. “I’ve been only consumed with the pursuit of the elusive goal and not attentive enough to the anxiety and pain that follows.”

  I tugged on his ears and kissed the side of his furry face.

  “Juno talked to me the other day and tried to make a point so that I would be more sensitive to your feelings. I think this dream was, well, meant to be.”

  I smiled to myself. Kipp was always sensitive to me. He had to be, as entangled in my brain as was he. Kipp had the ability to know my thoughts and feelings as well as the true intent behind the words. We lacked the ability to hide from one another. I couldn’t imagine life any other way.