"Sean McMullen - Voice of Steel" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

explain. Our philosophical scholarship is very advanced compared with yours. Think of it as dreaming
about building a big and splendid house in ten years. The house exists in the future, but as yet there is
nothing to see or touch. William, in two years you will die while testing a new culverin. It will explode,
killing you and Edward. Please, please, test all your new culverins from behind a mound of earth."

I paused, the handheld radio before my lips. What next? I had warned him. He might not die young. He
might turn out to be England's Galileo. I could hardly ask him for a date. Even under the best of
circumstances he would die over five centuries before I would be born. Think of it like an Internet
romance, I told myself.

"William, I am a female scholar, and I greatly admire you and your work. We can never meet, yet I
would like to give you a few little tokens of my esteem for you. Some principles of motion that govern the
movement of the planets, a device using lenses and a large, concave mirror to magnify distant objects, an
engine powered by steam that is more powerful than horses, and a flintlock that can discharge your
culverins in an instant without the need for a smouldering fuse."

Being a science teacher, I knew the basic principles of a great many inventions. I was also quite skilled at
teaching scientific principles and laws to classes full of teenagers who would rather be doing nearly
anything else. What sort of pupil would William Tynedale be? He was brilliant, but he had been born and
educated in the fourteenth century. I tried to gain his confidence with advice about corning gunpowder to
improve its quality, rifling the barrels of his culverins, and of course quite detailed instructions on building
a flintlock striker. I went on to describe the pendulum clock, several types of telescope, the microscope,
hot air balloons, the principle of the blast furnace, and finally the steam engine. The steam engine might
have been a mistake, as it took about half as long as everything else put together. I gave him several stern
warnings about taking precautions against exploding boilers, then went on to describe the steam powered
ship, and the use of steam engines in factories.

A light began to wink on my handheld transmitter. The batteries were running down.

"William, for now I must bid you farewell," I concluded. "I hope with all my heart that my gifts to you are
pleasing. Even more fervently, I hope that you adopt my advice on testing your culverins, and that you
live to a great age. My heart and my words of scholarship are all that I may give you, but perhaps they
will cause you to prosper and be honoured."

I put the transmitter down, but dared not look at the journal. Had he heard? Had my words affected
history? Drop a stone into a river, and the ripples are soon lost. Build a dam across the river and
everything downstream will be changed. I stared at the transmitter, its battery indicator light glowing
steadily, beckoning to me. Had I changed the past before? Did I dare to do it again? Could I ever
notice?

Steven came in, followed by a servant carrying a coffee service on a silver tray. He was wearing an
earpiece, and was paying me little attention.

"The Voltaire is safely down on Europa," he said aloud, but I had the impression that he would have said
it whether I had been there or not.

"A hundred years since Shackleton landed on the moon," I sighed. "Who would have thought it would
take so long?"

"So long?" he suddenly exclaimed loudly, seeming to notice me for the first time.