All Historians had their own reflection data file under every historical event, person, and archive in which to catalog our thoughts. We filled them with our opinions on the effects of that particular entry on the development or destruction of Earth Before—whether or not a lesson should be recorded for future generations, and what exactly the memory could help us accomplish or avoid in the years to come. In turn, those files were compiled and scanned, and when a large enough consensus was reached, entered in the Hope Chest.
Today we weren’t messing with our files—those were done in individual sessions. Group sessions were to review apprentice recordings, and this one went as badly as expected. Differing opinions were a part of human nature we’d never escape, but the Originals had sought to balance them by providing multiple viewpoints whenever possible. As a result, apprentices sat through three sessions on each recorded observation, each with a different certified Historian. Maude had dressed me down in the initial recap a few days ago, and Minnie had been even worse the next session. Today, an overseer named Booth taught the final class and embarrassed the crap out of me until my ears felt permanently red.
It occurred to me that I only had to suffer through another year of training. After that I could focus on whoever and whatever I wanted, as long as I was willing to write up the initial reflections when I entered them in the database. Maybe it would behoove me to pay attention until then so I didn’t die of shame before my eighteenth birthday—or accumulate enough infractions to be delayed.
Booth asked me to stay behind when he dismissed us four hours later, and my stomach sank. “Miss Vespasian, you’re putting all of us in a very awkward position with your continued lack of effort.”
“It’s not a lack of effort, I swear. It’s more of an … excess of attention in the wrong areas. I’ll try harder to focus on the assignments.”
Booth had a gentle nature and was my favorite of the Historian Elders. Wrinkles cut deep grooves in his coffee-bean skin, and the whites of his eyes had gone a bit yellow these past couple of years. He walked bent over with a cane, his spine twisted. At eighty-two he had to be close to the oldest living human in Genesis. Knowing I’d disappointed him shamed me more than the combined verbal torment dished out by the Gatling girls.
He gave me a small, mostly toothless smile and patted the back of my hand. “I see much of Lloyd in you, you know.”
“Really?” It turned up my lips to think people saw my grandfather when they looked at me.
“Yes. He could be easily distracted by the sidelines, believed the real triumphs and failures of human history were to be found in the minutiae of the everyday, in the lives of inconsequential people. Not in the monumental events you’re studying at the moment, but in humanity’s reaction to those things.” Booth’s eyes took on a faraway look, as though his mind had wandered past my grandfather into some secret room that housed memories that would never be archived. “That history could be altered by the simplest of changes to an insignificant life, like tossing a tiny pebble into a pool of water.”
“What do you believe, sir?” I asked, mesmerized by his insight.
His gaze focused on me a moment later, sharp now. “I believe there is no point in thinking about changing the past when our duty is to use our collective knowledge to ensure the most advantageous future.”
The words tightened my chest. After years of training, the mere mention of changing the past made imaginary hives break out across my skin. “I’m honored by the comparison to my grandfather. I’ll do my best to make his memory proud.”
“There is a difference, Miss Vespasian, between being a dreamer and being a rebel. I trust that given your family contains excellent examples of each, you understand where that line rests.”
The sawdust from earlier reappeared on my tongue. “Yes, sir.”
Booth’s insinuation was clear. My grandfather and my brother had gone disparate ways. One was acceptable. The other was not. It didn’t take a genius to know my path took a major swerve toward Jonah’s today. Even so, I fought the urge to defend my brother and his decision to live outside the System. His name was pretty much as taboo as visiting my thousands-of-years-dead True Companion.
And right now, I needed to cool it before my own guilt tipped me completely off my nut.
Booth nodded, but his gaze remained thoughtful. “You may go. I trust on our visit to see the Sun King in a few weeks you will keep your focus where it belongs.”
“That’s my favorite period. I’ll do well.”
He flicked a finger toward the door at my assurance, allowing my escape into the hall. Only Analeigh had waited, her eyebrows raised in a silent question.
“Pay attention to the assignment at hand, Miss Vespasian,” I rasped in a fair imitation of Booth’s scratchy voice.
Analeigh laughed, but the hollow sound said it was only to humor me. We had been off since I’d found Jonah’s cuff, and this morning’s trip didn’t help. She knew I was hiding something. Neither of us was in the mood for lighthearted fun, I guessed, and the chat with Booth sobered my lingering high after meeting Caesarion. No matter how badly I wanted to, going back wasn’t an option. The past could never be altered without consequence. I didn’t want to believe he had to die for nothing, but it had already happened; I needed to be happy with this morning’s interaction and leave it behind me.