Meridian - A Novel In Time

In fact, there isn't a decent concert hall on this side of the bay. You have to go into the city if you really want to hear anything." The professor taught at U.C. Berkeley, and he kept a private study on the northwest fringe of the city as it reached towards the East Bay community of Orinda. It was a small apartment that was more of an office, completely furnished as a library and work area. The professor maintained living quarters elsewhere and was generous enough to donate the study as the primary meeting place for key project team leaders. It was convenient for his work, but he hated having to cross the Bay Bridge any time he wanted to pursue his love of classical music. He had chosen this place for his study because of the proximity of the newly built Sidney Hall, but was soon disappointed in the acoustics there. He frowned at the near empty coffee pot, tilting it to try and dribble the last of the coffee into his mug.

Maeve saw what he was doing and came away from the window. She went straight over to the study table and plopped a heavy volume of the Norton Anthology down with a thud. "Paul," she said with a stern glance. "Where's that Peets you said you brought?"

"What?" Dorland was preoccupied with his notebook. "It's over by the sink."

"Good," said Maeve, her hazel eyes flashing as she reached out and snatched away Paul's pen to interrupt his scribbling. "Go make some."

Paul started to protest, but one look at Maeve quashed that idea. She had signed on two years ago with the history team to chart potential outcomes and consequences for the experiment. A slim woman in her middle thirties, she had a no-nonsense manner about her, a penchant for cleanliness, schedules and an almost maniacal insistence for structure in the way she ordered her work. She had been a key research leader for the Outcomes Committee, and the considerable force she was able to exert on the group mechanics had soon demonstrated that she was not a person to be trifled with. She smoothed back a lock of her reddish blond hair and fixed Paul with the same patented stare that had cowed the wayward elements of the Outcomes Committee. "Now." The single word added just enough emphasis to set Paul in motion.

"Alright," he offered a meek defense. "I'll make another pot. Just give me a second here." He reached for his Styrofoam cup as he retreated to the coffee station.

"Better hurry," jibed Nordhausen, "the visitors could show up any moment. If they get here and find the hospitality lacking they might just pack up and leave." The sarcasm in his voice was laced with just enough humor to soften its sting.

"Very funny," said Maeve. "No doubt the mess in this place would be reason enough to send them on their way." Nordhausen shuffled off to the bookcase as though he wanted to see just how bad it was before he dared to say anything. He thought his argument with Dorland offered better prospects, however, and returned to the coffee station while Paul ground a bowl of fresh coffee beans he had poured from a dark brown bag. The noise of the grinder imposed a moment of silence on the conversation, but Paul started right in when he was done.