by Jerry Dubs
“Sure,” Brianna said.
***
“Sit here,” Brianna said, motioning to the office desk.
Tim pulled out the chair and then turned to her. “Aren’t you studying here?”
She nodded toward an arm chair beside the door. “I can sit there. You need to use the desk. No biggie.”
As Tim settled into the chair, Brianna put her index finger into an indentation near the center of the desk. As she lifted, a thin, fifteen-inch-square surface of the desk pivoted up and locked into place. The clear glass soon turned a light blue with a swirl of darker blue waves that coalesced into the university logo. A narrow window opened on the screen. Leaning in beside Tim, Brianna tapped the desk surface with two fingers. A flat qwerty keyboard appeared. She typed in a password and then straightened.
“There you go,” she said.
Tim looked at the keyboard, which was nothing more than an image overlaid on the glass desktop.
“You can swipe type if you want,” Brianna said.
When Tim looked at her in puzzlement, she said, “Or just peck at the keys. If you are inactive for five minutes, it will disappear. Just tap with two fingers and it will come back.”
Tim looked back at the desk. “Is there a mouse or a touchpad or something?”
“Mouse? No,” she laughed. “There aren’t any tape reels either. You just tap on the screen to navigate.”
She laughed to herself and, lifting her textbook from the corner of the desk she walked over to the arm chair. “You want another soda or coffee?” she asked.
Tim looked over at her and smiled. “Maybe one of those cream sodas,” he said.
She smiled back and opened the office door.
As soon as she was gone Tim launched a search for ‘Imhotep.’
He had scanned the Wikipedia entry and was watching a BBC video when Brianna returned with a can of soda. He quickly closed the video and launched a search for Saqqara.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the cream soda from Brianna.
“Sure,” she answered. “Everything working OK? Sometimes the Internet crawls. I don’t know if it is government censors, too little bandwidth or what. But this time of night, it should be OK.”
Tim didn’t answer because he had been scanning the section headings on an article about Saqqara. At the end of the article, under a heading called ‘See Also,’ he saw the words ‘Tomb of the Time Traveler.’
Tomb of the Time Traveler
Tim tapped on the link, a new page opened and he read:
On May 23 of 2010, the Supreme Council of Antiquities announced that a cache of royal mummies had been discovered near the Lahun pyramid. While the majority of the mummies were identified as being from the Seventeenth or Eighteenth Dynasties, a few were found to be much older. One of the mummies, well preserved in a large wooden sarcophagus, was wrapped in linens that contained prayers that are typically associated with the Third Dynasty, the era of King Djoser.
When he announced the discovery, archaeologist Abdul Rahman Al-Ayedi, head of excavations at the site, mysteriously hinted that there were anomalies about the mummy that would have significant impact on the study of ancient Egypt. ‘This mummy, I can tell you that it is a male apparently identified with the god Ipy, is astounding. There are things that, no I cannot say more until we have completed our studies. It goes beyond Egyptology. It will change the world,’ he said.
A chill of apprehension went through Tim as he read that the mummy was identified with Ipy; Brian had been entombed under the aegis of Ipy.
Tim quickly scanned the rest of the short article.
Although there was no official follow-up from Al-Ayedi to his original release, construction soon began on a roadway to the Tomb of Ipy, the minor tomb in Saqqara that contained the time portal through which Tim had just passed.
Closing his eyes Tim remembered sitting against a low stone wall near the Step Pyramid fifteen years ago. He could easily recall the feel of the hot desert sun on his face, the arid air surrounding him, pressing against his skin as he sat there alone and sketched the ancient pyramid. Then motion had interrupted his field of vision as a guide led a red-haired woman and an athletically built man – Diane Maclaine and Brian Aldwin – past him to the small mud-brick guardhouse that sat atop what was then called the Tomb of Kanakht.
They had seemed so innocent and full of confidence, he thought. In a few months Diane would be brutalized, barely alive, yet with enough strength and determination to kill Siamun. The Egyptian had been the most purely evil person Tim had ever met, a compact, powerful fist of remorseless anger. He had tortured Brian, subjecting him to weeks of terror, yet it was Brian who had summoned the strength to sacrifice himself to save Diane. And me, Tim thought.
King Djoser had decided that Brian had been possessed by the god Ipy, and so while Brian’s body was being prepared for burial the tomb paintings were modified to identify it as the eternal home of the man-god Ipy.
Tim opened his eyes, releasing himself from the memory of those desperate months.
Turning back to the computer screen, he read that a fence had been erected about the tomb, guards were placed around the site and tourists were forbidden from photographing the area. Antiquities officials denied that the sudden, secret tomb exploration in Saqqara was related to the discoveries in Luhan, but hackers found an unpublished report from Al-Ayedi that revealed that the mummy’s wrappings contained drawings and hieroglyphic inscriptions that exactly copied those found in the tomb in Saqqara. The size of the mummy also matched the empty sarcophagus from the tomb, and carbon dating of both the wrappings and the mummy’s tissue matched the age of the tomb.
The secret report also described the anomalies of the Ipy Mummy: Two of the mummy’s teeth contained fillings made of modern composite resins, not available until the late twentieth century in the United States, and the bone tissue contained larger percentages of calcium and iron than found in other mummies of the same era.
‘Overall, the size of the mummy – nearly a foot taller than others from the era – the dental fillings, the chemical composition of the bones and of the hair, all of these are indicative of a healthy twenty or twenty-first century male between twenty and thirty years of age,’ the unpublished report concluded.
‘The obvious, but impossible conclusion,’ Al-Ayedi had written, ‘is that a modern American somehow died almost five thousand years before he was born and was buried with honors in an ancient Egyptian tomb.’
Conspiracists and fringe bloggers soon began referring to the tomb as the Tomb of the Time Traveler. Some claimed that he was a space alien who had helped the ancient Egyptians build the pyramids. Others argued that he was an American soldier sent into the past to change history so that the Middle Eastern oil reserves would fall into American hands. Most believed that it was a hoax, a concoction of leaked reports, planted rumors and official denials all intended to increase tourism to Egypt.
None of them mentioned Brian or Diane or Tim.
Relieved, Tim leaned forward to stab a finger at the corner of the article to close the window. Then he froze as his eyes settled on the last paragraph of the page: ‘Strangely, a female body was found in the tomb near the collapsed tunnel. The woman, with no obvious wounds, seems unrelated to the tomb. Carbon-dating of the body indicates that she died there a thousand years after the tomb was first sealed. There is no way for us to know, but it appears that she was a tomb robber from a much later era who became trapped in the tomb.’
Tim stared at the computer screen trying to make sense of the story. He leaned back in his chair and reached for the cream soda, sitting neglected on the corner of the desk. As he brought the chilled can to his mouth he felt Brianna watching him.
When he glanced over at her, he saw that she had closed her textbook and was studying him with alarm.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
The timbre of her voice reminded him of Diane and suddenly he knew who the body was in the tomb. It was Diane. Inj
ured from the beatings Siamun had given her, staggering from the rape and reeling from the murder of Brian, she had insisted on leaving ancient Egypt the day after Tim had rescued her.
He and Ahmes had reactivated the false doorway to send her back to her time. She had walked through the doorway and they had repainted the symbols behind her, sealing the portal.
But, Tim thought, instead of finding help in her native time she must have found herself sealed in an undiscovered tomb, buried alive in the darkness a thousand years distant from me and four thousand years before her time.
He pictured her stumbling through the dark tomb, the small torch they had given her providing only dim, untrustworthy light. He imagined her confusion when she reached the treasure room only to discover that the spiral stairway she and Brian had followed into the tomb months earlier was not there. She would have rushed back to the sarcophagus, re-establishing her bearings, hoping to find a different exit.
But there wouldn’t have been any.
Her relief at being returned to her own time would have turned to panic.
She would have pushed on the false doorway, Tim thought. Instead of swinging open at her touch, the stone would have stood implacably immovable. Terrified, she would have scratched at it, pounded on it, screamed, begged us to repaint the symbols and release her. But her cries would have fallen futilely against stone a thousand years removed from me.
If I hadn’t come here, I never would have known that I had sealed her alive in a tomb.
Soon her torch would have begun to flicker. He imagined her searching the tomb for something more to burn to keep light alive, and with it hope. But she was a strong woman, he thought. She had survived Djefi and Siamun. She had fought to stay alive. Perhaps, Tim thought, she would have found the courage to accept her fate. Perhaps she found a comfortable place to sit to await her death. Or perhaps she found a sharp-edged bracelet in the treasure room and was able to hasten her death.
I sent her to that sealed tomb and to a dark, lonely, horrible death, he thought.
Unthinking, he took a drink of his soda and mis-swallowed. As he began coughing and choking Brianna swung her legs out of the chair and ran across the small room. Embarrassed, Tim held up a hand to indicate that he didn’t need any help.
“The bubbles,” he said between gasps, “took me by surprise.”
While he continued to cough and gasp, Brianna waited by him. When he stopped coughing, he looked up at her, red-faced from exertion and embarrassment. “Maybe I should have started with something without carbonation,” he said with a sheepish smile, trying to hide the guilt that had settled over him.
Relieved that he had recovered she returned his smile.
“I see you found the Tomb of the Time Traveler,” she said, nodding toward the computer screen. “It was big news back in the States. My mom wanted to know everything about it,” she said, her eyes moving from the computer screen to Tim’s face. She started to say more and then bit her lip.
Tim cocked his head in puzzlement. He was sure that Brianna was about to tell him something that would pierce the cloud of mystery that had surrounded him since he had pushed through the time portal.
Brianna’s eyes were alive with excitement and to Tim’s surprise, they also were moist with tears. Before Brianna could say anything more, Maya began to cry. Tim stood and, pausing beside Brianna, he felt an irresistible urge to comfort her. He put his arms around her and hugged her. He felt her rest her head against him and then sniff loudly.
Maya continued to cry, calling out for her father.
Tim squeezed Brianna and as he pulled away, she said, “Thank you. For everything.”
***
Tim lay in Maya’s cot, turning sideways to pull her small body into a close embrace.
“Where are we, father?” she asked.
Tim smiled. Her voice sounded stronger already and, holding her, he felt her body was no longer raging with fever. Happily he was reminded of an earlier time when he had nursed Meryt back to health. Despite the strength of Meryt’s ka, her body had remained frail and he had never stopped worrying about her. He wondered if he could steal a few bottles of vitamin pills.
“Father?” Maya said.
“Yes, Maya. We’re in a medical house in a distant place. You have been very sick. But you are going to get better.”
“Where’s mother? Who is the woman in the other room?”
“Meryt is at home. We’ll see her soon. The woman in the other room is named Brianna. She helps the doctor here.”
“Oh,” she answered with the simple acceptance of children. “When are we going home?”
Tim kissed her forehead. Yes, he thought, her fever is already reduced. “Soon, little Maya, soon,” he said. Then he rested his head gently against her and caressed the back of her head.
He felt her relax and soon she was breathing deeply and regularly, her first undisturbed sleep in a long time.
As he held his small daughter, Tim thought about the time portal. It had been unreliable twice.
Once it had deposited Diane a thousand years in the future instead of five thousand years. Instead of finding herself in a familiar time where she could get medical attention and try to put her life back together, she had found herself buried alive in a tomb that would be undiscovered for thousands of years.
And now the doorway had sent him five years further into the future than he had anticipated.
The hieroglyphs Ahmes had copied from the original time portal called for the doorway to open after a hundred lifetimes. If the average lifespan was fifty years, then it would open five thousand years later. If the average lifetime somehow changed – by something I did? – that would account for the five year change, he thought.
But what about Diane? How had she ended up only a thousand years in the future? Twenty lifetimes instead of a hundred? And how can I be certain that I’ll return to the time I left? Ahmes will be painting the hieroglyphs on the false doorway during his time and then removing them, so I have to end up at the right time. The parallel movement between the past and the present is what doesn’t always work, he mused. The ‘nows’ don’t match up.
Tim shook his head. It was too much. Either the doorway would open or it wouldn’t. It was beyond his control and there was no way for him to communicate with someone who lived five thousand years ago to change the arrangements or to solve the problem.
He would stay tomorrow and then tomorrow night, if Maya's health continued to improve so quickly, he would steal away with her, enter the tomb and push against the stone wall. If it swung open, Ahmes would be there and he would be home. If it didn’t move, he would push against it the next night and then next night and then the next month and then the following month.
He would try to return home, to reunite Maya with her mother, every full moon, every month, until he was no longer able to descend the twisting staircase to the ancient tomb.
Surrendering to his exhaustion he fell asleep holding his daughter. A few minutes later Brianna peeked into the room and then backed away slowly. She dug her cell phone from her bag and tapped in a command.
When the connection was made, she cupped her hand around the phone so Tim wouldn’t hear her. Her eyes alight with excitement, she whispered, “He’s back!”
Breakfast in Helwan
Returning to the clinic an hour before dawn, Akila found Tim and Maya sleeping together on a single cot. Little Maya was on her side, curled tightly with her knees drawn up to her chest. Halfway off the cot, Tim lay on his side huddled against Maya’s back, one arm draped protectively over his daughter.
Akila had gone home late the previous night but, unable to sleep, she had sipped coffee and read through her journal. Looking at the notes she had written over the past five years, she thought about the miracle of Tim and Maya being here in this time and place.
It was impossible, but it had happened exactly as she had been told it would: Tim and Maya had appeared near midnight on the deserted road outside Saq
qara. He had been suspicious but, driven by his need to get help for his daughter, he had accepted her help.
Now she was in unknown territory ... an undisclosed future.
Tim was here, Maya had been treated and would become healthy again. Akila understood that Tim would disappear again – he had to – but when? Tomorrow? The day after? A year from now? She didn’t know. And she knew that Tim wouldn’t know either.
Brianna had been working on her computer when Akila had returned to the clinic. Smiling mischievously when Akila had asked her what she was doing, Brianna had answered, “Planning a surprise party.”
Akila had shaken her head. “Brianna, we don’t know what happens tomorrow.”
“I do,” Brianna had answered. “There’s going to be a party.”
She had smiled, winked, closed the computer and asked Akila if she was planning to stay at the clinic. When Akila had said that she would stay with Tim and Maya, Brianna had excused herself. “I have a party to plan,” she had said with the confidence of the young and skipped out the doorway.
Once Brianna had gone, Akila had turned off the clinic office lights and tiptoed back to the examination room where Tim and Maya were sleeping.
Sitting on the unoccupied cot, Akila looked at Tim, studying him as a physician.
Light from a parking lot lamp leaked through the space between two uneven blinds, splashed against the wall and washed over Tim’s shaved head. She saw that a slight, dark stubble was struggling through his scalp. His skin was burnished, deeply tanned, almost leathery despite the oils she knew that he had used. The home-sewn galabia fell against his narrow, child-like shoulders, outlining a form that was little more than skin and bone. But his hands were strong, the fingernails clean and cut short, the skin tight over well-used muscles.
Relaxed in sleep, his face was unlined but Akila noticed a tightness around his eyes. The desert sun, she thought. Kohl is no match for sunglasses.