Temporal Gambit

by Larry A. Brown

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  “Halt! By order of the Roman guard!” I approach the first man holding the woman’s hair. I brandish my sword in a menacing way … if they don’t notice my hand shaking. Seeing me, he lets go of her and backs away. Perhaps if I —

  Gaah! What happened? I’m stunned … lying on the ground. My head is throbbing. The woman is kneeling next to me. She touches a spot on my forehead, making me wince.

  “Be still. Let me wash this off.” She dips a rag into a nearby puddle of water. No time for me to worry about proper sanitation now. One of her eyes is swelling up from the beating she took, but she ignores it, paying attention to me. The two thugs are nowhere in sight.

  “How did I …”

  “The other man hit you with a piece of wood. It’s only a small cut. You should be all right.”

  Slowly, I try to stand on wobbly legs and reach out for the wall to steady myself. I’m still woozy, but I can’t let this delay me.

  “Sir, thank you for rescuing me. They said I owed them money, but I haven’t had any customers today.”

  “You’re welcome. And thank you for cleaning my wound.”

  She looks around, searching for something. “I don’t see your helmet.”

  Instinctively I reach up, then remember. The chamo-suit had projected the image of a helmet, which the blow to my head must have disrupted, making it disappear. She would never understand my explanation, so I lie: “The men must have stolen it. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault.”

  She touches my arm. “I’m very grateful to you. Would you like to come inside? For free?”

  Avoiding her enticing gaze, I reach down to retrieve my sword on the ground. “I appreciate the offer, but not right now. I … I’m on duty.”

  “That never stopped any of you before.”

  I smile and make my exit. I don’t blame the woman. She’s probably someone’s slave and has no choice. I recall a line from the Aeneid: Rome’s destiny was “to humble the proud and spare the subjected.” I hope I have done that today. It’s ironic; Virgil won’t write that line in his Latin epic for several years.

  At a fountain, I sit for a moment and try to clear my head. I must avoid any further distractions. Too much is at stake. In just a few hours, the Chronos team will pull me back to 2059. But behind me, someone shouts, “Soldier! The centurion needs us. Come this way.”

  “I cannot. I’m on special assignment to —”

  “That can wait, munifex. New orders,” he insists with a frown.

  Munifex? Great, my team gave me the uniform of the lowest rank of soldier. “What’s the hurry?”

  “A few blocks over, there’s going to be a fire.”

  Going to be?

  We push our way through the crowded avenues and eventually come to an open plaza surrounded by apartment buildings. Along with several other soldiers, a centurion watches as the lower floor of one building starts to smoke.

  Roman apartments could reach up to seven stories but were often poorly constructed, mostly of wood. More prosperous tenants had rooms at street level, while the poorer tenants lived higher up, making it less likely they would survive a fire. The Romans had not invented proper fire escapes. Some of these unfortunate residents anxiously peer out their upper windows.

  The centurion is speaking to an agitated older man. “What’s happening?” I ask the soldier who summoned me here. “Why aren’t we putting out the fire?”

  “Old Maximus is negotiating a price. He’s a sly dog. If the owner of the apartment doesn’t pay the going rate, Maximus will let it burn.”

  Apparently the centurion had started this fire. Marcus Crassus was not the only Roman to master the fine art of exploitation.

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  Mentally, I explain to my curious AI, who’s reading my thoughts. “Marcus Crassus was … is among the richest men in Rome in the present day. He became known for forming the city’s first fire brigade. His men would rush to a fire, but then do nothing while he offered to buy the burning building from the distressed owner at a miserable price. If he agreed to sell, Crassus’ men would put out the fire, but if the owner refused, they would let it burn to the ground with no concern for the trapped occupants.”

  The soldier who brought me here interrupts my thoughts. “Looks like he’s made a deal. Let’s get the buckets and use the fountain in the plaza.”

  I don’t have time for this, but those poor people need help.

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  We scoop up water in buckets and form a line from the fountain to the blazing structure. Some of the locals offer to help. The task seems futile as heat and ashes fill the air. We all cough and choke on the fumes.

  Suddenly, someone near me yells, “Lemures!” He stares and points at me in terror. “A spirit! A spirit of the dead!”

  I wonder what has alarmed him, then I glance down at my appearance. Somehow the smoke is interfering with the chamo-suit’s projections. My uniform flickers with strange colors, creating a spooky aura. The people are screaming and running from me. I must be more frightening than the fire.

  In the confusion, I escape through the smoke and away from the scene. The street opens up onto a large public square lined with basilicas and temples. From there I can see the city’s acropolis, and I head in that direction. The Hall of Philosophers lies ahead, next to a theater.

  I climb the marble steps to a colonnaded porch and enter the hall, surprised at how abandoned it is. This center of culture should be filled with the sounds of lively discussions and arguments. I’ll take advantage of the opportunity to retrieve the device unnoticed.

  The hall doubles as a museum. Around me are displays of pottery from various periods: Minoan, Etruscan, Phoenician. I recognize the styles from an archaeology course in grad school. The walls are lined with shelves filled with scrolls, an invaluable treasure trove for a curious historian. I’m tempted to search for some lost works of Pindar or Euripides or Aristotle, but I don’t have the time.

  In the center of the room, the device rests in a special place of honor on a pedestal. The scholars of Rhodes must realize how unique and valuable this mechanism is. It truly will be history-making if I don’t succeed in my mission today. I pick it up to examine it. Luckily, the Romans didn’t have anti-theft technology with laser-triggered alarms.

  “May I assist you?” An attendant stands in the doorway. I didn’t hear him approach. He stares at the precious object in my hands.

  “Yes, the … uh, the proconsul wishes to borrow this device and review its properties in private. He will return it shortly.”

  “I happen to know that the proconsul has been away from the island for the last several months.”

  “Of course, I meant …” but unable to come up with another excuse, I rush past the attendant, down the steps, and into the bustling crowd below, whose noise drowns out the startled man’s cries for help.

  More people fill the forum than before. There’s a disturbance at the far end of the open plaza. Now I understand why the hall was mostly empty. Everyone is rushing to find out what’s happening. As I make my way through the masses, I hear shouting and the sound of fighting.

  “What language are they speaking?” I ask the AI in my cyber-chip.

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  “It figures. In the third century, Rhodes formed an alliance with Egypt which controlled much of the trade in the Aegean Sea. However, with Rome now in charge of the region, the Egyptians aren’t welcome on the island and are viewed as troublemakers. But for that matter, the Romans don’t think highly of the Rhodians either. According to the senator Cato, Romans didn't like the islanders because they were the only people they had encountered who were more arrogant than themselves.”

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  “No, we just need to get through this chaos, and in a hurry. That attendant has probably alerted guards to the theft.”
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  In front of me, people are smashing busts of senators and overturning tables set up by merchants in the forum. I attempt to avoid the escalating violence, but my military garb, working properly away from the smoke, draws some of the rioters’ attention. A group of surly Egyptians starts my way, one wielding a large club. I remind myself that my armor doesn’t provide any real protection. I take a swing at him with my sword, wanting only to scare him, but instead the blade connects with his raised arm. He cries out in pain and runs off along with his companions. I hope the injury is not too serious.

  Soon, I clear the commotion and make my way toward the harbor. As I get closer, I can smell the salty ocean air. When I arrive, I am thrilled to see what remains of the Colossus.

  Famous as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, the Colossus of Rhodes was an immense statue of the Greek sun god Helios, which once stood over a hundred feet tall, the largest in ancient times. Unfortunately, it collapsed during an earthquake after having towered over the harbor entrance for a mere fifty-four years. The bronze and iron ruins have lain here for more than a century.

  His gigantic hand rests on the ground in front of me. It’s so large I can’t wrap my arms around its thumb. What I wouldn’t give for a camera right now. This would make the perfect memento for the time-traveling tourist.

  “Did you know this island got its name from mythology? The nymph Rhodos bore seven sons to Helios, who became the patron deity of the island.”

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  “Yes, I admit it, but I have to talk to someone. Remember, I’m a history professor, and you are my captive audience.”

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  “Did you just make a joke?”

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  “You’re developing a personality.”

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  “Actually, that’s good. If I must have a voice in my head, I’d prefer it sound like a person rather than a machine.”

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  “Well, it’s obvious you’re not there yet. Keep trying. I suppose I should call you something. I know — what about HAL? On second thought, that story didn’t turn out too well, as I recall. How’s Artie, short for ‘artificial intelligence’? No, too cute. Perhaps something classical, given the time period we are currently in. I’ll call you LOGOS.”

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  “When we get back, I suppose I’ll need to explain your presence in these logs.”

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  The island has five harbors, the largest one reserved mostly for military transports. Based on the data from the shipwreck, our target vessel is generous in size. Our team assumed the port authorities would have given them permission to dock here, and we were right.

  Not too far away, a merchant ship rests at the pier with its characteristic three yellow sails, V-shaped hull and double planking providing more strength to transport heavy cargo. I estimate it's about one hundred and fifty feet in length. Some of these ships could carry enough grain to feed the population of a city for a year.

  As I approach the ship, I can make out the name on the prow: Neptune’s Prize, which sounds like a disturbing omen for a vessel doomed to join the realm of the sea god. I feel bad about not warning the crew, but I cannot risk any more alterations to the past, especially since my mission depends on this device sinking to the bottom of the Mediterranean.

  That’s odd. I almost uttered a prayer to Stella Maris, “Star of the Sea,” the name sailors would use for the virgin Mary as guardian of ships. I haven’t practiced my childhood faith in years. And Mary hasn’t even been born yet.

  The crew is loading marble statues of four horses on board. Fascinating; these very items will help future archaeologists identify this island as the ship’s point of departure. Rhodes was known for its sculpture. In the Vatican museum, I remember seeing the famous statue of Laocoön created by three sculptors from Rhodes. It depicts the Trojan priest and his two sons being attacked by giant serpents.

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  “I know, LOGOS. I keep forgetting you’re processing my thoughts through the chip. I’m trying to give my mission logs some colorful details. These records of our first journeys through time may be required history reading someday.”

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  “Perhaps you’re right. Hopefully, if this works, no one will ever remember any of this happened.”

  Several soldiers are patrolling the docks, so I slip up to the ship without calling attention to myself. One crate loaded with amphorae lies open, and I bury the mechanism underneath the straw protecting the merchandise. These ceramic jars serve as common containers now, but in the future, they will become valuable art objects once they are recovered from the wreck along with the corroded device.

  Casually, I stroll along the pier away from the ship, enjoying the smell of the ocean and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks along the shore. Standing at a distance, I wait to see the cargo taken aboard.

  My task is done. I hope our plan has corrected the effects of Xenox’s tampering, but the only way to confirm it will be to check the history books when I return.

  Now to find a quiet, secluded area to wait and perhaps drink some Roman wine until I’m pulled out of here. I must admit that I’ll miss this place. What more could a historian ask for than to experience history itself?

  ///end log///

  12

  “Martin, can you hear me? Wake up. You’re back.”

  He wanted to turn over and sleep longer, but the salt water solution sloshed around his floating body, reminding him where he was. The others assisted him in getting out of the pod and handed him a towel. He wiped the wetness from his eyes and looked around.

  “I’m sorry. Have we met?” he asked an unfamiliar team member.

  “Martin, are you feeling well?”

  “He’s always like this at first, Susie. Remember last time? He was a mess.”

  Martin recognized the speaker as David, but who was this woman? “Andrea, have there been staff changes while I was gone? Where’s S.P.?”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Hewes.” His query received blank stares.

  Oh no, not again. He scanned the room, searching for clues. His eyes fell on the screen displaying the mission data.

  The date read: 13.2.7.7.8 / 3 Lamat / 16 Ch’en.

  “Something’s very wrong. I’m sorry. I thought with the device at the bottom of the ocean, the timeline would snap back to normal.”

  “What device is that, Martin?” Andrea asked. She wore a badge with the title of Executive Director. There was no ring on her finger.

  Martin frowned in dismay. “Maybe it was the alien again.”

  Now everyone looked genuinely worried. John Rey and David shared a glance and shook their heads. Rosa almost teared up.

  Andrea broke the silence. “Martin, this trip has taken its toll on you, worse than before. You’re not making sense. Perhaps you should go into the examination room and let Dr. Peterson check you out.”

  As he exited the pod room, he noticed the paintings in the hallway depicting an eagle on one side and a jaguar on the other, each one eating a bleeding heart. Briefly, he recalled different paintings on those walls, something about melting clocks. But before he could ponder this puzzle, his eyes surveyed the spacious reception room with its sweeping, floor-to-ceiling windows, and he froze.

  “By all the gods!” The polytheistic oath slipped unconsciously from his lips. Through the windows he saw a breathtaking panoramic view not of the desert but of a megalopolis stretching out in all directions, consisting of massive pyramid-like structures, their glass and metal surfaces gleaming blindingly in the afternoon sun.

  “Where am I? What has happened here?”

  In a sudden rush of images, stran
ge memories flooded his mind, memories of his life overlapping memories of another life, like double vision. Through the confusing jumble of thoughts came the startling idea that instinctively he knew to be true.

  Somehow, he was now a citizen in the modern empire of the ancient Maya.

  13

  3 Lamat / 16 Ch’en

  “Martin, are you OK?” asked the receptionist at the front desk, a Native American woman whom he didn’t recognize. “From your expression, you’d think it was the end of the world.”

  “You may be right.” His mind was struggling to process recollections of two different pasts, of close friends he’d never met, familiar places he’d never visited. They wandered like specters through a mist, crossing through one another.

  “Come into my office, Martin.” In an authoritative manner, Andrea gestured to a door beyond the front desk, and he followed. The room was spacious and furnished with brightly dyed tapestries and small figurines of various deities. Once they sat down, she continued. “It’s clear to me that this last jump has affected you in some strange way. You are not acting normally, and it concerns me. I think it would be best if you took some time off.”

  Time certainly is off. He tried to explain: “I know what this looks like, Andrea, but I’m fine … I’ll be fine after I get some rest. My last adventure was rather strenuous. Should we download the log for everyone to review?”

  “That can wait. I recommend that you go home immediately and consult with your personal physician. She can perform a more thorough exam than Dr. Peterson can do here.”

  “But you don’t understand. There is something seriously wrong here, but not with me. I’ve got to make another trip to see if I can fix it.”

  “Martin, you aren’t going anywhere but home. I acknowledge that as our sponsor you fund this project, but you put me in charge of running it and ensuring both its success and the safety of all personnel. That includes you. I’m pulling rank here. For the immediate future, time jumps are suspended.”