by Bob Blink
“I am sending Dix along with you.”
“Dix?” I asked, trying to place the man.
“I sent him on ahead to get you transportation. You can’t walk all the way, not carrying all this stuff.”
We didn’t keep any animals for travel at the base. Where possible we used vehicles, which were a lot less trouble. Because we would be interfacing with downtime people, vehicles were not an option this trip. That meant walking, or more preferably, horses. We have tried a couple of times to bring animals through the time complex, but they became all but unmanageable going through the tunnels. Whatever they sensed that affected them, humans were immune to it. As a result, we needed to acquire our animals locally in the time era we were visiting. Locating, bartering, and paying for animals this way could often require significant time.
“Dix knows where to go. He’s been there twice before, and although we never purchased transportation, he scouted an area maybe ten miles from the entrance just in case on one of the earlier trips. For a while we thought ‘650BC’ was going to be one of the hot zones.”
Hot zones. Eras where we have found traceable signs of the alien activity. Eras we would want to set up a team for detailed examination and search for clues. They had to have a reason to visit the times provided by the tunnels, but as yet we had no real proof of their intentions. Dave had a few theories, but so far no proof.
“Besides,” Ed continued, “next to Dave here, no-one is better at languages.” Dix was born a mixture of Greek and Italian, learning both at home, and grew up in a Spanish neighborhood in Los Angeles. By age ten he was fluent in four languages. With the help of the “Learn-It” pills, as some called them, he had added six more languages, including two which were the most common spoken in our target time.
“And he is damn good with that shotgun of his,” Jack added as he threw the last of our bags into the back of the vehicle.
I didn’t need any convincing. I remembered Dix now. A young man, perhaps thirty years old. Tall and lean, athletic and quick. He had been instrumental in setting up the 1870’s site as well. With his coloring and the longish black hair, he would fit in well where we were going. He represented effectively a 50% increase in our fighting strength, I thought, mentally giving Dave a low rating in that area.
“Good,” I responded. “And he will meet us at the entrance?”
Ed smiled. “He’s already there. I got word a few minutes ago, which is why I headed over here. He asked to be included, and the more I thought about it the better the idea seemed. I’m glad you agree.”
I took Ed’s hand. “Thanks. I’m sorry this became such a hurry-up issue, but we were all surprised by the recent developments. You need to make sure the courier passes a heads up to all the teams. Minimum use of the home tunnel will be exercised for a bit, at least until we have some idea of what we can expect.”
“Courier leaves in a couple of hours. I alerted residents they should get any mail out to family. He will take it back with him. If we minimize travel access to home, it may be a while before easy flow of news to the families resumes. Just a precaution.” It’s one of the things that made him a good leader. Just like men and women on extended assignments at home, the long-term downtime people were cut off from family. Mail and other mementos from home were a big boost to morale. Ed made sure they had every chance to stay in touch.
Jack was already at the far end of the cave room with our luggage. Time to go. Dave and I said our good-byes, and headed across the stone floor to the cave tunnel that would take us back to the time complex entrance.
650 BC
Dix was already transferring the gear from the ATV into a rickety old wooden cart just outside the tunnel cave at the 650 BC entrance. The ATV had driven as far as possible down the inside of the cave, stopping just at the thirty foot high rocks that blocked most of the entrance and helped hide the cave from the outside. A couple of zigzag paths at the base of the rocks led from the cave to the outside world. Dave and I each grabbed a bag, and with the help of Jack we soon had the full load moved to the cart. As Jack said his farewells, and headed back downtime, Dix introduced himself to Dave and myself. Seeing him face to face, I felt even better about his joining us on this little jaunt.
Totally at ease with the situation, and dressed for the part, no-one would think him anything other than a fighter who was hired explicitly to protect his benefactor’s life and goods. His presence complimented my own, making me appear the slightly older and more experienced protector, opposite his youth, strength and speed. A reasonable pair for a merchant to hire, especially a merchant who could not afford a larger group of protectors, but one who made the best trade-off for the resources he could afford to invest in his protection. Strapped to his back was a scabbard from which protruded an odd leather handled hilt. It could easily have been some form of sword, but I remembering some of the conversation earlier I realized what I was seeing was the modified handle for his shotgun. Cleverly hidden I admitted, and while I expected it would be brutal to fire, I had every confidence Dix would be proficient in it’s use.
Greetings and loading completed, I looked at our transportation. In addition to the cart, Dix had procured a pair of horses to pull it. Both looked a bit weary, worn out from years of labor. They were not riding horses, but then that would have been out of character. I realized I didn’t really know what would be typical here. As it was, Dave the merchant would be riding, while his faithful guards, Dix and myself, would walk along side keeping him safe. It would have to do. While Dave could probably walk the distance, with his considerable girth, it looked a lot better for him to ride. It also fit his supposed station in life. And we needed the cart for the items we were bringing. Packing those would have been an issue without the cart.
“I paid way too much,” an unhappy Dix admitted after we started out. “There was only the one cart, and I was told we didn’t have time to explore for other options. The old farmer was no dummy. He knew I really wanted it, and boosted his price accordingly. He wanted a ridiculous amount, and wouldn’t budge. I mean, it’s a pittance really. It’s not the cost. But I just hope no one took notice.”
I understood his concern, but consoled him as best I could. “It’s done. Even if someone gets curious, in two days we will be gone from here. You did the right thing. We will just keep our eyes open.” It was the one real risk here. Someone with money stood out. Word could get to the wrong ears, and that could breed trouble.
As we started away from the cave, I noticed all signs of the ATV and cart were being removed for a considerable distance from the opening. We used this entrance so seldom I doubted it really mattered, but it was better to be careful. The first mile from the cave entrance was mostly rock, much of it volcanic in origin. While it helped hide the wheel marks from the cart, it left a great deal to be desired for the rider. Before long Dave had dismounted and walked along side the two of us, indicating he would return to the cart when we got closer to people and when the riding became a bit smoother. He told us about his first trip here five years ago and how he had made friends with the priest. By the time we had gone a couple of miles Dave had finished his tale, concluding with the trip last year when he brought Morris to the priest for watching. Before long we found a rutted path that made do for a road. Fortunately the weather was dry, if a bit windy, for we would have found the way almost impassible after any serious rain.
Almost noon and we had seen ever increasing numbers of people. Nothing resembling a town, although a myriad of small farms and groves of trees. It was easy to see the manual effort that had gone into the small homesteads. One could also see the poor return the rocky land had yielded the owners in return. Still, these people were better off than most. Poverty was rampant in these times. Most of the hovels yielded smaller children, all of whom watched fascinated as we passed. A few waived, timidly. Dave always waived back. Parents often watched as well, many wondering, I suppose, what goods we carried in the cart, while at the same time realizing they proba
bly couldn’t afford our wares anyway. Sometimes the men would watch us cautiously, making sure we continued on our way and didn’t represent a threat to them or theirs. Understanding we wore swords to protect our employer, the sight of the weapons still made them uncomfortable. What they had other than the land and a meager survival was little enough, but in this time there were many who would attempt to take even that. Soldiers, a rare enough sight in these areas, could not always be counted on either.
Another half mile down the road, we found a small lake and a place to break for lunch. A man, his wife, and three small children were already there, sitting on the rocks along the shore eating some kind of bread. They looked uncomfortable with our arrival, and we tried to pull up far enough away so as not to crowd them. Dave, ever the maker of friends, soon had them at ease and was conversing with them like he had known them for years. No clue what they were talking about. Dix must have understood, but he only shook his head and led the horses to the lake to get a drink. I found some shade back from the lake a bit, and sat down with my trail mix and canteen. After a few handfuls I discovered that I wasn’t really hungry, and set the bag aside and leaned back against the grassy slope under the trees. It was still breezy, but here we were sheltered from the force of the wind, and it became more of a calming breeze. I yawned, sleepy after all the jumping around. Multiple time zones, each with some amount of time-of-day shift were hard on the system. I closed my eyes and relaxed, thinking about how I would approach Morris. The man had every reason to hate me, and little reason to cooperate. I must have dozed because the next thing I knew Dix was tapping me on the shoulder. “Time to go,” he said smiling.
As we pulled away from the rest area, I noticed the kids waving to Dave and laughing, each holding something in their hands. It took a moment to register, and then I looked up at him on sitting on the cart looking innocent. “Chocolate?” I asked. “You brought chocolate?”
He chuckled. “A couple of boxes of Hershey bars,” he admitted. “Our priest friend has a sweet tooth, something I discovered when I innocently offered him half a candy bar one day some years ago. You cannot believe the reaction of people who have never been exposed to 21st century candy, especially the young ones. I figured he could spare a couple of bars for them. It is something they will probably always remember”. He smiled to himself.
I left Dave, and walked ahead to catch up with Dix who was leading the horses. Tireless, he walked along keeping a wary eye ahead. We had had no trouble, but he had an alertness that caused me to question. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Probably nothing,” he responded. “It’s just, a couple of times I thought I saw the same group a ways back. Usually they are far enough you can’t see them. When we cross over some of the high spots, I sometimes catch a glimpse, maybe a mile back.”
“Do you recognize them?”
“Too far. It’s probably just a group headed the same way. This is about the only road going north around here. But,” and here he looked thoughtful. “They didn’t gain on us during the break. Seems like they would have kept going or taken a break where we did. We had just passed that way, and I knew there wasn’t another good place.” His eyes met mine.
I couldn’t help remembering I was napping. “How far to the turn-off?” I asked chastened. Once we turned off the main road, it would be suspicious if they followed. The road led to the priest, and dead-ended at the compound. A real coincidence if our followers were going that way as well. I slid my hand inside my vest touching the grip of the .45 automatic.
Dix noted my reaction, and nodded. “Still a few hours according to Dave,” was his reply. “I haven’t been here before, but Dave told me at the break that we have to go around the edge of those hills,” he said, his words punctuated by his hand pointing in the direction of a group of purplish hills hazy in the distance. “On the other side is the turn off, which leads us back up against the hills to the compound.”
Suddenly I wasn’t tired anymore. It was probably nothing, but I shared Dix’s concern about their odd behavior while we rested. On the other hand, there were enough people around to thwart any direct action, if that was their intent. At least for now. There didn’t seem to be any place that would work for an ambush. I couldn’t discount they might have friends, waiting ahead. Their following patiently behind us might be just to lure us into complacency.
“Should I wait by those rocks, and discourage them a bit when they catch up?” he asked, indicating a place one man might be able to hide about twenty-five yards ahead of us. “Or maybe we can find a place up a bit where we can all wait and surprise them?”
I liked the idea of staying together and but wasn’t entirely convinced we had a real problem yet. If it was really only three people, we had the advantage of modern firearms, and it shouldn’t be an issue. We talked it over and just decided to keep an eye on them for now. If they closed the distance, or disappeared suddenly, we should get prepared. Dix would walk about fifty yards ahead, watching for anything ahead of us, and I would stay with Dave and the cart.
We reached the turnoff late in the afternoon. Our status remained the same. Three people followed, still a mile or so behind. Dave had us continue up the turnoff for about a quarter of a mile, where the road climbed up and around a small hill, and then turned down the other side. We could see the compound in the distance. The three of us walked back up from the far side, sitting in the shade of a couple of spruce trees. From here we could watch the road, and at least a couple of miles further beyond the turn off. They came our way at a steady pace. When they reached the turnoff, the middle one, a woman, looked our way. All three continued on their way, and we watched as they slowly continued down the rutted path. Forty-five minutes later they disappeared out of sight. It appeared we had active imaginations, and we headed back to the base of the hill where the horses were tethered. Another half-hour brought us to the priest’s compound.
They had seen us coming, of course. The rutted path that meandered its way the six miles from the base of the small hill was all on the flat. Our horse drawn cart was easily seen from the compound, and there was a group waiting near the gate to meet us when we arrived, the old priest included. At first they had been uncertain whether we were friend or foe. Visitors were not common here. Confusion, disbelief, and joy followed one after another on the old priest’s face as he finally recognized Dave, his good friend he hadn’t seen for so long.
Dave had barely dismounted from the cart when he was wrapped into a hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. Rapid back and forth questions and answers were exchanged, between grins and slaps on the back. I followed none of it, of course. Dix and I grinned at each other. It appeared we were welcome. A band of ragged children flowed through the gate, eager not to miss anything now that it was clearly safe. A group formed around Dix and myself, small eager faces, curious about the strangers. I thought about the sweets Dave had in the cart, but decided those were his to distribute. Better wait.
The discussion between Dave and the priest had slowed momentarily, as Dave made his way back to the packages we had brought. He rummaged around for a bit, then his face brightened as he found what he sought. Taking a minute to separate the treasure from the packaging material, he turned to the priest with a pair of bottles. The priest’s eyes glowed as he became aware of the bottles of thirty-five year-old brandy. So that’s what Dave was holding back. He obviously knew the old guy pretty well. Taking his treasures in his hands, Dave also showed the priest something else he held in his hand. That brought another smile, and a quick look around. The priest said something quietly, and Dave nodded and slid what he was holding quietly out of sight. I was sure it was the chocolate.
Something changed in the demeanor of the old guy, and the conversation became serious. He and Dave engaged in another round of question and answer, but this time I could tell it was Dave who was asking the questions, and the priest who was giving answers. After a bit Dave grew very serious. He asked another question, and pointed towards
the inside of the enclosure. That got him a nod from the priest. Dave patted him on the back, and turned to me. The others started back inside, with one of the older children leading the horse and cart inside. Dave came over to me.
“Something’s wrong?” I asked unnecessarily.
“Kurt’s dying,” Dave answered quietly.
Chapter 12
Early Roman Empire
650 BC
Kurt Morris was tired. It seemed more so everyday now. For a man who had spent an active life with boundless energy, it was a cruel insult. These days he even dreaded getting up. Everyday by noon he needed to nap at least a couple of hours. That was just so he could make it to evening, when he could rest again. Then there was the pain. It hadn’t been bad at first. But it was getting worse. Especially during the last couple of weeks. At first he had tried to hide it, but then gave in when the priest stumbled onto his secret. At least the man had wanted to help. The priest had tried a variety of simple cures, but none of them were up to the task. Kurt had known they wouldn’t be. He knew the cause, you see. He should have followed the doctor’s advice, but he had been too stubborn. Needed to finish something first. Now it was too late.
The loneliness made it even harder. That Jim Crampton had done him good, he had. Kurt knew it was Crampton, even though he never saw him in the cave that day, or anytime after. It was always someone else. But he was sure they worked for him. They put him here where no one spoke English. Kurt didn’t know what language they were speaking, even after thirteen months here. He communicated basic needs by signs and hand motions. That wasn’t talking. Some tried to help him by speaking and pointing at things, but that didn’t help much either. Oh he had learned a few words. Big deal! The only real communication had been the investigator they had captured with him. The one Crampton’s people hadn’t killed. But the man had been over-confident, or careless. It was hard to say which. What did it matter? When they escaped from the compound together a couple of months after being left here, he had managed to get himself killed. That cost Kurt the only person he could talk with. He felt the loss keenly, even if the man had demonstrated a very narrow range of interests.