Anvil of Fate (Meridian Series)

by John Schettler

  “Right from the horse’s mouth,” said Kelly.

  “No mention of Odo?”

  “There certainly won’t be any mention of the upstart Duke,” said Maeve. “It wouldn’t be kosher. After all, Odo had gone so far as to ally himself with the enemy at one point, and remained an embittered opponent of Charles until his death three years later.”

  “Damn,” said Nordhausen… “Then we’ll never know what the Abbot did, or what Odo did to change this battle. We’ll never have anything more than an assumption, an educated guess.”

  “History is written by the victors and the gray priesthood of scribes they keep,” said Paul. “I’d say most of everything that ever really happened remains unknown. All we hear about is what the local powers that be decided to write down. And, as we have seen, it can often have many interpretations.”

  Nordhausen knew this as well, perhaps better than any of them. He had been a member of that gray priesthood himself, devoting most of his life to the study of history, ancient languages, and long forgotten cultures. He sighed, imagining Odo where he must have sat that day, restless at the edge of the woods where his horsemen waited in reserve.

  “Well, we did it,” he said again with great relief. “Or the Abbot did it, or Odo did it in the end! The only thing that matters is that the Franks win the battle. That should change everything back again, right?”

  Kelly was watching the chart, noting the progression of green. It had been stuck so long on the year 732, but was now bleeding into the yellow and migrating down the Meridian. “Things are looking much better,” he said. “I think Charles is going to have his grandson Charlemagne after all!”

  “Then we get it all back?” said Robert. “Christendom prevails? Columbus discovers America? We get a city called San Francisco here?”

  Kelly watched as the weight of opinion from the Golem searches registered on his screen and, as he moved right to scan the centuries, the line returned to a comforting warm green, deepening in color as it went. “Looks like smooth sailing,” he said. “The Renaissance, the Reformation…It’s all clearing up. We own it all again, the good and the bad. We’ve still got Shakespeare, but Hitler shows up as well. The whole cast of characters is safe behind the curtain of history.”

  “How much fuel do we have left?” asked Paul.

  “What?” Kelly looked at him. “Well it looks like we’ve just got that last bit you fed into the number one backup generator. But what difference does it make now?”

  “Because we still have one little problem to solve,” Paul said quietly.

  Robert looked at him, unhappy. “Oh, don’t start brooding over the physics, Paul,” he said. “Give it a rest! We should go out and celebrate!”

  “Oh?” said Paul flatly. “Go out where? Have you forgotten the world we came from when we arrived here last night, Robert?”

  The professor frowned. “You mean to say… You’re saying—“

  “Palma,” Paul finished, looking at Maeve now. “What we’ve accomplished here hasn’t changed anything on that score at all. We merely prevented the changes we saw forming in the Golem reports concerning Tours. The Heisenberg Wave emerging as a result of the Tours interventions just dissipated, that’s all. We stopped the change from rippling forward on the Meridian, but we’ve done nothing about Palma, and that means that in about an hour…” He looked at Kelly, who turned from his monitor with sudden realization.

  “Crap,” he said eloquently. “I don’t have a ticket to this show.” He looked at Maeve, more worried for her than he seemed for himself. She averted her eyes, thinking.

  Robert gave him a deflated look. “Paradox? But I thought you said Palma didn’t matter anymore.”

  ”In the face of the Grand Transformation at Tours that was true,” said Paul. “We’ve settled accounts on that matter, but that will still leave us with Palma here on this Meridian. We’ve done nothing to reverse that. The only thing different now is that we have Kelly back.”

  “Yes, but for how long?” said Robert. “He was supposed to die if Palma happens. There’s no place in this Meridian for him now. Sorry, Kelly. Damn it Paul, I warned you about this!”

  “Calm down, Robert,” Paul placated the professor. “What you say may be correct,” he went on. “But perhaps not. We’re assuming Kelly was essential to preventing Palma because the action we took on that first mission needed his participation to succeed. Mr. Graves came back to prevent his accident, and our team therefore remained intact. Instead of mourning Kelly, and settling for my little robotic probe later that night, we resolved to do something about Palma. And since we could do something about it with the Arch at our disposal, we entered one of those tunnels I told you about earlier. We created an Absolute Certainty with the combined force of our will power. Yet it’s now quite possible that the Assassins have found some other way to instigate and carry off the attack that caused the Cumbre Vieja volcano to erupt and collapse into the sea.”

  “They were counter-operating!” Maeve was quick to grasp at any straw that might mean Kelly’s life was still viable here, though her inner judgment was in a real struggle now with her love. But Paul was quick to reinforce her.

  “Yes, Maeve,” and we have yet to discover what it is they may have done to re-instate Palma. Their operation may have had nothing whatsoever to do with Ra’id Husan Al Din this time, which means our little visit with Lawrence of Arabia would have been rendered entirely null. We were trying to reverse Palma by eliminating the terrorist from the Meridian—striking at his ancestor, Mousaui. But if the Assassins have found some other way to collapse that volcano, some other nefarious outcast we’ve yet to learn about, all that is meaningless. In that case Kelly would not be involved either, nor would he be exposed to Paradox. We’re on another Meridian now if this is true. The only fact we have is that Palma happened. That could mean that Kelly’s death prevented our intervention, but it could also have happened as a result of an entirely new operation run by the Assassins. Look how complex this last mission was!”

  “Then why are we wasting time here congratulating ourselves?” Robert waved his arm. “We’ve got to finish the job. How much longer can we keep the Arch spinning?”

  “Do you realize what you’re saying?” said Maeve. “It took us six hours, multiple time shifts, and considerable help from god knows when to execute our first intervention against Palma. And look at what we just went through with this mission.”

  “I hate to say it,” said Paul, “but I’m afraid she’s correct. We’ll need research, fuel, and time to plan a counter-operation against Palma now. I don’t think we’ll be receiving any more apples with notes in them either. If what the Abbot says is true, our allies in the future are having a rough time of it there. We’ve prevented the catastrophe a defeat at Tours would have unleashed, but the Order is still operating under the negative effects of Palma. We’ve all been at this for hours, with little sleep or food, and on top of that we’re all suffering residual effects of time shift disorientation.”

  “Then what are you saying, that we do nothing?” The professor was still flush with his victory at Tours, and ready for battle.

  “I’m saying we’ve done all we can for the moment,” said Paul.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to second that,” said Kelly. “The singularity has gone into a severe wobble pattern now. It’s dissipating. I can’t hold the spin. It will be all I can do to use the remaining power we have to assure a safe closure. Let’s face it, people, we aren’t doing any more Time travel this morning. We’ve reached the end of our resources here, and we’ll just have to stand and face the day—however it manifests out there after we shut things down.”

  Nordhausen wanted to argue it further, but the lack of reliable quantum fuel was his undoing. Even if they somehow managed to isolate a new variation in the Meridian that could be responsible for Palma, and assuming they could coax the Golem supercloud to produce accurate calculations for a mission, they were out of quantum fuel, not to mention plai
n old petroleum. That thought took him back to his earlier argument with Paul when they were in the City having dinner in Chinatown.

  “Christ,” he ran his hand over his brow. “I’ve been to the 8th century and back twice since I last had a good meal. But if we have to shut down now I guarantee you we’ll soon be wishing we had that gasoline back in your Honda, Paul. Things are falling apart out there, slowly but surely. We were forced to use our backup generators so the main power grid to the East Bay must have been down all night.”

  “Right,” said Paul. “Then we’ll have to make fuel replenishment our first order of business.”

  “And food!” said Kelly. “I’m famished.”

  “Once we’ve secure fuel I can re-start the quantum matrix and generate a new singularity, but we’ll be very vulnerable until we can get the Arch up and running again, and establish a safe Nexus Point here.

  “And then there’s the issue of growing civil unrest out there,” said Robert. “The system may not hold together much longer. Things were getting really bad down south in LA before Paul and I went into the City last night. The national guard is on the streets there, but hell, the whole damn U.S. army couldn’t lock down Baghdad during that war. It’s only going to deteriorate from this point on.”

  He suddenly remembered something the Abbot had said to him just before he shifted back. “And another thing,” he said. “our lives may be in jeopardy now. The Abbot said we must be very wary, stealthy was the word he used. The Assassins have operatives all through the Meridian, and undoubtedly they have men posted to this milieu as well.”

  “Right,” said Paul. “We talked about this before. We’ve been sloppy and careless after we thought we lost Kelly here, and we just can’t allow that to ever happen again. This is war now, and for better or for ill we’ve got to take a side, just as Rantgar said. We haven’t the resources to stand in the middle between them any longer, and given what we’ve just seen, the calamity they are willing to bring upon the world, I no longer have any doubt as to where I stand on this.”

  He looked at the others, and they nodded agreement. There was too much at stake now for quibbling over who was right or wrong here. The Assassins had proved themselves to be merciless, and relentless. And they had to be stopped.

  “So for us, if we’re going to do anything further with the Arch in the short run, it’s going to be all about food, fuel, and freedom when the Nexus dissipates here. We’ll have to bend all our energies to securing those three things.”

  Maeve remained silent, sullen though resigned to these inevitable facts. Her gaze was ever drawn to Kelly, who sat near the History module running his hand through his thick, brown hair.

  “Alright, I’ll go along with that,” she said at last. “But what’s our plan now?”

  “There’s something Rantgar told us that stuck in my mind,” said Robert. “When Paul asked him how the Assassins were managing to get through Palma’s Shadow, he suggested they may have a facility, similar to the Well of Souls we found, and that they are using it as a relay station. If we could find and destroy that site it might take the pressure off of us.”

  “Good point,” said Paul, “We could try and locate it and take it out somehow… unless they are shifting men in to a date in our immediate past, last Thursday, for example. We could destroy it today, but be unable to touch it last Thursday, so it may be fruitless. In fact, they may even be using the Well of Souls we found in this manner.”

  “But Rasil and his men destroyed the Well of Souls,” said Robert.

  “Right, but that was two weeks ago. Suppose they shift in three weeks ago, before you and I ever found it?” He thought for a moment. “But you’ve got the right idea,” he said. “They’ve had us on the defensive this whole mission, but the best defense is a good offense. It’s time we hit back, and hard!”

  “Well we won’t be able to do anything now,” said Kelly. “I think the quantum matrix is resolving safely. We may as well shut this baby down now and use the remaining power to regenerate the singularity. But after we do, and before we do anything else, I want something to eat.”

  They all just looked at him, and Maeve’s eyes began to glaze over with tears. She went to him, with a longing expression on her face, knowing that he could vanish again, swept over the edge of eternity by Paradox.

  Paul was at his side now as well, and Robert walked over, putting his hand on Kelly’s shoulder. None of them spoke a whisper of the possibility that Kelly was only minutes away from annihilation. Instead they just gathered round him, like the captains and chieftains had closed ranks about Charles to secure his life during that final climactic charge of the Saracen cavalry. All they could hope for now was that, somewhere, Time had another Odo circling round the flank of this moment, ready to strike home at the enemy camp, and that Paul’s speculation that Palma may no longer require the sacrifice of Kelly’s life was indeed a real possibility. They had a 50-50 chance.

  After a long silence, Paul cleared his throat, obviously weary, and struggling with the emotion of what he had to say. “Alright then, let’s test my theory and hope for the best… I suppose I should be the one to shut this thing down,” he fidgeted.

  “Oh, no mister!” Kelly waved his hand away from the main power toggle. “This is my call tonight.”

  Before anyone could say another word, he pulled hard on the lever and shut off the last fitful labors of the backup generator. The main lab lights immediately went dark, and he felt Maeve’s hand at his neck, softly reassuring.

  “It will take a few moments for the singularity to fail and the Nexus to dissipate,” said Paul as the battery operated emergency lighting painted the room a pale blue.

  The mission was over.

  They waited in a silence that seemed endless, each one holding their thoughts safely within, unspoken, unknown to all but themselves. This was the greatest part of all human experience, Paul knew—to stand here, befuddled, beset with doubt, bewildered, and yet still hold on with love, hope, and the promise of yet another day.

  Then Kelly moved and Paul thought he was reaching for something in his pocket, but he was clasping his breast, as if testing to see if he was still there.

  He was.

  He still had a head on his shoulders, and when the lights flickered on again he smiled with it, and breathed a heavy sigh. “Looks like P. G& E is back on line,” he said, his hand moving to his belly, still testing to see if he was all there.

  “Well, I want a damn hamburger!” he said at last. “And a good brew or two…And another thing—I want my Giants baseball cap! Where is the damn thing? I’ve been looking for it all night.”

  Robert laughed heartily, “We’ll find your baseball cap,” he said. “The hamburger and beer may take some doing, but you’ve got it, my friend, you’ve got it.”

  Paul looked around, up at the lights and the equipment and the computer screens of the Arch complex, quietly humming back to life. The screen indicated the Nexus had closed, and Kelly was still alive!

  “Well, we have a lot to get done,” he said, smiling broadly. “Let’s get busy!”

  Epilogue

  In the year 735 A.D., as the cold autumn winds again blew in from the sea and cast their rain upon the rich land of Aquitaine, Odo, Duke and Prince, lay himself down, weary, tired, and beset with fever. To Hunald, his son, he gave all his realm, and bid him hold it fast, lest Charles the Usurper come once more to steal these lands and sully the honor of his family.

  History would not remember Odo, however, for it would not be written by his sons, but by those of Charles Martel. Pippin the Second would follow Charles with equal fervor and eventually subdue Odo’s beloved Aquitaine, and forge it into the loose confederation of clans and tribes that came to be called the land of the Franks. And after him Pippin’s son would be called Charlemagne and bend the lines of fate to his will in a long and glorious reign.

  So the world would know little of Odo’s life and deeds. He would die unheralded by the scribes and largely
unmentioned in the chronicles that recounted the events of his day. Yet, when the autumn would come each year, and the leaves would fail and fall in the fields of Aquitaine, some few would sing his name, and tell how he first fought, and prevailed, and turned back the Saracen horde, years before Charles was even a whisper at court. And that after his great victory at Toulouse the Franks were given precious years to forge the union that would bring them the strength to face and match the doughty warriors of the Ishmaelites.

  The bards would remember how Odo stood bravely on the River Garonne that hot summer in the year 732, while the blood of Aquitaine flowed red before the besieged city of Bordeaux. And they would tell how it was Odo who came, miraculously alive from that carnage, spared by the hand of God and Fate, and how he raised the alarm through all these lands, summoning even his old enemy Charles to stand and fight with him once more. It would be said that Odo bid Charles to stand behind his shieldwall and be the anvil that would endure the heavy blows of the Saracen horsemen all that day. And they would say how the name martelus, ‘the hammer,’ should rightly rest with Odo, for it was he that fell like a hammer at dusk upon the enemy camp astride the old Roman road south of Tours, and it was he that unhinged the weave of their enemies, putting all their greed and pernicious desires to rout.

  And here is a tale no man will ever know, for it is written only on the whispering fog of Time—that in the same year proud Odo lay his head down to die, the pale gray horse that had carried him to safety, Kuhaylan, lay down as well in the stall where Odo had kept him, and breathed his last…

  The Time Theory:

  This passage from Series Book I, Meridian, illustrates the theory behind time travel as used in the story.

  The Lawrence Berkeley Laboratories were just beyond the campus, up a winding way called Cyclotron Road. Born on the Berkeley campus, the facilities had grown considerably over the years, and eventually moved to the rolling green hills that overlooked the university. A host of scientific disciplines were rooted in the lab, which was a major center of research and a place where some of the most profound questions imaginable were asked, and sometimes answered, with the secret arts of Quantum Science. They took the universe apart, bit by bit, discovering atoms, protons, electrons, neutrons; and then breaking each one down into smaller and smaller particles, and watching how each one behaved. Once the physical structures of the universe were ferreted out and understood, science thought it would finally have the answer to how everything related to everything else. Soon, however, they began to encounter strange things in the corners of their vacuum chambers and cyclotrons. The deeper they looked, the more they found that the universe was playing with another set of rules altogether in the realm of the very small. Things that were once thought to be impossible, even unimaginable, suddenly became odd realities. Travel in time, long debated by physicists, was one of those unimaginable things.