by Steve White
Jason laughed softly. “It’s an ingenious theory. There are just two problems with it. First, as I mentioned, it’s been ruled out in terms of quantum physics. I’m not qualified to explain why; you’ll have to ask Rutherford when we get back. And secondly, I happen to know that was no supernatural being we saw today.”
“Oh?” Nagel tilted his head back, the better to peer down his nose. He must, Jason decided, be coming out of shock; his personality was unfortunately reasserting itself. “And what, precisely, leads you to believe you know this?”
“The weapon he used on us.” Jason briefly explained the nature of the paralyzer. “It didn’t look like our designs, of course. In my opinion, ours are a lot more practical. And judging from the time it took for the effect to wear off, it was pretty underpowered. Still, our culture could manufacture one just like it, if we wanted to. Likewise with his ‘chariot.’ It had the same overdecorated, inefficient look as the stunner, but it was an obvious application of the kind of propulsion our aircars use.” He shook his head decisively. “No. I’ve seen nothing to compel belief in the ‘many-worlds hypothesis’. Rutherford rules it out unequivocally, and that’s good enough for me. You know how cautious he is.”
Nagel lost some of his snippiness, but remained argumentative. “How, then, do you account for what we saw?”
“I can’t account for it. He—I assume he was a ‘he’—didn’t belong to any nonhuman race we’ve encountered. If fact, we’ve never met any nonhumans even close to our technological level, nor any that looked even remotely similar to us. No, I have no idea who or what that being was, or what he and his advanced technology are doing in our world’s past. All I’m certain of is that this is our world’s past.”
Nagel didn’t offer the further argument Jason had expected. Indeed, he seemed relieved, as though he had hoped to be persuaded of this very conclusion. “Very well,” he said briskly, “I must accept your professional judgment. It follows, then, that our expedition’s original objective is as valid now as it ever was.”
For a few seconds, Jason could only stare at him. “Did I just hear you correctly? You expect to simply resume your studies, on a business-as-usual basis?”
Nagel looked puzzled at the other’s reaction. “But I thought I understood you to say that we are, in fact, in the actual past—the legitimate past, as it were. Therefore our findings from archaeology and other disciplines actually reflect this milieu, and our inferences from those findings can be checked against observed reality, since—”
A harsh bark of laughter escaped Jason. “Sidney, forget it! Until further notice, this expedition’s original purpose is superseded. Our first and only priority is to rescue Deirdre.”
Nagel blinked, as though he hadn’t thought of that. “Well, er, yes. Of course I am as appalled as you are at what has happened to Ms. Sadaka-Ramirez … to Deirdre, I meant to say. And I would do anything to save her. But surely you must realize the futility of such an attempt. First of all, we have no idea where that being took her.”
“Yes, we do—or at least I do.” Jason smiled. “There are certain things we don’t normally tell the non-Service members of temporal expeditions. But circumstances force me to take you into my confidence. The fact of the matter is, the TRDs implanted in you and Deirdre also incorporate a microminiaturized tracking device.”
Nagel’s features went blank, then grew suffused with outrage. “Do you mean to say that … that … that a cybernetic device was implanted without my consent … ? ” He spluttered to an inarticulate halt.
“Now you understand why we don’t exactly emphasize this. No point in upsetting people with things they don’t need to know. If the expedition had gone as planned, we would have returned to the linear present, your implant would have been removed, and you would have been left wondering how I’d always seemed to know where you were. You see, the device is completely passive, and hooked into my computer implant. Whenever I call up a map of our surroundings to be projected directly onto my optic nerve, your location and Deirdre’s appear on it as red dots. So I know where she’s been taken. And that’s where we’re going.”
Nagel’s indignation was now gone, driven out by alarm verging on horror. “You can’t be serious! It’s hopeless. This … this exercise in quixotry will accomplish nothing except our own deaths—and the loss of an absolutely unique opportunity to resolve important questions about a crucial period of history. You can’t—”
“Actually, I can. Which reminds me … Excuse me, please.” Jason’s eyes lost their focus, and his voice took on an uncharacteristically formal tone. “As a result of hostile action by an unidentified nonhuman entity, a member of the expedition is now in unforeseeable danger. Therefore, in accordance with Title III, Chapter Five, Section 17 of the Revised Temporal Precautionary Act of 2364, I declare that a state of extraordinary emergency exists as of the date and time of this recording.” He blinked, and focused again on Nagel, who was staring wide-eyed.
“What I just said has been recorded by my computer implant,” he explained. “I remind you of what you already know, or should know, from the Articles of Agreement you signed. Under conditions of extraordinary emergency—which I have the authority to declare at my sole discretion—I have equally extraordinary enforcement powers.” Jason paused, and chose his next words with care. “I also remind you that I just killed four armed men—two of them while paralyzed from the waist down. I mean no reflection on you when I say that you could not stop me even if you had the legal right to try.”
There was absolute, dead silence. Jason let it continue for a couple of heartbeats, then leaned forward into the firelight and spoke in a very different tone of voice.
“Listen, Sidney, I intend to bring all of us back alive. I’ve never lost a single member of an expedition I’ve led, and I see no reason to start now. Together, you and I can get Deirdre back. Whoever this bogus god is, and wherever he came from, he’s accustomed to pushing around frightened primitives. He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. When he finds out, he’s going to be one very surprised deity. That will be our advantage.”
The pep talk seemed to have an effect on Nagel. He swallowed once, and looked a little less frightened. He still wore a lost look, though. “But … where has Deirdre been taken?”
“Not far,” Jason assured him. “Only about seven or eight miles, in fact—to Tiryns.”
“Tiryns? But why there?”
“Who knows? Maybe the local wanax works for this ‘god’ like those bandits. We’ll just have to see what the situation is when we get there—which we’ll do tomorrow.” Jason used the point of his blade to draw a simple map in the dirt beside the fire. “Tiryns is to the east, around the head of the Gulf of Argos. We’ll go there directly, skirting the gulf. It’ll mean going through more swamps, but we can make it by nightfall. How much can you tell me about what we’re likely to find there?”
“Not a great deal,” Nagel admitted. “What we won’t find are the massive cyclopean walls for whose ruins Tiryns will be noted in our day. Those date from a period three centuries from now. There will doubtless be some kind of fortification on the summit of the rocky promontory, but it will surely be a wooden stockade like what we saw at Argos. Oh, and Tiryns is practically on the coast now; the sea, which in our century will be a mile away, is believed to have come within a hundred yards of the wall in this era.” Nagel paused, then resumed reluctantly. “There is one other thing. Ordinarily, I would not give it much weight, as it is pure legend, without any archaeological verification. But now … after some of the things I’ve seen …”
“Yes?” Jason prompted.
“Remember what I said about Acrisius?”
“Yes. You said that the myths include a ruler of Argos by that name, who had a great-grandfather named Danaos.”
“Well, according to those same stories, Acrisius had a twin brother named Proetus. The two of them were bitter enemies, and fought a succession war. It was finally resolved by an agreement under
which Acrisius kept Argos while Proetus got Tiryns.”
“Oho! So now we know why Acrisius was so relieved that we were going to Lerna and not to Nauplia, past Tiryns and brother dearest. I bet it also explains why he was so reticent about the bandits infesting the swamps. They probably work for Proetus, infiltrating the borders. And since they also work for this ‘god,’ it means that Proetus is tied in with him … so he naturally took Deirdre to Tiryns. Yes, it all fits.”
“I caution you that this is all pure legendry, and not necessarily to be relied on.” An afterthought seemed to overtake Nagel. “Oh, yes; the stories also mention that Acrisius had no sons, just a daughter named Danaë. Proetus seduced the young Danaë, his own niece—one of the reasons for the bad blood between the two brothers.”
Jason nodded sagely. “That would do it.”
“Afterwards, however, Danaë—”
“That’s enough for tonight, Sidney,” Jason yawned. “Let’s get as much sleep as we can, and start out at dawn. My implant will wake me.” He rolled over, wrapping his cloak around him, and composed himself for sleep. Nagel could only follow suit.
*
One thing at Tiryns was as per expectations: the entrance ramp that led up the eastern side of the low promontory to the fortress that sat atop the usual straggle of huts, sheds, shacks, stables, artisans’ workshops, and all the refuse-strewn clutter that artists’ conceptions of archaeological sites in their heyday never seemed to show
The fortress itself was the expected wooden affair; as they ascended the ramp they were not overshadowed by the massive cyclopean tower and casemated galleries that would later make this one of the most remarkable pieces of military engineering to survive from the Bronze Age world. But the stockade enclosed the same general area as the later stone citadel, Nagel observed, and the rooftops visible above it suggested that the palace occupied the same location.
Jason listened to him with only half an ear, for he was more interested in the group of guards ahead of them, at the top of the ramp outside the gate. In the August twilight—he and Nagel had taken their time, arriving from the marshes to the west and working their way around through the inner town—those guards stood dressed and equipped exactly like those Jason had seen at Argos. They also held the same kind of spears, and their leader also had a short thrusting sword not unlike Jason’s. Their hands tightened on those weapons as the two strangers approached.
“Rejoice,” Jason greeted them formally. “We seek the hospitality of Proetus’ hall.” A few conversations in the lower town had established that the local wanax indeed bore that name. “I am Jason, a warrior of Aetolia. This is Synon, a cousin of my father, who was a steward to the house of Oeneus.”
The captain of the guard showed no reaction at the last name, and Jason mentally sighed with relief. Nagel had recalled Oeneus as a mythical king of Aetolia, and they had been betting that he, like Danaos here in the Argolid, had been real, and that his descendents still ruled.
“Very well, then. You may enter. But things are a little unsettled.” The bearded face under the boar’s-tusk helmet wore a look utterly foreign to Jason’s world, but which he had come to recognize in this one. “The wanax was visited by a god last night! Eurymedon himself!”
Jason and Nagel made the appropriate signs. “A high honor for Proetus,” Jason said respectfully, while making surreptitious eye contact with Nagel, who he was sure would later tell him who Eurymedon was, or was supposed to have been. At the moment, his uppermost thought was, not Hyperion. Evidently there were at least two of these beings at large on second millennium b.c. Earth, unless one was playing multiple roles.
“I myself saw the god’s chariot descend,” the guard captain continued as he motioned his men to open the gate. “He bore a woman with him.”
“A woman?” Jason wondered how many questions he dare ask. At least he need not ask if she was still here; he knew she was. “Was she a gift for Proetus?”
“How should I know? It’s not my place to ask about such things. Just be on your best behavior, that’s all.”
They passed through the gates and up an inner ramp, covered by its own overhanging stockade, then turned right through another gate into a courtyard opening onto an inner court beyond which was the megaron. Jason was reflecting that it was more impressive than Acrisius’ establishment in Argos when he felt a tug on his tunic sleeve. It was Nagel, drawing him a little back to whisper in his ear.
“This is very similar to the palace that Schliemann will excavate in the nineteenth century! They’ll build the stone walls around it later, but any rebuilding they do in here will follow the original plan closely. I could almost find my own way through here.”
Jason shushed him, unable to share his archaeological enthusiasm but hopeful that he wasn’t fooling himself about his knowledge of this fairly labyrinthine place—a knowledge that might prove useful. Then they traversed the porch and entered the throne room itself.
The evening’s drinking by Proetus and his warriors had already commenced, presided over by the wanax from a throne set against the wall to the right of the central hearth. He was, Jason immediately decided, not really Acrisius’ twin. (Come to think of it, there were an awful lot of twin brothers in Greek mythology. Maybe Nagel could explain why that was.) He wasn’t quite as tall, and his features were narrower. He was also significantly younger, though still of above average age for an active man—which one got the definite impression that he was—in this era. His beard was still solid dark brown, and worn with the fashionable turned-up mustache that Jason had been trying to cultivate.
The guard captain stepped before him. “Son of Abas, Jason and Synon of Aetolia seek to serve under you.” It was the standard formula for introducing strangers who were requesting the hospitality that was almost always granted in the absence of a good reason not to (for one never knew when one was going to need it oneself). But Jason wondered if Proetus might take it literally. Word in the lower town was that he was aggressively recruiting.
The wanax raised his right hand in formal greeting and gazed at them with the intense concentration of the partially drunk. “Rejoice. What brings you from the house of Oeneus?”
Jason had been expecting that. “There was a blood-feud, lord. We ourselves were not directly involved in it, but certain of our relatives were. We wished to commit no acts that would require purification—”
“Wise,” Proetus nodded.
“—so we thought it best to remove ourselves to the south for the time being. Naturally we sought out the hall of a ruler known to enjoy the special favor of the gods.” That was the closest Jason dared come to inquiring about last night’s visit by Eurymedon. He hoped Proetus would take the cue and indulge in some tipsy self-congratulation over his intimacy with the immortals.
Unfortunately, the wanax merely gave an indulgent gesture. “Be welcome. Sit down and drink. We will talk further when—” The guard captain approached, and whispered something in Proetus’ ear. The latter looked annoyed, and muttered something Jason couldn’t quite make out. The captain whispered anew, with more urgency. Proetus sighed, took another pull on his wine, and addressed his new guests.
“You must pardon me. A servitor of mine—a low fellow, but not without his uses—has arrived, with a report he insists will not wait.” He nodded to the captain, who turned to the door and gestured peremptorily.
Two guards led in a scruffy-looking type who looked very out of place in this hall. Jason overheard a mutter of disapproval from the aristocratic warriors behind him. Proetus silenced it with a wave and glared at the new arrival.
“Well, you miserable puddle of dog vomit, what is this news that cannot wait for my regular report from Lydos?”
“Lydos is dead, lord,” the man mumbled. “All of us are dead, except me and Brasidas—and he has a ruined face. You see, Lydos sent me back to our camp with Brasidas after—”
“Talk sense, clown!” roared Proetus. The man groveled. Jason now recognized him, and he held
perfectly still, and hoped Nagel was doing likewise. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.”
“Eurymedon appeared to us, lord!” A gasp of indrawn breath filled the hall at the blurted declaration. “He commanded us to take a party of two men and a woman who were traveling south from Argos. They showed fight, though, and killed two of us—but then the god himself came, carrying one of the heads of the Hydra which spout flames and turn men to stone!”
Now the hall was suspended in a silence of primal fear. Jason considered trying to make a break for it, only to reject the idea. Nagel’s reactions would be too slow, even if he didn’t freeze up altogether.
“Afterwards,” the bandit resumed, “the god departed with the woman. That was when Lydos sent me back with Brasidas. Afterwards, I returned … didn’t want to miss my share of the loot, y’understand. But Lydos and Paralos were dead—and the two men who’d been turned to stone were gone!”
“What?” Proetus rose to his feet in a rage. “You lie, pig! You stole the loot for yourself, and now you want my protection when Lydos and the others come looking for you. Guards, beat the truth out of him!”
“No, lord! By all the gods, I speak the truth!” The bandit looked around wildly at the approaching guards … and his eyes bulged as he glimpsed Proetus’ two new guests. ” It’s them, lord! The two who were with the woman!”
For an instant, Proetus stared openmouthed and the guards halted in confusion.
” Get out, Sidney!” Jason yelled, shattering the hall’s stunned silence. Simultaneously, he drew his sword and, with a foot, sent a low bench skidding across the floor into two guards’ legs. As they fell in a heap, he ran for the door, grabbing Nagel by the arm.