Close Up the Sky

by James L. Ferrell

  "Then she knows nothing about the Chronocom?"

  "Absolutely nothing. She isn't even cleared for entrance to level 10."

  "Level 10?"

  "The Chronocom operations floor. It's in the basement, so to speak."

  "Am I cleared for that level?"

  "You will be."

  "Does Gail have any kind of personal relationship with someone who does know about the Chronocom?"

  "Gail's the kind of girl who might have a personal relationship with almost anybody. But even if she did, no one would be foolish enough to reveal any information about it." She stopped walking and gave him a quizzical look. "Why do you ask that?"

  “She asked me if I was looking for a spy. It made me think she may have known more than she was saying. Maybe about the sabotage of the stellarite?" Taylor pondered his question for a few seconds, then started them walking again. "No, I don't see how that’s possible," she responded. "Except for the FBI and our security chief, Colonel Pope, no one but the operations staff and the agents know about it. In fact, she shouldn’t even know what stellarite is.” She shook her head and said, “It must have been simple curiosity about you personally and she was making small talk."

  "Maybe, but it seems to me she got pretty close to the truth for small talk."

  She stopped again and looked at him. "You suspect she's involved?"

  He smiled and took her arm, continuing their walk. “Probably not. It's just my suspicious nature at work."

  "Well do me a favor and stay away from her. I'm going to require all your concentration for the next few days. I'll report the incident to Colonel Pope. Let him handle it."

  "I wish you wouldn't do that just yet."

  "Why not?"

  "You play poker?"

  "Not very well, why?"

  "Let's just say I don't want any of the players to fold before the pot's big enough."

  She gave him a curious look. "What does that mean?"

  "Trust me."

  "I do, but it works both ways."

  He nodded and grinned. "Okay, Teacher. I think I just learned my first lesson. We don't hold anything back. Pax?"

  "Pax. Now, what are you thinking?"

  "Just that until we know who and what we're dealing with, everyone is a suspect; including Gail. Right now let's keep the information to ourselves and see what happens. You never can tell when some city slicker might try to take advantage of a poor 'ol country boy from Georgia."

  "Okay, but I hope you know what you're doing."

  "So do I," he said in a somber tone. "By the way," he continued, changing the subject. "I went over Edward's file again this morning. There isn't much information in it."

  "That's only a journey record you have there." she replied, pointing to the folder in his hand. "The complete narratives are kept in encrypted computer files."

  "Do those files contain the names of other agents who may have been on expeditions with him?"

  "Sure. They're complete reports. Why?"

  "Would it be possible for me to see them?"

  "Which ones? There are dozens of them."

  "What does this number mean?" They slowed their pace and he opened the folder to a random page. He pointed to the digits inside the small box. They read 1604.0923.

  "That's the expedition target date," she explained. "The first four numbers represent the day and month. This one is April 16th," she pointed to the first group of numbers. "The next number indicates the year, 923 B.C. All B.C. dates are preceded by a zero."

  He nodded. "I understand. I want to see all the files as soon as possible. Will you handle that?"

  "I'll take care of it."

  They crossed a small grassy area at the end of the building and walked up the cafeteria steps, unaware that they were being watched. When they were out of sight the watcher stepped from behind one of the tall, decorative bushes lining the walls of the residential courtyard. A look of malevolent hate twisted his features as he stared after them. Blind rage shook his body and he bit down hard on his lower lip. After a few seconds the pain prevailed and he regained control of his emotions. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth and he spat red froth onto the ground. Soon he would have to deal with both of them. Except for the support she might render the man, the woman was inconsequential at the moment. The only danger she represented was her knowledge and experience in the field. He could afford to ignore her until the proper time. However, the man was a different matter. The watcher knew who he was and why he was here. The short hairs on the back of his neck prickled slightly as he thought about it. The man was not a novice to be taken lightly, but then, neither was he. When the time was right, Matt Leahy would die. Yes, in time. He chuckled softly at the pun, and followed them into the cafeteria.

  After six days and nights of almost continuous tutoring, Leahy felt that he knew enough of the Egyptian tongue to pass as an uneducated foreigner. He could understand most sentences, and could converse in rudimentary terms. The Apache Point linguistics lab had a staff of more than thirty scientists working on different forms of ancient speech. It was equipped with state-of-the-art electronic aids, including sleep and hypnotic teaching methods. Most of the material that the technicians worked with came from tapes secretly recorded by agents during actual conversations with the ancients, so the teaching base was not restricted by a language that had never been heard in its native form. Here was the actual way words had been pronounced, each consonant and vowel rolling off the tongues of experts in their use.

  He was filled with wonder as he listened to the voices of men and women long since returned to the dust from which they had sprung. He visualized their faces, his mind's eye watching their body movements as they went about their everyday lives. He began to know them as real people, all with decidedly different personalities and mannerisms. One of the voices belonged to a man named Sut. From his gruff tone and short way of speaking, Leahy imagined him as being in his forties, short and stocky, with piercing black eyes. Sut was used to being in control and had a sly way of dealing with the time agents, always getting more than he gave. Of course the agents were willing to give Sut any price that he demanded so long as excessive generosity on their part did not become suspicious. They had no interest in making a profit through shrewd trade practices, only in the acquisition of specific artifacts or knowledge.

  It had been standard operating procedure from the beginning that the agents disguise themselves as traders when dealing with the ancients as that would be the most effective way of accounting for language discrepancies and ignorance of local customs. Most of the trade items consisted of synthetic fabrics, costume jewelry, spices, and unguents manufactured in the Apache Point laboratories. All trade goods were carefully chosen and matched to the time period in which each expedition would be operating. Everything except food was manufactured using a chemical process which ensured that nothing would survive the test of time. Fabrics gradually disintegrated over a few years, while other objects were designed to give no indication of their modern origins, thus ensuring that no archaeologist would ever discover anything from the twenty-first century during a dig. Leahy amused himself by wondering if the women of the far past had been introduced to panty hose, and what they did when the material developed runs.

  Items of a technical nature, no matter how simple, were strictly prohibited. It had been learned early in the program that using trade goods the ancients could not understand might bring disastrous results. One incident of such an occurrence had become mandatory study for all newly appointed agents. That particular disaster had happened during an attempt to acquire information about the dark ages of Europe. Two agents were killed and another seriously injured when they offered a box of wooden matches to a tribe of German barbarians in exchange for an old Roman document. The agents knew nothing of the tribe's superstitions, and when one of the small sticks of wood burst into flame they were attacked and bludgeoned. They were unaware that in the barbarians’ religion, only demons could produce fire by magic
. It was a lesson learned at high cost, but one that helped establish safety procedures designed to avoid similar mistakes in other missions.

  Of course the degree to which people subscribed to superstition was in direct proportion to their level of civilization, modern man being separated from his savage forebears only by a thin veneer that could be quickly stripped away. In that regard, man had changed little over the centuries. Though Egypt of 1250 B.C. was supposedly one of the most civilized nations of the time, Leahy did not delude himself by minimizing the danger. On the contrary, he knew that strangers, especially those of another race, were usually regarded with suspicion. Time expeditions were dangerous even under the most favorable circumstances, and this one would be doubly so. Attempting to locate someone who may not want to be found entailed asking questions, and strangers asking questions could lead to problems. The investigation would have to be handled delicately to say the least. In 1250 B.C. they would be strictly on their own, with no police badges to back them up.

  His linguistic instruction continued for another three days, after which Taylor pronounced him ready for a course in desert survival. A Marine officer, Captain Charles Williams, had been selected to conduct this part of his training. Williams took him into the desert where he spent five miserable days learning how to find water and food where there appeared to be none. It was during this period that he began to appreciate the black jumpsuits. The temperature ranged from burning hot during the day to almost freezing at night, yet the silvery lining of the garment screened out most of the heat and cold.

  "These clothes do a good job keeping the weather out," Leahy observed one night as they were sitting around their campfire.

  Williams was lying on his back looking up at the stars. In spite of Leahy’s repeated attempts to generate conversation during their time together, the Marine had remained taciturn. He knew his job, and had taught Leahy things about the desert that could not be learned from books. He now knew how to get water from the evening air by heating rocks and stretching a piece of canvas over them. As the rocks cooled, condensation formed on the canvas and could be collected in a canteen. He had learned how to identify which desert plants had edible roots, and which were poisonous to humans. They had brought a minimal amount of food and water with them, and Leahy had forced himself to eat things he would rather forget. However, if ever he was unfortunate enough to be caught in the desert without provisions, he would remember and appreciate the things that Williams had taught him. The Marine was an excellent instructor, good at his job, and asked very few questions. Leahy knew the purpose of the training, but he doubted that Williams did. If so, he had given no indication of it.

  "It's called an element suit," Williams responded to Leahy’s comment. "L-suit for short. I found out about it from some of the other officers. The lining has hundreds of tiny capillaries filled with a special chemical. When your body heat goes up or down, the chemical responds by getting hotter or colder. It's something they developed in one of the labs at Apache Point. The lining is super-tough, but you have to be careful not to rupture it. I understand the chemical is corrosive. Take the skin right off you in a matter of seconds.” He shot Leahy a glance. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that."

  Matt looked at his suit and rubbed a piece of the sleeve between his thumb and finger. "Has anyone ever ruptured one?"

  "I wouldn't know, but it pays to be careful. You worried?"

  "I've had this skin all my life. I'd like to keep it if I can."

  "No sweat. The outer material is almost as tough as metal. It would take a hell of a lick to tear it. A special tool is required just to cut it."

  "It feels like ordinary nylon," Leahy observed, stroking his chest.

  Williams stood up and pulled a long, glittering knife from his boot. He walked over to Leahy and took him by the arm. Leahy had seen him chop brush with the knife and knew it was razor sharp. He clamped his teeth together as Williams positioned the knife across his forearm and gave it a vicious pull.

  “Hey!” Leahy jerked away and scrambled to his feet. He expected to see blood gushing from a severed muscle, but where the cut should have been, the fabric was undamaged. For a few seconds he stood there staring at Williams in dumb amazement, his heart pounding, then anger took over.

  "Are you crazy! You could've cut my arm off with that thing!" he shouted.

  Williams grinned and slipped the knife back into his boot. "Sorry, Matt. I just didn't want you worrying about your skin." He lay back down and resumed his vigil of the night sky.

  Leahy moved over to the fire and sat down next to him. He examined his arm again, still unable to believe that the fabric was undamaged. He picked up a stick and jammed it into the coals at the base of the fire. He poked around in the coals for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the desert. In spite of the fierce changes in temperature and lack of water, there was life all around. Insects and reptiles that had learned to adapt over the millennia were relatively abundant. Mice and rabbits were also present, and there were even a few species of birds that preyed on the smaller life forms. Matt had lived most of his life in urban areas and knew little about the world beyond the massive steel and concrete canyons of the city. Life here was different, yet it was similar in many ways. There were always the hunters and the hunted.

  "How long have you been stationed at Apache Point, Chuck?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

  "I'm not," Williams answered flatly. He sat up and ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. In appearance and attitude he was the typical Marine officer, always reserved, body straight and strong. Both men were about the same size, but Leahy guessed Williams to be a couple of years younger, maybe in his mid thirties.

  The first day they were in the desert he learned that Williams had seen some combat in the Middle East and had been wounded. A jagged scar ran vertically from his hairline to just above his left eyebrow. Most of the time it blended with his tanned skin, hardly noticeable; other times it stood out as if it had been drawn with a red marker. Leahy had found from experience that the scar usually looked like that when Williams was irritated or upset about something. It looked that way now.

  "What do you mean, you're not?"

  Williams looked at him, his face expressionless. "Who are you, Matt? Or should I ask what are you?"

  The question set off an alarm in Leahy’s brain that warned him to be cautious. This was the second time someone had asked him that. The events of the last few days rolled through his mind, especially the sabotage of the Chronocom and the murders of the time agents. He had naturally assumed Williams was part of the Marine detachment stationed at the facility because no one had told him otherwise. The conversation he had had with Gail Wilson and her strange warning flickered in his thoughts. He was beginning to wonder if anyone knew who anyone else really was.

  "You're not assigned to the security force at Apache Point?"

  "I didn't even know Apache Point existed until a week ago. I'm here on special assignment to teach you desert survival. I also just violated explicit orders to keep my mouth shut and not ask you any questions.” Williams stared at him, waiting for a response.

  So that was the reason for Williams's reserved attitude, Leahy thought. He had gotten the same treatment from the technicians who had participated in his language training. They, too, must have been ordered to keep quiet and reveal no unnecessary information. Under the circumstances such an order was understandable, but it infuriated him just the same. In his opinion, Durant, or whoever had issued the gag order, should have left the matter to him. He was perfectly capable of deciding for himself what information should or should not be disclosed, and to whom.

  "Sorry, Chuck. I didn't know you were a newcomer. I thought you just didn't like my haircut or something," Leahy offered apologetically.

  "I don't like the looks of the situation," Williams responded. He moved closer to the fire and tossed another piece of scrub wood onto it.

  "The situation?" Matt was puzzled.r />
  “Usually when you conduct a desert survival course, you’re left alone with the trainee. There’s not supposed to be help anywhere near the training site. It defeats the purpose of the course. Yet I’ve seen helicopters a half dozen times circling near our position. And I’d also like to know who's been following us on foot."

  Leahy instinctively looked over his shoulder and scanned the area around the campsite. If anyone was nearby, the irregular terrain concealed his presence. He, too, had seen the helicopters, but had assumed they were simply patrol ships from the base. As far as he knew, no one had authorization to be on foot. Good judgment told him that they should extinguish the fire and spend the rest of the night in darkness.

  "How do you know we're being followed?" he asked.

  Williams answered him. "We've been more or less walking in a big circle for the last few days, so we've covered the same ground more than once. Twice now I've seen indications that at least one other person is following the same route. Whoever it is knows his business. He's done a good job of concealing any sign, but I can tell he's there."

  "Maybe we better put out the fire, Chuck. There's not supposed to be anyone out here but us. I wish you had said something sooner."

  Williams got to his knees and leaned toward the fire. “This isn’t some kind of test is it, Matt?” he asked. "I mean, like a security test or something?"

  "I can't explain right now," Leahy answered. "You'll just have to trust me until we get back to the base." He scooped up a double handful of sand and tossed it into the fire. The flames flickered and a shower of red embers shot into the air. He was about to toss on some more when a white-hot pain ripped the back of his neck. Thinking one of the embers had settled on him, he slapped his hand to the spot. It came away covered with blood.

  “Damn!” Williams hissed when he saw the blood. He reacted instantly, reaching out to shove Leahy away from the fire. But before he could touch him, there was a muffled whump and he pitched sideways onto the ground. He grabbed his chest and grunted, writhing in pain.