John Schettler - Anvil of Fate

“God almighty,” said Nordhausen. “That goes for all of us. They’re going to eliminate the four of us as well in this attack—but wait a second—” He stumbled in his thinking. “How could that be? We’re the people who discovered Time travel. We’re the First Cause, the Founders of all this, correct? How could they run an operation that eliminates us? It would mean they never discover Time travel!” He looked at Maeve, head of Outcomes and Consequences, the question obvious in his eyes.

Maeve breathed deeply. “One of two things could happen,” she said. “If we are indeed essential imperatives to the discovery of Time travel, then Time must find some way to preserve us. But given the enormity of the transformation that will occur after Tours—no America, no San Francisco, no Lawrence Berkeley Labs—I find it difficult to imagine how Paradox could give us a pass here. What, would we just be standing here in the transformed city after the Heisenberg Wave passes us? What would we be wearing? Levis? Calvin Klein? Van Heusen? Geoffrey Beene?” She pointed at them, one after another. “I don’t see how it would be possible. The change is too dramatic.”

“And the second outcome?” Nordhausen leaned heavily on the console table. His brow furrowed, eyes hard and set.

“Well,” said Maeve flatly. “If Columbus doesn’t discover the New World, it’s clear that someone else does.”

“A Moroccan Berber,” said Kelly.

They all took her point. But Nordhausen still held forth with a hint of protest in his voice. “See here. You mean to say that we’re replaced by other founders in the altered Meridian? We just become insignificant nobodies in the flux of Time?”

“I’m nobody. Who are you?” said Maeve.

“Are you nobody too?” Kelly finished.

Nordhausen folded his arms unhappily. Now he looked at Paul, hoping he would elucidate some aspect of the physics of Time travel that would make this outcome impossible. The thought that he had been indispensible, a First Cause and Founder, had been a comforting shield to him through the trials of all these recent months. For the first time the renewed appreciation of his mortality yawned in his soul again. It was a humbling feeling of vulnerability, and he could see it growing in the eyes of Kelly and Maeve as well.

“Paul?” he said, the unanswered question dangling like a loose shirttail.

Paul sighed. The weariness of the hour weighed heavily on them all. “Technically,” he began, “what Maeve says is theoretically possible. Many major breakthroughs had instances where there were concurrent discoveries and development of the technology that resulted—the discovery of the atomic bomb being one example.” He could see a deflated look settling over them. “But there’s a third possibility,” he said with a note determination.

Nordhausen perked up. Maeve cocked her head to one side, hoping Paul’s next argument would also stand the test of her own judgment.

“Well,” said Nordhausen impatiently. “What is it, man? Out with it!”

“It’s obvious,” said Paul. “They fail at Tours. Their intervention does not succeed. The Grand Transformation is averted. There is no Heisenberg Wave, and when the Nexus dissipates all is well, because we find a way, here and now, to stop them.”

The silence was palpable. Then Kelly started typing again. “I’ll bring up everything I can on the battle,” he said. “Something tells me the Pushpoint is there.”

“Good call,” said Paul, already heading for the door. “I’m going down to the garage to siphon that fuel we may need for the backup generators. Robert, you can still read the damn hieroglyphics, right? So get with Maeve and see what you can dig up in the history about that stela. And would somebody please make some more coffee?” Paul was through the door and down the steps.

“We’ll need to look at data from this Meridian,” said Maeve—the Prime Meridian. It’s the only place we’ll find anything on the stela unearthed at Rosetta. It never existed in the pre-Palma time line. Kelly, is there a way to filter this resonance Paul is talking about and isolate information to a given Meridian?”

“Well it’s all one big duck soup,” said Kelly. “I can’t focus on one potential Meridian or another. But if the information is in the soup somewhere I can program a special search.”

“Please,” said Maeve.

“They would have made rubbing of the stone immediately after its discovery,” said Nordhausen, “just like the Assassins were doing with their messengers. So I’ll bet there’s an image of this stone, or some copy of the hieroglyphics that appeared on it somewhere in the data. Let’s start with that.”

Maeve was already at a workstation, rapidly typing in queries as Kelly fine tuned the search algorithms. “Right again, professor,” she smiled. “Here’s a nice photo of the stela.”

“See if you can get something closer… There, that image looks promising.” They were staring at a photo of the massive slab of stone, elegantly carved with the artistic hieroglyphs. The professor leaned in, squinting at the images on the screen. “That’s it,” he said pointing. “There at the top. I remember the translation… ‘Through the ages now he comes to a mystery: one death gives birth, a great wind upon the face of the sea, in a place forever hidden where the lions roar: ‘mine is yesterday, and I know tomorrow.’ … it’s speaking about Kelly. His was the life that was to be sacrificed, or rather exiled to a distant and lost past. His was yesterday, but indeed, he knew tomorrow.”

He ran his finger further down the image on the screen, whispering under his breath as he did so, sounding out the Hieroglyphics in his mind.

“Now we get to the heart of it,” said Nordhausen. “Look here… ‘ stirrings of unrest… Heed them not, or the mighty host flees before the enemy, and many will die.’ There’s a break here… Then it reads: ‘ Plunder taken… the road becomes the path of Martyrs. For he who would be slain must live…’ That’s not history,” Nordhausen shook his head. “That’s a damn warning! It’s telling them not to heed the distraction Charles created in the rear areas! It’s a clear warning that their booty becomes the source of their defeat.”

“He who would be slain?”

“Probably Abdul Rahman,” said Robert.

“What more?” asked Maeve. “Can you read this line?”

The professor ran his finger along the Hieroglyphics. “The weave undone… A loose twine… where horses were brought to gather…”

“That’s sounds interesting,” said Maeve. “The weave undone? A loose twine?”

“Where horses were brought to gather. Perhaps that means together ” said Nordhausen. “Ah! Paul said this is primarily a cavalry army. They had been raiding hither, thither and yon with their light Berber horsemen. Abdul Rahman held the heavy horsemen close as his main force. But there were six days of raids and skirmishes back and forth before the main battle while he wisely gathered in all his other columns. Here, in this other source it reads: ‘for six days each side had tormented the other, they finally arrayed themselves in battle lines and fought fiercely.’”

“So both sides must have been jumpy, which is why we get this admonishment not to heed the disruption of the camp in the heat of battle… But that bit about the twine?”

“I have no idea… Remember that this stela was presumably sited in Sais, the home of the cult worshiping Neith , the weaver of days by some interpretations. Could that bit about the twine be metaphorical?”

“There’s more on the stela.”

Nordhausen continued translating. “Hold them fast… those who drink the wind… lest they trample thy endeavor and the host is made to flee…” It breaks off there,” he said. “ But the next time the cartouche appears it says this: “For the unseen one that comes in the dusk shall unseat all….”