John Schettler - Touchstone

“Stranger things have happened,” Nordhausen said, giving Paul a mollifying glance. “What are you suggesting?”

“It’s odd, that’s all. It has a smell about it I don’t like. There were two attempts on the life of a Prime Mover and both failed. Either Napoleon’s Penumbra was already solidifying his position in the Meridian or… Well that second example was ludicrous! Very suspicious.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can see one of the carbines failing to fire at the assassin,” Paul concluded, “even two. But all four?”

“Are you suggesting the carbines were… tampered with?”

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting, but it seems that the assassin was living a charmed life too.”

“Assassin—“ Nordhausen was quick to pick up on that, the connection obvious to Paul’s discovery at Massiaf.

Paul nodded his agreement. “I’m just worried. This is shaping up to be a crucial Nexus on the Meridian. This business about the Rosetta Stone is becoming a magnet. Both sides could be at play in this, Robert. They could have agents there for the same reason we’re planning to go. In fact, they have decades to try and figure out what we’re up to here tonight. Suppose they do? If anything goes wrong, I’ve got these fallback extraction coordinates programmed, just in case. Be in Cairo, at the fountain square in the city center, on the night of August 1 st. Be there at sunset. Can you remember that?”

“August 1 st? But we’re only going to be there 48 hours, Paul.”

“Assuming all goes well.”

The professor stayed his effort to placate his friend and nodded his assent. “You really are worried.”

“I’ll run a Spook Job at sunset on the 1 stof August to see if you made it,” Paul continued, “and every night thereafter until we spot you there.”

Robert had a wan expression on his face. “Can we survive that long—in the past, I mean.?”

“What?”

“Remember your mission to Massiaf? That Jabr fellow told you that the Walkers had but seven days. You started to fade, and it was just our good fortune that Kelly snatched you out before…” he seemed to stumble over his own thought now.

“Before Paradox took me?” Paul pressed on.

“Yes. Paradox. Well if we get stranded there how long will we be able to sustain ourselves in that Meridian?”

“We really have no way of knowing. Remember, they were using the Well, and I was not prepared to go through. In fact, I went through prematurely. Here we have the Arch.” He was trying to shore up his friend’s resolve now, and bolster his courage. “We’ll have solid pattern signatures on the two of you. That means we can run Spook Jobs and use the quantum scan feature of the Arch to try and locate your patterns. Besides, I don’t see how Paradox would come into play here.”

“You forget that I know all about the glyphs. It’s all in my head, Paul. How will time account for that when the Arch plops me down a day before the damn Rosetta Stone was even discovered!” A long silence settled between them until Paul spoke again.

“No worries,” he began. “You’ll be protected in a Nexus for the duration of the mission—at the very least. After that, you’ll be back here and…” he stopped himself, needing truth now as he was sending his friend off to centuries past. He looked at Robert a long time before he spoke again.

“You know what they say about discretion being the better part of valor. Just be careful, Robert. Hear me?”

An hour laterRobert and Maeve were down in the Arch watching the dizzying spin of light and shadow. The sound of the generators was very loud, and Maeve could feel the thrumming vibration as the Arch moved up to full power. Her throat tightened and her heart quickened in response. She felt a dreadful sense of fear and anxiety as they edged up to the thick yellow line that marked the boundary between this reality and some other. She wanted to close her eyes and shut the moment out, pretend that she was simply at home in her herb garden and the world was not askew. But a furtive glance at Nordhausen bolstered her courage. He was gazing at the whirl of color, his eyes alight with a sense of awe and excitement.

“Ready?” he asked, extending a hand.

“As ready as I can be,” she said. The professor’s hand closed around hers. She held fast to her parasol with the other hand, the beaded purse now dangling from her shoulder by a thin spaghetti strap. Everything was going to be fine, she told herself. Kelly was on the job in the operations center, and Paul was with him there, both able technicians. It was just a trial run—a Spook Job, like the little jump she had made to the Arabic Library to scout out Paul… just a brief manifestation to make sure their breaching point was clear of contamination in the target area. It would only be a few seconds…

Yet those last few seconds seemed to stretch out to infinity. What was she doing here? The tingling of the particle infusion sent a shiver to the very core of her being. How could this work? How could she stand here and have the root of her life plucked out and tossed into the wind? It was against her every instinct and desire. Why did she volunteer for this? It was madness!

Somewhere, the thinly diffused voice of Kelly came to her, calling down from the control room on the PA system.

“Ready for the big step? On my mark… Three, two, oops… Damn!”

That last word jolted her. It was not so much the unexpected invective as it was the tone of alarm in Kelly’s voice. He had been all business as he counted down—almost nonchalant. Then something happened. She gaped at Nordhausen, hoping to find the answer with him, but he was taken up with the thrill of the hunt and she suddenly felt herself being pulled forward, nearly falling, across the yellow line.

There was a vibrant rush of sound and light, and she instinctively closed her eyes. “Oh god… forgive me…” The words quavered out, drowned out by Nordhausen’s gleeful yelp as they passed into another reality.

Up in the control room Kelly was aghast. He was half way up from his seat, looking around him in a controlled panic as though he needed something at once.

“What happened?” Paul was at the particle infusion station, looking over his shoulder. The moment Kelly swore, his attention had been jerked away from the monitors and Paul turned to see Kelly’s face, clearly upset, as he pulled out his shirt tail and leaned forward over the console desk.

“Damn, damn, damn!” He swore again, annoyed with himself.

“What’s wrong?” Paul took one last look at the infusion console and started in Kelly’s direction.

“I was counting down and reached for my coffee. Spilled the damn cup all over my keyboard!”

Paul arrived at the workstation, breathless, and saw the mess. The mug was tilted on its side in a pool of dark coffee. Some of the liquid had run into the gaps between the keys, and Kelly was trying to swab up the excess liquid with his shirt tail.

“Be careful,” Paul warned. “Watch the chronometer.”

“I know—“ Kelly cut himself short as he glanced at the numerical readout on his console. “What? That’s not right…”

He tapped a function key. “Oh, crap! My keyboard must have shorted out. Quick Paul, I need a replacement—fast!”

The urgency in his voice struck Paul like a jolt of electricity. “Where are they?” he asked. “In the supply room?”