John Schettler - Nexus Point

He suddenly had a cold thought that his fate was darker than that of a simple man marooned in another time, destined to live out his days there alone. No! He was right in what he said just now. He was not supposed to be here. His fall was an unaccountable accident, a quirk; mere happenstance—and yet here he was! Something in that fall had sent him tumbling into the past.

Now his own theory emerged in a chorus of doubt and fear. He didn’t belong. Time would not bear this insult, and Paradox would have its way with him sooner or later.

“That’s it,” he said aloud. “I’ve been in a Nexus Point all this time! That’s why I’ve been able to sustain myself in this era, but I must have done something to change things somehow. My simple presence here was the knock that has opened some great door, and all the world is swinging on the hinge.”

Jabr’s eyes were wide as he listened, not understanding much of what he heard. But one thing came through the words, and he could sense the distress and emotion of the stranger. He touched Paul on the knee, gently, yet with an inkling of fear. “So you know,” he said quietly. “Those who come through the well often speak in such words. They see things, and hear things beyond our ken. We have thought them to be Angels sent from Jibra’el himself to work divine will upon the land, but they are only men; gifted men to be sure; men of great vision and skill, but doomed to die, as we all must. I am sorry that your time is running out, Do-Rahlan.”

Paul was lost in his own internal reverie, but he heard the emotion in Jabr’s tone as well and focused on the meaning. “Running out?”

“It is the seventh day,” Jabr said solemnly. “All those who come through the Well of Souls have but seven days to walk among us. Then they are called home to the place that was prepared for them.”

“Called home? Yes…” It all made sense to Paul now. The Nexus could only hold them safe and secure in this milieu for a given interval. Then they would be called back, just as he and Nordhausen were extracted from the mission in 1917 that started all this. The sand in the half-life clock ran out, and the retraction scheme was ready and waiting to rescue them from the mystery of their experience in the past. It found the pattern signature taken from them in the Arch and brought them home to the world where they belonged.

“But I am so sorry, Do-Rahlan.” Jabr’s eyes were glassy as he spoke, his voice unsteady. “It was said that you were not prepared. There is no home for you now, and the time is running out. A Walker has but seven days, and when the moon sets tonight, the end will come for you, I fear. My only hope is that peace will be upon you, and the wolves of misfortune will seek your spirit in vain.”

Paul heard the words this time, and his mind raced through the metaphor, transcribing it all with elements of his own time theory as Jabr spoke. He remembered Kelly; remembered that awful moment when they emerged from the Arch, jubilant, and found that their friend was gone, erased, his life snatched away as time engendered Paradox to balance her books. “The wolves of misfortune indeed,” he whispered. Still. One hope returned to him, a slim chance, but one he might gamble on. He looked at the token in his hand, his Red Arrow, and an idea occurred to him.

“Is there a very secret place in this library,” he asked. “A special place, where something might be written that will last a thousand years in peace?” A melancholy tone pervaded his voice, and even as he spoke he realized the bleak prospects for his plan.

“The Archive,” said Jabr. “We have a secret cache of manuscripts, forbidden to all but initiates. Why do you ask, Do-Rahlan?”

“I have a request—a last wish, if you would be so kind to grant me one.”

“Anything,” said Jabr, smiling through tears.

“Take this token and place it in your archive, will you?”

Jabr nodded understanding. “I would be honored, Do-Rahlan. There is a copy of the Koran that has been stored here for two centuries. I am permitted to touch it. I would be honored to bring it now, and to read to you during these last hours. Will you hear the verse?”

“Please,” said Paul with a smile. “I cannot think of a better way to end my days, Jabr. Go and fetch your book, and I will listen as you read.”

Jabr was very pleased. His duty as Mukasir had been fulfilled! It was his to greet the uninitiated, the unenlightened, and offer unto them the pathway opened by the Holy Koran. He hastened away, animated with hope and an energy of great purpose.

A moment later he returned with an old, leather bound volume. Its leaves were smooth papyrus, and the edges of the pages had been painted with gold. He opened the book, with great reverence, bowing low and whispering a silent invocation as he did so.

“I will go slowly,” he said, “for the words are written in Arabic, and I must translate. Hopefully, we will be granted a last interval of time for the verse to touch your heart.”

“As God allows,” said Paul. He settled into the bolster by the wall, closing his eyes and listening as Jabr began.

“In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful. All praise is due to unto Him, the Lord of the Worlds, the Beneficent, the Merciful; Master of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we serve and call upon for help in time of need. Keep us on the right path, replete with the favor of Thy will; not the path set down for those who go astray.

“This Book, without any doubt, is a guide to all those who guard against evil. Those who believe in the unseen and keep faithful in prayer, and those who believe in that which has been revealed – It is they who are sure of the hereafter. They are on a right course set down by their Lord and truly, they shall be successful…”

Kelly staredat the King of Diamonds on his terminal, still struggling with the notion that it might be the mate to the card he held in his hand. How could this be? Yet the chilling call from Nordhausen about Paul harried him, and his gut told him something had happened.

“Paul has traveled in time?” Maeve was immediately skeptical. “Robert must be off his block. Does he think this technology is on sale at Sears or something? We’ve got millions of dollars with of equipment here, a facility half the length of a city block, an electric bill that’s astronomical—and that’s even with our own on-site power generation.”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Kelly agreed. “Yet add it all up, Maeve. Paul is apparently missing, and something has convinced Nordhausen that he’s shifted in time. What that may be is anyone’s guess. He mentioned someone else in that message—Rasil, and it was clear that he didn’t want the guy to find out about that phone call. Would you agree?”

“I’ll give you that, but where was he calling from?”

“Let’s find out.” Kelly swiveled quickly in his chair and keyed several commands. “The calls are being logged with GPS data riders now—in fact they’ve been tracking cell and satellite phone calls for years because of this terrorist thing. Let’s see… The corporate account here allows us to access the GPS data as a security feature. Here it is. The call originated from these coordinates.” His fingers were a blur on the keyboard and Maeve instinctively bit her lip, remembering that errant keystroke that sent Paul and Robert off to the late Cretaceous. “It’s near the Arabian border with Jordan—Wadi Rumm!”

“That’s not where the dig was.”

“No. It’s well south and west of the place where they found the Ammonite. What was Robert up to here?”

“Probably trying to slip the thing out of the country illegally, if I know him.” Maeve folded her arms, a disapproving frown tugging at her features.