John Schettler - Meridian

“Give her a uniform and she becomes positively adamant.” Nordhausen rallied to Paul’s side. “God only knows what she’d do if we gave her a rifle to go along with that outfit.” He satisfied himself that he had evened the score for a moment and returned to his reading, flipping through the pages of his book.

“Well?” Maeve let the word become a challenge, daring anyone else to try and prevent her from joining the mission team. “That’s it then. You two had better get undressed. You can’t wear those clothes and we’re running short of time. If I’m not mistaken, Bermuda is going to go under in about fifteen minutes. Get ready!”

Paul started to say something, but realized it would be futile to try and change Maeve’s mind at this point. In the end, each of them had to decide their own fate in this. Yet a strange thought came to him as he made his way to the anteroom. What if they did try, and they failed? What if all the senior team members went off on a time jaunt and that was the reason no one was able to re-visit the Arch again until the end of the century? He soon realized that this course would doom him to endless reverberations, and he let it go. They had to rely on the integrity of the visitor’s story. If Paradox was going to emerge from this mission, they would have to suffer the consequences. Too much was at stake.

He went into the anteroom and eyed the piles of clothing on the floor. It did not take long to ferret out which was his. At a little over six feet, his lanky frame could be destined for none other than the officer’s trousers Maeve had dug up for him. The matching long-sleeved Captain’s shirt even had the proper insignia on it. He started undressing, more intent on the Arabian headdress in his pile, complete with parallel gold circlets noting him as a Sherif. Rank has its privileges, he thought, even if he had been unable to assert his authority and prevent the others from coming. Something in him wanted company when he stepped through that portal. In spite of his misgivings, he was inwardly glad that Robert and Maeve would be coming along. Maeve’s presence, being a woman dressed in obvious male garb, could cause problems if they were discovered. But her no-nonsense approach to things, and the added insight she would undoubtedly bring on potential Outcomes and Consequences, would be a plus.

They needed Nordhausen along for the history. He had buried himself in Lawrence’s book for the last forty minutes. It was Kelly he was worried about. Who else could run numbers if he came along? He decided to try and enlist the support of Maeve in the one battle that remained to be fought before they left.

By the time he had donned his clothing, Jen was rushing back from the generator room. She was out of breath from climbing the stairs.

“The intercom system doesn’t work,” she breathed, “so I had to use the stairs.”

“Must be the storm,” said Paul. “Nothing we can do about it tonight. Sorry Jen, I hope you’re in shape.”

She was staring at Paul in his long Arab robes. “What on earth? What’s going on?” She looked from Maeve to Paul, obviously confused. Maeve was oblivious, huddling with Nordhausen as the two of them were working out the details of their approach to the situation.

Paul went over and took Jen by the arm, a bit pleased to have a brief moment with her like this. Somehow, the change of clothing imbued him with a sense of adventure. He had come to terms with his fear and apprehension and was determined to carry the mission through. Now the same exhilaration that had possessed Maeve a few moments ago seemed to infect him as well. He proffered a slight bow, warming to his role, with just the hint of flirtation in his manner. He was no longer Dr. Dorland, Chief Project Administrator. Now he was a Sherif of the desert, dark, mysterious and delighting in the secret he held in the palm of his hand that so confounded the young woman. She broke into a smile, and Dorland walked her toward the circular bank of control consoles, whispering as he went.

“As you can see,” he said, “the mission parameters have changed. The launch time has been moved up twelve hours.”

“What? Twelve hours?”

“Yes. We’re trying something new.”

Jen looked very surprised. “Can you change things this late? I thought we needed time to program everything.”

“It’s all been planned,” Paul reassured her. “There were several alternate mission profiles worked up.” A little white lie would do no harm, he concluded. “How do you like my costume?”

“How strange,” she smiled, but that was one thing she always liked about Dorland. He was a bit unpredictable.

“And the professor and Miss Lindford are getting ready for the operation as well. We haven’t decided about Mr. Ramer yet. He’s still working up some numbers and I was hoping we could count on you and Tom to monitor things up here when we go down to the Arch.”

“System Monitor? Me?” She took a deep breath, as if taking in the obvious implications of the position. It would be no small matter to ride shotgun on the main system terminals while the Arch was at full power.

“You’re fully trained,” Dorland pressed on. “And frankly, you’ve shown the best record of any technician these last six months. I’ve… had my eye on you lately.” He smiled inwardly at the double meaning that he hoped would only be apparent to him. “I think you’re best qualified for the job. You’ll have Tom to watch the power levels in the generator room and perhaps Mr. Ramer here to see to the computers. Sorry about the intercom, but we still have the stairs.” He smiled as he gestured to the stairwell leading down to the power generators. “Once we start the experiment you’ll have approximately two hours on the system monitors. The important thing will be the retraction module, of course. You must be certain it reads green the whole time. If the readings fall into the yellow I want you to run the focal routines on terminal three. Can you remember that?”

“Two hours?” Jen seemed a bit flushed with the responsibility he was handing her. “But the other team members won’t be here until at least six AM. Should I call them in now?”

“I’m afraid there won’t be time for that. This will be a brief mission; just a little test, that’s all. We should be finished before four o’clock this morning…”

The futility of what he was trying to do became more and more apparent to Paul as he spoke. How could he enlist Jen’s support and try to keep her in the dark about the real intentions of the mission? It wasn’t fair. She had heard the news about Palma, and would probably begin to put questions together in time. The more he tried to spin out his cover story, the more uncomfortable he became. At last he sighed with resignation and looked her straight in the eye.

“You’ve heard the news, right Jen? So you know what’s at stake.”

She gave him a perplexed look, but he could see that his point was hitting home. “So we’re going to see if we can do something. Kelly’s working up last minute numbers now.” He waited, watching her reaction closely. Bewilderment became fear, and then understanding. He forged on.

“Watch the retraction module closely now, will you? We don’t want to lose our lifeline.” Paul smiled, reassuring her that all would be well and, as her features softened, he realized how very attracted he was to the woman, and how very stupid he had been all these months to hide behind his project title and do nothing about it. Somehow, the precipice he was slowly approaching in his own personal time line had emboldened him. He imagined himself sweeping the woman off her feet, a wild eyed Sherif of the desert felling her with a passionate kiss. Instead he reached out and touched her shoulder. “Thank you, Jen” he said. “I knew I could count on you. Now, tell Tom to take the Arch to 100 percent in ten minutes.”