“How old,” asked Nordhausen. “This has to be well before the 6th Dynasty to have any relevance.”
“Well, researchers are now saying this artifact appears to be one of the oldest instances of hieroglyphics ever found. They’re saying it is over 6,000 years old, their best guess I suppose, but I think they’re wrong. I say it’s well over ten thousand years old, written by Kelly Ramer himself as a message to us that would survive through the ages and broadcast one thing—his exact physical location at dawn each morning in the milieu where he resides at this very moment, alive and well.”
Part II
Retraction
“This world… ever was, and is, and shall be, ever-living Fire, in measures being kindled and in measure going out.”
Chapter 4
Paul was driving his Civic as fast as he could but, in spite of the growing state of emergency, traffic on California Street was still as bothersome as ever.
“Where are all these people going at this hour?” he complained.
“More than likely trying to ferret out food and fuel, which is what we should be doing tonight as well. How much gas do we have?” Nordhausen leaned over and squinted at the gauge, comforted somewhat when he saw the tank was still over three-quarters full.
“Don’t worry,” said Paul. “There’s plenty of gas to get us where we have to go and back again. Many times over.”
“Yeah? And what if they do something crazy and shut down all the bridges? You’ll have to go all the way down through San Jose and back up the 880.”
“Focus your mind on the mission, Robert. It’s not the gasoline I’m worried about, but the power situation. The Arch sucks a lot of juice to run up at 100% on a Time shift. Rolling blackouts have already started in a number of cities. We may need to have all three backup generators up on standby—and that’s where the fuel becomes an issue. We had only about two hours worth left after Kelly’s mission. Well, we’ll still have plenty in this car by the time we get back to the lab. If I have to siphon it off to keep one of the generators running, I will.”
Nordhausen didn’t look happy about that, but he said nothing more for a while, his eyes shifting nervously from traffic lights to passing pedestrians hurrying about the in the late evening rush. They were clutching shopping bags, scurrying across the busy street between cars as they slowed for stop lights, and darting into open businesses. The liquor stores, he noted, seemed to be doing a brisk trade. He remembered reading a blog entry that listed the hundred items that would disappear first in any major crisis situation. Generators were at the top of the list, along with things most people simply took for granted and never gave a second thought: matches, water and water filters, candles, propane and lamp oil, soap and detergent, toilet paper, charcoal, firewood, all sorts of storable food, batteries, flashlights, bleach, coffee, aluminum foil, rope, clothespins and that all American favorite, guns with lots of ammo. He could clearly see people out buying these very things. A man hurried around a corner with a couple gallons of bottled water gripped under each arm. The professor felt that uneasy feeling of anxiety rising in his gut.
“Look what we’ve become,” he shrugged. “We have to buy our potable water in plastic bottles from a store.” Then he spied another liquor store. “That’s what we should be worried about,” he said. ”Beer and wine will make for some good bartering items when we aren’t enjoying them ourselves.”
Paul gave him a disparaging look. “I’ll open a bottle of Hahn ’06 when we finish the mission. We can celebrate with a good Pinot and a cheese fondue with toasted French Bread.“
Paul made a left onto Presidio and then quickly veered right onto Masonic Avenue, speeding up a gentle hill and bearing left to make the green light on Euclid and continue on. There was much less traffic here at this hour, though he got held up at the light on Geary. He continued down Masonic until he reached Turk Blvd, another east- west street that originated in the seedy Tenderloin district of downtown San Francisco and ran all the way out here to the University. He sped past the row houses in their characteristic flat pink, taupe, blue and yellow, leaning forward and squinting to see the street signs as he drove. A green sward of palm studded grass bordered with a long row of manicured hedges came up on his right, and he knew he had reached the university Lone Mountain Campus facilities.
When he saw the main pedestrian entrance, with two wrought iron lanterns on high squared columns lighting up the stairs and terraced gardens, he made a quick left and was lucky enough to find a parking spot at the end of the block. The Gleeson Library and Harney Science Center were directly ahead of them. Normally the place would be busy with student traffic, but it was largely deserted now. It was half an hour after sunset, but there was still a residual glow in the evening sky, with city lights coming up more prominently in all directions.
“Let’s go professor,” he breathed. “We’ve got some numbers to crunch.”
“The place is all locked up. What if the computers are shut down too, Paul?”
“They never shut down an Arion system,” Paul reassured him. “The damn things are running some application or another all the time. I’m just hoping five hours is enough time for me to verify this data set.”
“Data set? You mean to say you’ve got a retraction point in mind already? You know where Kelly’s supposed to be?”
They ran up the concrete steps to the building entrance and Paul fumbled for his pass key. “Being a physicist at Lawrence Berkeley Labs does come with just a few perks,” he said with a smile. “You get free 24-hour access to most area science facilities, and ten hours a month on the Arion Network. I’ve got five hours left this month, but who’s counting tonight, eh?”
He went through the door, the gleam of the hunt in his eye as he looked over his shoulder. “I have an idea,” he said again in answer to Nordhausen’s question.
“Yes, and may I remind you that it was you and your ideas that started this whole mess in the first place.”
“Correct,” said Paul, walking briskly ahead, determined.
“And it was you and your ideas that started this damn Time war—”
“Correct again,” Paul came to a lab door and jostled with his keys. “And it’s me and my crazy ideas that will have to clean it all up.”
“What about Maeve?” Nordhausen said, an edge of caution in his tone.
“What about her?”
“Does she know about this?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well she damn near ran me through with an umbrella the last time we started a mission without her approval.”
“The last time you started a mission,” Paul corrected him.
“Well don’t think you’ll get any more latitude than I did. When she finds out you’re planning to spin up the Arch again, she’ll go ballistic!”
“No one has to know about this but you and me,” Paul said flatly. “Look… It’s simple. We either beat this thing and win, or we lose and we can start using the last of our fuel to round up supplies like everyone else out there, and it’s going to be a long, cold ride into a near Medieval existence in about a month, as I read it. So no time for quibbling with Outcomes and Consequences. What could be worse than the situation we find ourselves in now—Kelly gone and the whole country coming apart at the seams? And that’s just the beginning of it. This was planned, Robert. Tell me I’m paranoid, but I think reversing our intervention and restoring the Palma catastrophe was just their opening in this latest chess game. I‘ve got a bad feeling about all of this.”