He passed a moment of sentiment, and then steeled himself. He could not be concerned with his own personal feelings now. Kelly and Robert were his closest friends. If he had to lose them to save them, and everyone else in the bargain, he would suffer the burden alone.
Maeve opened the squeaking door to the ante-room and emerged in British Khaki shorts and blouse. High wool stockings were pulled up to her knees and she was fiddling with a canvas belt and buckle as she came.
“You’ll need to put on something warm,” said Nordhausen. “It’s raining.”
“What? We aren’t going out again tonight,” Maeve scolded.
“No, my dear,” Robert humored her, “It’s raining there, in November of 1917. I just came across the passage in my Seven Pillars. I’ve been double checking it in the meteorological database. It seems they were dismayed by a nice thick winter rain the night of the attack. The ground was quite wet. Mud made for long work as they tried to set the charges and bury the cables.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll still have my Arab clothing on top of this. How do I look?”
“Wonderful,” said Kelly. “A fine British soldier—except women were just not in the Army back then, Maeve.”
“I’m a nurse!” Maeve protested meekly. “And that only if we’re discovered. Until then, I can swaddle myself under Meccan shepherd’s dress and hide behind the veil.” She raised a handkerchief to her face to cover her mouth and nose. Her hazel eyes darted about, and it was clear that she was intent on leaping through the Arch at the first opportunity. Her excitement was obvious, but it made Paul all the more anxious.
“Perhaps we better discuss this a bit,” he ventured.
“Discuss what?” Maeve had the belt buckle cinched up and was fishing about in the pockets of her shorts.
“About the mission,” Paul continued. “And about who should go and all…” His voice faded as he finished.
“Count me in,” said Nordhausen. “And you’re coming along, aren’t you Paul?”
“Yes, but…”
“Don’t even try, Paul.” Maeve was on to him at once. “If you think I’m going to let the two of you go tramping through history unattended, you’re crazy. Who knows what nonsense Robert may try to pull?”
“Oh, come now, Maeve,” the professor protested. “Are you still on that Bermuda Pamphlet thing? If there’s anyone here who has a respect for the history, it’s me.”
“That’s exactly my point!” Maeve forged ahead. “You’ll get back there and you simply know too much about things. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Your curiosity about what you think you know will be overwhelming. You’ll start sticking your nose into things just to satisfy yourself that you were right.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Nordhausen’s chin jutted at her as he spoke, rising to the fray of the argument.
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t like to get a peek at Lawrence and his little band of cutthroats? Shakespeare’s desk is one thing, but if you go off and try a little stunt like that you could get us all killed!”
“Oh, please,” the professor turned away with a peeved expression, intent on his book.
“But don’t we need a watch on potential Outcomes here, Maeve?” Paul tried another approach, appealing to her logic instead of trying to back her down directly. “Normally it would take several weeks to develop your algorithms for Outcomes and Consequences. Won’t you need to stay here with Kelly and feed those numbers for processing?”
“What do you mean stay here with me?” Kelly looked up from his terminal and Paul could see that his argument had run into flak immediately. Maeve waved at Kelly to be quiet and took the floor.
“There’s no way I could complete the calculations in time. That’s why it’s imperative that I keep a close eye on the event from the mission end of things. What good are algorithms now? We haven’t done any of the primary research. We’re relying on the date and time from the visitor’s note, and the hope they’ve thought this through for us. No sir, Outcomes and Consequences will have to work its will on the mission end of the project this time. Under normal circumstances I would never even allow a breach like this. Going along is my one chance at assuring myself that the two of you won’t mess things up.”
“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.