

EYE OF THE TIMEGATE

RUSSELL FORDEN

Published by Lismel Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Russell Forden

(http://russellforden.com)

Cover illustration by Alexander Nanitchkov

(https://www.freelanced.com/artofinca)

Partial lyric to Black Sabbath's Spiral Architect, copyright Essex Music.

This book is available in print at most online retailers

To my parents, Marjory and Dave

'The sense of disillusionment and of important things begun but never completed ran parallel with grief...but out of such travail other times have yielded better worlds.'

\- Life Magazine editorial, 1960s issue

'There is no place in this new kind of physics both for the field and matter, for the field is the only reality.'

\- Albert Einstein

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to my early readers, Lora especially for helping me to edit and tighten the story (which was originally so big I had to make it two novels). The Critters online review group was a great help, particularly with that first chapter. The Swinburne online Writing course introduced me to all kinds of crazy post-modernist and academic ideas (especially practice-led research) that made their way into this book. Finally, gratitude to my bestest buddy, Rui, for unfailing loyalty, enthusiasm, encouragement and advice.

CAST OF MAIN CHARACTERS

At the Tesla Institute

**Kathy Rodriguez** : Geologist/Crystallographer

**Lina Thigpen** : Experimental Physicist

**John Hannebury** : Geologist

**Giuseppe (Gus) Manfredi** : Archeologist

**Yang Lee** : Theoretical Physicist

**Gary Mullens** : Sensitive Instrumentation Expert

**Cal Bradbury** : Mechanical Engineer

**Gerard Feynman** : Physicist/Tesla Timegate Director

**Alyssa Feynman** : Physicist/Tesla Timegate Assistant

**Stephen Wharton** : Tesla Institute Director

Washington

**Eli Weinstein** : POTUS Science Advisor/Timegate Program

**Samantha Flores** : FBI Agent/Timegate Program Trainer

**Burton Orwell** : Democrat POTUS

**Damien Tillburn** : Republican POTUS

Elsewhere

**Ursula Bailouni** : Timegate Program Director

**Helen Siriani** : Archeologist

Evram

Mari

Yeshua

PART ONE: THE OBJECT

PART TWO: THE TIMEGATE

PART THREE: THE PROGRAM

PART FOUR: THE LOST ONES

PART FIVE: THE RESCUE MISSION

APPENDIX

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PART ONE:

THE OBJECT
CHAPTER ONE

2016

MYSTERIOUS GEOLOGICAL FIND IN JOSHUA TREE

Recent earthquake activity in Joshua Tree has exposed an unusual geological find. First discovered by cavers attracted to a number of new cave openings that have appeared along the Little San Bernadino Mountains, early reports indicated "a large diamond" has been found. The discovery has excited much discussion amongst the local community. The Joshua Tree Park Authority has invited experts from the Institute to investigate the matter. An expedition led by our leading geologist, John Hannebury, was sent out to the site yesterday...

\- from 'The Coil' student newspaper, the Tesla Institute, San Bernadino, California.

John Hannebury was a lover of minerals and rocks and rock formations. He enjoyed their diverse colors and properties: the delicate pink of dolomite, the glassy blackness of obsidian. He admired their many fine textures: the coarse graininess of granite, the mottled smoothness of marble. He reveled in the language and poetry of their nomenclature: of bauxite, augite, igneous, andesite, feldspar, of emerald, gemstone and diamond. They were words that rolled off his tongue like mystical spells, incantations of ancient memory. His handsome, weathered face had earned its lines and imperfections through a life spent outdoors in the pursuit of his passion that was, incidentally, his profession. His square jaw may have been carved in sandstone, his blue eyes may have been set in turquoise, his cracked mouth a fault-line.

"You know, I always thought of that thing as proof of the existence of God."

He was still hanging suspended in mid-air from an abseiling line when he said this to his assistant, Kathy Rodriguez, who was standing at the bottom of the shaft into which Hannebury was descending. The shaft was wide for most of the descent, except for two points where it narrowed to about three feet. After almost two hundred feet it opened out into a spheroid chamber, about fifty feet in diameter, with a debris-covered floor and a long, narrow fissure across the chamber, almost directly under the opening.

For the last ten or so feet of the descent John recklessly played out the line and dropped rapidly to the floor, missing it by inches before he stopped.

"How do you mean?" said Kathy, ignoring John's macho display as she helped him detach from the line. Like John, she was clad in climbing boots, shorts, sweater, backpack and helmet affixed with a halogen lamp. The sensible ponytail of dark hair belonged to her alone though.

"Well, think about it. If the meteor hadn't impacted at Chicxulub, the dinosaurs would never have become extinct and we humans wouldn't have evolved. It's almost as though God said, 'Hey you dinosaurs have had a good enough run, it's time to give those funny little mammals a shot at becoming intelligent'."

"So you're saying the meteor was directed by God to crash there?" said Kathy, amused. She made her way into the chamber, followed by Hannebury.

"Pretty obvious if you ask me. In fact, it's so obvious it seems to refute the possibility of God. _His_ ways are supposed to be mysterious, aren't they? This thing, the whole K-T boundary event, looks like a dead give-away - God lending a hand."

"Ha ha, very Douglas Adams."

Kathy had been working for Hannebury for two years now and enjoyed his unusual take on things. She had been a student at the Institute under him before that and had impressed him so much that he had offered her a job as soon as she gained her degree. Besides geology, she also had expertise in the burgeoning field of crystallography, an area she was especially passionate about. The passion had eventually extended to John himself, and despite the obvious folly of such a move, she had found herself falling in love with him – a married man and her professional senior. To compound matters, he had fallen for her as well, telling her his marriage was already over. For a few months they were the scandal of the department, if not the entire Institute.

"So did you come up with this brilliant theory when you were there, at Chicxulub?" She turned around to look at the large object in front of them, the reason they had made the expedition. She began to place some battery-operated lamps around the site. They were small but powerful LEDs mounted on tripods.

"No, not really," said John. "It's just one of those whimsical notions I had a long time ago, I don't know when. This place does remind me of the sinkholes there though."

As Kathy turned on the lamps she asked, "So what theory do you have for this?"

"This," said John, tentatively touching one side of the object now standing in the lamplight, "uh, this complicates things."

The Object (for it seemed to require capitalization) looked like a large, rough-hewn oval of white quartz standing up out of the ground like some fancy Neolithic mirror frame. It might have passed for a natural geological anomaly were it not for the perfect hollow inner oval and one side that was flattened and strangely smooth.

Hannebury took a closer look at the Object and then glanced around at the chamber. He felt like he was inside a giant cracked egg. The crystalline structure before him, and the hollowed out and spheroid shape of the chamber, reminded him of one thing. "My first thought is this is some kind of giant geode. Right?"

"Right," Kathy agreed. "But just so we're clear – you're not calling this another sign from God?"

John laughed. "No, no sign from God. Just a very unusual and giant geode."

"But it's missing most of its crystal deposits, except this one." Kathy moved toward the Object and touched it, casting a professional eye over the facets, noting the crystal form, which appeared four-sided. "Only problem is, this is not quartz, or calcite, like you'd normally find inside a geode. If it wasn't so damned big I'd call it a diamond." She drew in her breath, impressed by the beauty of the thing. "Could it be a carbonado?"

She took out a small GoPro camera from her pack and began filming the area.

"A star diamond? I doubt it. Not something this big. My guess is, if it is a diamond, it's from the mantle below."

"Good call," said Kathy inspecting an exposed section of the chamber wall. "Considering how far down we are, we're well into the mountain's bedrock. It's all metamorphic-igneous from the Precambrian age down here."

"But this mountain range is relatively young – it's only been up since the Pleistocene."

"True," said Kathy, wondering now if John was simply testing her knowledge. She smiled at his comment: only a geologist would consider a mountain range 'young' at roughly two million years of age. But it was true: geologic time was vast, and she – like John – was used to thinking in such extended time scales.

"But what made this?" Kathy walked through the object's narrow interior ring that was tall and wide enough to easily fit a person much larger than she. She studied its smooth inner edge and looked at where it disappeared into the ground. She took out a field loupe from her pack and placed it on the surface of the ring. Peering through the lens she saw that the Object's crystalline structure was highly unusual. There were an extraordinary number of inclusions. She had never seen anything like it.

"It's facetating!" she said, unable to resist the bad crystallographer's pun. "It's definitely been cut by somebody or some thing. Is it possible the Serranos made their way down here at some point?"

"I doubt it - I know, I'm full of doubts today." He smiled at her. "Even if they did, it doesn't seem likely that they had the tools or the knowledge to cut a perfect oval from a large crystal like this. But then again, the ancients did achieve some amazing things. The Egyptian pyramids."

"Stonehenge," added Kathy.

"Yeah." He looked at the strange smoothness of parts of the floor around it. "This chamber doesn't seem to have a cryptocrystalline shell, like you'd expect of a geode."

"No, it looks like it was carved out of the sheer rock," said Kathy. "I thought maybe a leftover from a massive concretion. But these rocks look strange – almost symmetrical."

She trained her camera onto the floor, and among the debris noticed some of the smooth plate-like rocks. They were curved and shaped like unusual jigsaw puzzle pieces. There were also regular markings on their surfaces. Her eyes widening, she realized they weren't rocks.

She picked one up, feeling the weight and texture of it. "Look, this feels synthetic! And these striations don't appear to be natural. They look like carvings."

"Where, let me see." Hannebury joined her. "You're right. It's some sort of tile." He looked at the carvings on the tile. They seemed to be part of an intricate lattice pattern that was possibly ornamental.

He looked around and noticed many more of them, scattered around the chamber, some broken in pieces by the violence of the earthquake, but most still intact. Directing his torch, he could now see there were others clinging to the walls and even on the ceiling. The chamber had at one time been covered in them. He regarded it with new eyes. This definitely put a new spin on what they had found. "Looks like we'd better get Archeology in on this too."

"I agree," said Kathy, carefully cleaning away more of the tile carvings. "Who do you think: Professor Manfredi?"

"Yeah. Gus is the man for this job." He looked around at the chamber, or room, whatever it was. "This place will be more fun for him than a new tomb in the Valley of the Kings."

He walked back over to the Object, pondering its significance. "The tiles are clearly man-made, but I wonder about this object. Did whoever came down here manage to shape it somehow, and why? Was it some object of worship? Was it purely ornamental, or could it be-"

"You know what it reminds me of?" Kathy cut in. She was standing back from the Object, taking it all in.

"What's that?" asked John.

"Something from Star Trek."

"Trek? Really? Which one?"

"Uh, The Original Series. It reminds me of something that was on one of the episodes. It was a time machine, as I recall."

"Time machine?" said John, surprised. "Is that what you think this is?" He looked at the Object again, trying to imagine it being a time machine. "I thought my idea about God and the asteroid was a bit out there, but that's-"

"-Crazy, I know," she finished for him. "I'm just saying. But it would be interesting if it was. Haven't you ever thought about what you'd do if you could go back in time?"

John considered the question for a moment. He looked at Kathy, waiting for his response, and smiled a secret smile. With her dark hair and brown skin and delicate Latina features she looked especially beautiful in the lamplight. "I suppose so," he said, coming closer to her.

"Where would you go?" she asked, coming closer to him.

"Oh, I'd have to say the time of Jesus. It's a bit obvious, but I'd really like to see how the Gospels hold up to the reality. And I'd like to meet Jesus. Wouldn't you?"

"I guess so. I didn't know you were that religious, despite all your talk about God."

"Well, I'm not, but I am fascinated by the Man and his teachings. I like to think I'm spiritual." He came another step closer to her.

"Yeah, I can see that," said Kathy, taking another step of her own. She flashed on a memory of John from the night before. A memory of his ripped abs and his arms enfolding her. Her thoughts were becoming less than spiritual. They were almost within touching distance now. "There is something kind of soulful about you." She put the camera down on the cave floor.

"Mmm, thanks. But it's not the same thing." He took another step and put his hands on her hips.

"What do you mean?" she murmured. She put her arms around him. They were really beginning to forget their work.

"The spirit is high, the soul is deep," he almost whispered. "Mountain and valley. Which one are you?"

She shook her head, unsure. For a moment she looked sad. "I'm a work in progress."

They kissed.

" _Krggghhh, Krggggh."_

The kiss was interrupted by a sudden crackle that came from John's two-way radio that was wirelessly connected to the large loop antenna on the surface. It was the thin voice of site engineer Cal Bradbury calling from above.

" _Hey John, Kathy, what's going on down there? Could you please report?"_

John looked exasperated for a moment then grabbed the radio by his side and spoke into it. "Nothing to report just yet, Cal. We're still setting up. But it's..."

They both began to feel vibrations coming from the ground and the sound of rumblings deep within the earth. "What the-?" said John.

" _What's that John. What's happening?"_

The vibrations grew stronger. The ground began to shake.

"Shit, this is not the place to be caught in an aftershock!" said John.

"I think we'd better find somewhere safe!" yelled Kathy.

"I think you're right." John held the radio to his ear.

" _What's going on down there, John?"_ said Bradbury, beginning to sound worried.

"We're gonna have to hunker down, Cal. It's a quake!"

" _What?!"_ Bradbury sounded stunned.

Rocks and sediment from the walls began to crumble and fall as John and Kathy ran desperately for protection. The chamber floor was shaking violently.

"Quick, get inside the object, it's the only shelter!" yelled John as he guided Kathy underneath the Object's protective oval frame.

As they did so, the white crystal material of the Object began flickering and glowing, and both could hear a humming sound coming from it.

"What the hell is it doing?" said John.

"I don't know. It seems to be activating!" said Kathy, incredulous. She looked up at the Object's frame and saw that it was glowing a bright white now, lighting up the dig site; and the humming was painfully loud.

The ground bucked from the Object's activation. Kathy could feel its power beneath her. It seemed to be shaking loose from its moorings. Kathy feared it would drop back into the earth and be lost forever – and them with it.

"I don't think it's safe here!"

Kathy felt a dread of being swallowed by the earth, and panicked. Even though the debris of the chamber was still falling around them, she made the choice to move away from the relative shelter of the Object. It was getting bad in the chamber no matter where they were. The walls and the floor were crumbling and she saw that the fissure was widening.

"No, don't!" yelled John. He looked up uncertainly at the activating Object, but remained within it.

Kathy stared imploringly into his eyes, and John's despairing and distraught face was the last thing she saw before a large rock glanced off her helmet and knocked her unconscious.
CHAPTER TWO

Kathy had always hated hospitals; ever since that time, long ago, when she had been taken to one after a bad car accident that had almost killed her mom and her brother Jamie. She associated the brightly-lit corridors, the prim and professional nurses, the trundling gurneys, the antiseptic smells especially, with that awful day.

She was lying back in her bed in a quiet public ward within the Community Hospital of San Bernadino. It was the morning of the day of her release and she was looking forward to going home. She had sustained a concussed skull, a broken arm and some bruised ribs. Rocks had rained all around her during the aftershock in the chamber, but she had managed to avoid most of them.

She had shared the ward with two other fellow sufferers. The one in the bed next to her was an elderly woman named Sofie. She was in for a host of reasons, but mostly for stroke and complications attending to it. The other, who had been in the bed opposite, was a woman about Kathy's age. She had been sent here from the maternity ward to recover from a miscarriage. Her name was Marjy, but Kathy had been told that from a nurse, as Marjy had been too depressed to talk.

Kathy shuddered at Marjy's predicament. To carry a baby almost to term and then to lose it like that was almost too horrible to think about, but she did. She had watched Marjy, across the room from her, struggling through her pain. Her dark hair was a mess, her eyes peaky, her nose seemingly always runny. She spoke irritably to her husband when he visited. Soon she was gone - gone to work her way through the grief, and maybe someday, move on with her life.

She hadn't meant to be morbid, but she found she couldn't help herself. Something was pulling her thoughts in that direction. That something was John.

Where was he, what had happened to him? No one had told her the news yet. Professor Feynman, the Project Director at the Tesla Institute, had visited, offering words of hope and encouragement. But he had said not a word about John - despite Kathy's prodding. Every time she asked, he studiously avoided the question. Something was seriously up. He had seemed more intent on quizzing her about the Object and wondering when she would be ready to return to work.

Then her father, David, and stepmother, Astrud, had arrived with a bunch of flowers and much simmering tension. Her father had not approved of her affair with the 'much older' and married John. They had quarreled over him last time she had seen him, so it was more weird than comforting to see him again - and he knew less than anyone about what had happened to John.

The only one able to offer the information she needed was the person she had least expected to come visit her: John's wife, Gayle.

"I don't suppose there's a vase I can put these in, is there?" said Gayle, suddenly appearing at the foot of her bed and brandishing a bouquet of fragrant flowers. She was wearing an expensive-looking dress and she'd clearly been to the hairdresser recently. She looked fabulous, like brand new.

"Uh, what?" Kathy hadn't heard her because she was listening to music on her phone. She pulled out the earplugs and Gayle repeated her question.

"I think there's one on the shelf over there," said Kathy, still shocked by her appearance. She reached up at her own hair and frowned.

"Oh, right!" said Gayle, spying the vase.

After the busy work of finding the vase and some water to put the flowers in, Gayle finally was able to give Kathy her full attention and a proper, if perfunctory greeting. "So, how are you, anyway, Kathy?"

For a moment, Kathy just stared at her. The first and only time she'd seen her, at John's home, they had almost come to blows. Gayle and their ten-year-old son, Baxter, were supposed to be out, but they unexpectedly came home early. It was the classic scene of the jilted wife confronting the younger, prettier usurper to her husband's affections. Even though John had assured Kathy the relationship had been over for quite a while, Gayle had acted jealous and hurt, and consequently had taken that out on Kathy.

Kathy didn't know what hit her at first. Gayle called her a "little whore", a "home wrecker" and even worse. She had fired a few epithets back at Gayle, but mostly Kathy had been embarrassed to have come between John and his family – to be in that most cliched of predicaments: the love triangle. And their poor son, Baxter, was there caught in the crossfire as well. It was all very sad.

Seeing Gayle here now after all that, Kathy felt like it was the aftershock all over again, and there was no avoiding the rocks this time.

"I've been better," she said. "Uh, thanks for coming." Even then she didn't know if that was the right thing to say. For all she knew, Gayle was planning on giving her another spray.

"That's all right."

Gayle stood there for a moment, then decided to take the visitor's seat next to the bed. Her demeanor softened as she looked around at the ward that Kathy was in. "I suppose you're wondering why I came – especially after what I said to you last time. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to see me."

"No, that's all right," said Kathy, relaxing a little now that she knew Gayle's intentions were not apparently hostile. "This isn't really the time for recriminations, is it?"

"No, you're right, it's not."

"But I honestly thought you two were estranged, and that it was...you know, all right. When you got angry I realized you must have still had feelings for John. I had no right." Kathy just blurted it out, uncertain why she was being so confessional.

"Ah, don't beat yourself up about it, honey. John and I, we were long gone. That was just me being a possessive bitch. You got him and you were welcome to him, believe me!" She laughed nervously. Despite herself, Kathy laughed – nervously – along with her.

"Oh, we shouldn't be laughing, considering what's happened," said Gayle. "...It must have been awful down there. You must have been scared."

"It all happened too fast to be scared," Kathy admitted. She fixed her eyes on Gayle. It was time to ask her question. "But what happened to John? Is he all right? No one's told me."

Gayle made a sudden intake of breath. "They didn't tell you?"

"No, what?"

"Those bastards!" Gayle paused, then added as gently as she could, "That John is...dead."

"Dead? No, I didn't know..." Kathy had suspected something bad had happened to him, but not this. It took some time to process it.

Gayle continued. "Or at least they weren't able to find him in that cave. They think he fell into a deep crevice. His body still hasn't been recovered. The crevice seems to have sealed and they can't get to him - not even with that scanning technology they have. What were you doing down there, anyway...?"

She stopped when she saw that Kathy was crying. "Oh, honey..." She cursed herself for her insensitivity and sat quietly while Kathy's tears flowed. She offered some tissues from her bag, but Kathy had her own.

"Are you sure?" Kathy asked at last.

"Well, as much as possible," said Gayle. "The people at the Institute can be very secretive – as you'd know. John's classed as missing presumed dead. They think his body is unrecoverable, so we're having a funeral for him in a couple of days. It will be a funeral in absencia, as they call it."

Kathy tried to take that all in. Now Professor Feynman's silence about John began to make sense. He didn't tell her anything because he didn't know himself exactly what had happened to John. But they seemed to be sure now, according to Gayle.

"So, you see, I had to come." Gayle was now getting agitated, almost in tears herself. "They won't tell me what happened. Is he really down there? It's awful not knowing. I have to know, you must tell me. What happened to John in those last moments you were with him in that cave?"

It was a surprising outburst. Kathy didn't quite know what to make of it. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. I don't know what happened to him. The last I saw of him he was standing underneath the..."

She tried to think back on the moment. It had been a dangerous situation, but the last time she had seen him John had been alive. Then she thought about the Object they had been investigating, and something occurred to her.

"But the Object, it turned itself on..." she said absently.

"What object?"

"The Object we were investigating down there. It turned itself on for a moment. I think..."

She thought back to the moment. She had felt something when she saw the Object glow into life. It was like a bolt of electricity, as though the Object had reached out to her and connected with the very core of her being - or at least for a brief moment, it seemed. She thought that perhaps she wasn't remembering it right. Maybe she only imagined it. She had not mentioned it to anyone until now, not even to Professor Feynman "...Never mind."

"But what do you mean about this object?" asked Gayle, now curious as well as upset.

Kathy snapped out of her reverie and regarded Gayle with steady eyes. She realized she might have said too much. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you more. Is that all you wanted to know?"

"Well...there are legal issues to do with John's estate that need to be discussed – but I guess we can go into that some other time. This is all very upsetting, especially the not knowing what exactly happened and not having the body. It's like it's still unfinished. And my God, Baxter hasn't been told yet!" She almost broke down at this thought. She took a tissue from her bag and blew her nose.

That pathetic action softened Kathy further, and her heart went out to her. She no longer saw Gayle as the bitter rival for John's affections. She simply saw someone in pain. It was a pain they both shared. Even though they had been estranged, Gayle had clearly continued to love John in her own way.

"I-I guess I just really need to know if he was happy. That's all." She blew her nose again.

"Yes," said Kathy, looking at her with sympathy and thinking back on her last moments with John, "he was happy. We were both happy..."

After Gayle left, Kathy pondered all that she'd been told. She struggled to take it all in – she couldn't really believe it.

_First stage of grief: denial_ , thought Kathy. She remembered how, as a child, she had not accepted her grandmother's death at first. She was just somewhere in the hospital being patched up. She would be returned to her in no time. It took a while for little Kathy to realize she was not coming back.

Big Kathy came to a state of acceptance much sooner. John was buried in a place much deeper than any grave, swallowed in the depths where they could not get to him. She thought of him down there, nestled amongst his beloved rocks, within the hungry earth. It seemed sadly poetic.

She sat quietly on the bed, letting the sadness overwhelm her. Grief was cathartic, tears were also cathartic – or so she had learned. While she waited for this cleansing catharsis to do its job – if it ever would – she placed the earplugs back in her ears and continued listening to her music, hoping it would drown out the voices in her head. But her already elevated emotions were simply heightened by the uplifting, haunting music (by a band she loved), giving her that weird feeling of her life as a movie with its own personal soundtrack. And the song's lyrics seemed eerily appropriate, the refrain touching a chord in her, giving her a strange comfort, softening the blow. Acceptance? Hope? Or was it simply the sure knowledge - as relayed to her by her doctor only hours ago - that she was pregnant, that at least in one way, John would live on?

' _I'll find you somewhere...'_

CHAPTER THREE

Professor Giuseppe Manfredi looked down into the shaft where the chamber was located far below. He felt satisfied. Just as John Hannebury had predicted, he felt as if he'd discovered a new chamber in the Valley of the Kings. But he was here at Keys View in Joshua Tree National Park, California. From his vantage point atop a ridge of the Little San Bernadino Mountains he could see the Coachella plain spread out below him. In the distance the San Andreas Fault cut across the plain in the shape of a raised and darkened mound.

A man of forty-eight with an impressive white beard and moustache, he had come to the States as a student from his native Italy over twenty-five years ago. In all that time, all the digs he'd been involved in, including the Gobi Desert, the Kimberlys of Australia, the many excavations in Egypt, and his most recent studies in Nevada and Inyo County, he'd never encountered anything like this. The only thing he could think of in Meso-American history to compare it to was Mesa Verde – those ancient cliff dwellings in Colorado built by the Puebloans over a thousand years ago.

The Object and the chamber, however, were down so far, at least two hundred feet; and the only access to them seemed to have been through this newly opened cave hole. The hole, which was an almost completely vertical shaft, had been covered up for centuries, there was no doubt about that. It had only been the recent earthquakes that had brought it to light. Gus and his colleagues had already done the carbon dating on materials found within the Object chamber. The results suggested it was placed there some thirty thousand years ago, give or take a few millennia. This would put the Object's origins somewhere in the Late Pleistocene era, not long before the beginning of the Holocene. Gus knew that, if this were correct, then the Object's discovery would rewrite history.

It was windy up here and the wind was playing havoc with the cable of the truck-mounted crane they had brought up to the site. The intention was to use the crane to lift the strange Object and remove it from its underground location. Manfredi had preferred it to be left in the chamber to maintain the integrity of the site. Always a cautious man, he reasoned the earth around the chamber and shaft was far too volatile at present to risk disturbing the site. Jason Rockwell, an archeologist from the Western Archeological and Conservation Center in Tucson, agreed. As the Archeology representative from the National Park Service, he had the final say on this. The Tesla Institute's Head of Research, Professor Gerard Feynman, however, had argued passionately for the Object to be brought up and relocated to the Institute.

"Considering the circumstances," he had told Manfredi and Rockwell on one of his visits to the site, "I think the possibility of more quakes is the reason why we should get the thing out of there. Its integrity has already been compromised by that series of quakes. And who knows how many more there might be to disturb it further? Perhaps a final quake might bury it or dislodge the Object altogether and send it deeper into the earth. We've already lost Hannebury down there - we wouldn't want to lose the Object as well, would we?"

Manfredi wasn't convinced and couldn't help but dislike the way Feynman phrased the argument to him. He seemed more concerned about the Object than the people involved in the dig. He was a cold fish. Getting it out was going to take some careful, dangerous work. But, despite his reservations, he and Rockwell had agreed to recommend it be extracted from its location and brought to the Tesla Institute for study, if it was possible. This seemed an acceptable compromise, since the WACC was not properly equipped to give the Object the thorough scientific analysis it clearly required.

Raising it from the chamber had not been an easy task. GPR scans had shown the Object to be much larger and buried much deeper in the ground than expected. Beneath the oval ring that rose above the surface by about eight feet, there was a horizontal slab of about seven feet that was attached to it. Further below that there was a long vertical shaft extending deeper into the ground by another twelve feet or so. Weeks of careful excavation were required to clear it before the Object could be moved. Much of the shaft, including the surface entrance, had had to be widened out to accommodate its ascent.

At last they were ready to set it free. Cal Bradbury and his engineering team had secured the crane cable to the Object deep below, fitting the line to the now exposed horizontal beam beneath the crystal. They had then climbed out. Of course there would be no one in the chamber or the shaft during this procedure, as falling debris was a clear probability of the operation. Everyone on site, including Manfredi, was wearing hard hats and protective gear.

The crane operator, Simon Lafre, was in place in the crane cabin, and his signaler, Martin Guerrero, was waiting by the shaft hole. Many park rangers, including representatives from the Federal Land Management department, who had approved the removal, were there to oversee the proceedings. The entire area, including the nearby Keys View car park, was cordoned off and security people from the Institute were assigned the task of keeping the public away.

Professor Feynman himself was also on hand at this auspicious occasion, having swapped his usual white lab coat for a snugfitting tailored suit and tie. Originally a member of the Tesla Institute's Atomic, Molecular and Optical Physics research group, he was a thin man with a shock of silver hair. He observed the proceedings with enthusiasm...

"We're ready to go, Cal," reported Simon, looking nervously at Cal. He knew this was going to be a tricky job.

"Okay, do it," said Cal.

Watching the cabin computer display that was relaying information about the load, Simon started the winch. The crane boom, which rose high above the scene like a church spire, groaned into action. Simon kept an eye on Martin, his signalman, as he felt the Object break free from its moorings, hanging suspended in the middle of the chamber. Looking at the stress gauges on his panel, he was surprised at the weight of the thing. It was pulling over twenty long tons. Martin made the signal to pause the operation and Simon stopped the winch to allow the Object to settle. Then, on Martin's signal, he started the winch again to begin the laborious ascent.

Fortunately, the shaft was almost vertical, so there were few obstructions to impede the Object's progress. Tracking the slow progress of the lift on the computer display, Simon could see, however, that the crane was beginning to near its limitations. He couldn't figure it. The Object was getting heavier the higher it climbed – as though some force was unwilling to let it go. As the Object neared the surface a series of lights above the cabin window, the Load Moment Indicator, began to light up. That meant the load was starting to be lifted too high for the load amount. There were just a few more feet to go and Simon watched the LMI lights as they slowly increased. It was going to be close.

As the Object appeared at the mouth of the shaft, guided by Simon's smooth handling, a spontaneous roar of approval came from the workers and other bystanders watching the ascent. Smiling with relief, Simon stopped the winch then slowly rotated the cabin, and the Object with it, toward the waiting truck...

Watching as it hung suspended from the winch line connected to the crane, Manfredi gasped with recognition. He stared at the Object, taking in the long shaft beneath the oval head, and the wide horizontal slab that intersected them.

In its entirety the Object looked to him like an ancient Egyptian Ankh symbol, the symbol of Life!

He wondered, what could it mean? He was struck by the connection to his beloved Valley of the Kings. Was it merely a coincidence? Looking on, he sensed something more about the Object. He felt drawn to it, a strange magnetic attraction that he could not explain. It was almost physical. He looked around at the others gazing at the Object and wondered if they were feeling the same sensation as well...

Professor Feynman watched excitedly as the Object was lowered slowly and gently onto the back of the flatbed truck that would take it away to the Institute. He couldn't help but be impressed by the beauty of the thing. It looked to him like an enormous, enjeweled sceptre that perhaps was once wielded by some giant figure of myth. He was in his glory at this moment, taking possession of what just might be the find of the century. He still couldn't believe that it was finally within his grasp...

He called out breathlessly to Cal and his team as they secured the Object into the truck. "Careful now, boys! Don't want to damage it now, do we?"

"No, boss, we wouldn't want to damage _her_."

Cal Bradbury paused in his exertions and lifted his hardhat and baseball cap to wipe away the sweat. He shared a conspiratorial grin with his crew. Looking over the Object they were now securing, he kept thinking of it as a woman. Maybe it was because it vaguely reminded him of the symbol for Woman, with its vertical shaft and crossbeam below that circular (though it was more ovular) figure that was made of diamond or some such stone. It was quite a pretty thing...

Once the Object had been safely secured onto the truck, Professor Feynman conferred with some of the Federal Land Management officials. There was still more paperwork to be filled out, including release forms from the Joshua Tree National Park Service. In essence, the Object remained the property of the Service, and it had merely allowed Feynman and the Tesla Institute the right to 'loan' the Object for a specified time to carry out tests and to determine its provenance, if that was possible. It was the usual bureaucratic business and Feynman navigated it expertly.

The Land Management people were well aware of the potential value of the Object and its crystal ring. Even if, as suspected, it consisted of a synthetic diamond, its worth was astronomical. Somewhat daunted by this fact, most of them were happy to park the Object with the Institute until the dust settled – with a proviso that a sizeable bond be paid and security there be increased.

"Well, now that _they're_ satisfied," said Feynman, referring to the officials who were now dispersing, "I think it's time we took this beauty back to the Institute and had ourselves a good look at it!"

"Yes, about that, Professor," said Manfredi, accompanying him. "I noticed the research schedule hasn't included any time for my archeology team as yet. Did you not receive my allocation request?"

Feynman smiled blandly. "I received it, Gus. Don't worry, you'll get your allocated time; there's just a lot of other...departments ahead of you that I've decided to give priority to."

"You mean 'more important' departments, don't you?" Manfredi tried, but he found it hard to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Of course not, Gus!" Feynman stopped walking and faced him. He began to adopt the emphatic (some would say sarcastic) tone he often used on department heads to keep them in their place. "As you know, I have the highest respect for your department. You simply must understand that the Engineering and Physics departments will have priority on this project at first because we simply must determine if we have...if we have..." He became less emphatic as he neared the end of his sentence.

"You mean, if we have a device."

Feynman looked at Gus as though he had said something shocking. "Ah, quite so...A device of some sort."

Manfredi grinned. "To do what? Sacrifice virgins? Communicate with aliens? Please don't tell me you're entertaining all that 'Earth was visited by aliens' nonsense that Von Daniken spouted all those years ago."

"C'mon, Gus, there's no need to be melodramatic!" Feynman pretended offence. "...They may not be aliens - just very intelligent cavemen."

"Ah!" Manfredi grinned again, almost beginning to enjoy the sparring. "It's so sad to see a man of science surrendering to superstition. You used to be such a _stickler_."

"Yes, I know...Well, you saw the Object in situ, in that chamber. What do you make of it?"

"It's not a device, Gerry. It's an artifact."

They stood there looking at each other, as if from across some interminable gulf.

Feynman began walking. "That may be true, but we must be sure. That Object belongs in a lab where it can be studied."

"That Object," Gus stood his ground, yelling after him, "belongs in a museum! This is an archeological excavation and we should have priority!"

Feynman paused, but did not look back. "Yes, well, you'd like that, wouldn't you? But we've left you the chamber below to excavate; you should be satisfied with that."

"I'll be..." He let the rest of the sentence fall.

A week later, most of the debris from the Object's chamber had been cleared and the site was operational again, even if the Object itself was gone. The crane was still in place, but now it was recovering some of the broken remnants of the chamber, brought up via a safety cage attached to it. It continued to be a delicate operation, made dangerous by the still shifting earth that continued to pose a threat. Gus Manfredi and his small team navigated it carefully and did their work methodically. The chamber and its contents had been mapped, photographed and catalogued fully, and most of the strange lattice-like tiles had been tagged.

Gus stood near the shaft opening and studied the computerized schedule and field inventory he held in his hands. He had ordered only a small number of the tiles to be taken for study. The majority of the tiles had been left intact within the chamber, although he calculated they might need to be removed eventually. Two of his assistants were presently below scanning the chamber with GPR to get a look at what was behind the tiles. There was still room on the schedule for further chemical analysis and on-site metallurgy, but it could wait. Bradbury's team had confirmed that the chamber was not a natural formation like a geode, but rather, it had somehow been carved out from the metamorphic-igneous bedrock.

Gus wondered about the people who must have built the chamber some thirty thousand years ago, and he wished he had more personnel to help study it. Compared to other digs he had been involved in, this one was strictly bare bones due to security reasons - he did not even have a second-in-command. He had been allowed a ceramicist, an artist-photographer, an engineer and crane operator, a handful of students who acted as the main excavators and field technicians, and a site geologist – who, in this case, was Kathy Rodriguez.

"It's wonderful, Katarina," Gus said to Kathy, who was watching the dig site with him. "An archeologist like myself can spend his entire lifetime searching and never find something half as incredible as this."

"Yes, I-I guess it is," said Kathy, not even smiling at Gus's use of his pet name for her...

She was happy for Manfredi, but couldn't help thinking about John. It had been more than a month since his death. She had been very lucky to get out alive, with nothing worse than a slightly dented skull and the broken arm (the arm was recently free of plaster), but she was determined to come back straight away. Although Professor Feynman had wanted her to return to the team at the Institute to study the Object, she had elected to remain with Gus and offer whatever assistance she could. She longed to get at the Object and explore its strange crystalline structure, but she felt she owed it to Gus – and to John – to stay. She still felt his presence over the entire site. Besides, she had already organised for Cal Bradbury to conduct preliminary tests on the Object's crystal ring on her behalf while she was away.

Manfredi said, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to gloat at another man's expense."

"That's all right, Gus. John said you'd like this place a lot."

"He said that?" said Manfredi, surprised. "When?"

"Just before the aftershock. We'd just found some of those patterns on the walls and floors, and we thought of you."

"Ah bless you! And him."

Despite his long time in the States, Manfredi retained an Old World charm. His voice contained very little trace of the old country, but his manners often did.

"Uh, what are they?" asked Kathy.

"The patterns?"

"Yes."

"Ah, they seem to be floor tiles, cara mia. Floor and wall tiles. Definitely man-made, and tests so far have shown them to be very strong and resilient. They were combined in a kind of mesh that must have been unbroken before the chamber was destroyed. From what we can see, it was like a cocoon, completely sealed. There doesn't seem to be any evidence of a door or any egress in or out. But it must have contained people at some point. Very puzzling."

"Have you found anything else in there, besides the tiles?"

"Well, yes, we have..." Gus looked doubtful for a moment, as if unsure if he should tell her any more - but he decided to go ahead anyway. "We found a large, circular disc on the floor of the chamber. It appears to have been made from a similar material to the Object's crystal oval. Most of it's intact, but one piece was broken off by the impact of the quake. It must have been sitting right on a faultline to do that to it. If it's made of anything like that oval, it's a tough material to break."

"Oh, could I see it? I'd love to study it."

"I'm sorry, Katarina, I've already had those pieces shipped back to the Institute," said Gus.

"Oh!" Kathy pouted, disappointed.

"Don't worry, you'll get your chance. It's the same with the Object itself. I'd like to have a closer look at it, myself, but unfortunately Professor Feynman has already claimed it for his research teams. My department won't get a chance to study it for a while yet, I should think."

"Oh well, at least you have the chamber down there," said Kathy, trying to cheer him up.

"Yes, yes indeed."

As they were speaking, they observed two members of Manfredi's team, a young man and woman, running up towards them. They arrived looking very excited. They were the two assistants who had been scanning the chamber.

"Excuse us, Professor," said the young man. He was streaked in dust and mud, as was his companion.

"What is it, Richard?" asked Manfredi, expectant.

"We've found something else in the chamber," said Richard, still a little out of breath. "There were these – I'm gonna call them ankhs - nineteen of them in an alcove inside a wall. We thought we'd bring you one of them." He turned to the young woman. "Cristina?"

"This is it," said Cristina, holding out one of the ankhs.

"Thank you," said Manfredi taking it. "Oh, this is wonderful," he murmured, looking it over. It was flat and smooth like a river pebble, and it fit comfortably in the palm. One end of the tablet was rounded with a hole in the middle. Beneath this it was t-shaped. "Well, it looks like an ankh all right!" Gus exclaimed, mesmerized by the beauty of the object. It was clearly a smaller, stylized version of the Gate in its entirety, just as he had seen it when it was removed from the shaft. "It looks and feels like quartz."

"Can I have a look, Professor?" said Kathy, looking over at it.

Manfredi passed the tablet over to her. They both were puzzled by it.

"I'm not sure, but I think it might be made of the same material as the Object's ring," said Kathy, turning it over. She took out the field loupe from a pocket and held it up to the tablet. Pausing, she asked Manfredi for permission to study it. "May I?"

"Of course you may, Kathy!" He chuckled, watching her enthusiastically press an eye to the glass. "It would seem you've been given a chance to study something of the Object after all!" He turned to Richard and Cristina. "I wonder what it's for?"

"We were thinking ancient Indian computer game controller," said Richard.

"Or alien TV console," added Cristina.

"That's very...imaginative," Manfredi laughed. "But where are the buttons? Tell me, my _shovelbums_ , where are the other tablets - the other 'ankhs' now?"

"They're still in the alcove where we left them," said Cristina. "We thought you might want to come down and see them for yourself."

"You're right, I do. Have you recorded and photographed them?"

"No, not yet," said Richard.

"That's all right. I'll do it myself."

"Really?" Richard stared at him momentarily. "You don't want Garside, the site photographer, to do it?"

"No, that's all right."

"Oh, there's one other thing," added Richard.

"Yes, what is it?" asked Manfredi.

"We found a camera, a GoPro camera in the rubble down there."

Kathy looked up from her field loupe, excited. "That's my camera! Is it still all right?"

"Uh, no it was smashed by some falling debris," said Cristina.

"Oh," said Kathy, disappointed.

"The SD card inside was intact though," said Richard. "Go on, show it to her," he said to Cristina.

Cristina took the camera out of her bag. The lens was cracked and the chassis was badly beaten, but the internal parts were protected. There was something almost reluctant about the way she handed it over, as if she would keep it for herself.

Kathy held it gently in her hands. She took out the SD card and saw that Richard was right – it was unscathed. She had been recording directly onto it. She realized it probably contained the last images of John alive. Now she needed to find someone who had a similar camera, or some other device that could play an SD card, so she could see the footage. She wondered what it would contain.

"So, what's the verdict on the ankh?" asked Manfredi.

"Oh, that..." Kathy turned her thoughts back to the ankh she'd been studying. "Seems like a fairly crude attempt at an artificial diamond. There are what appears to be a remarkable number of flaws in the crystal. I couldn't make out much here. I'll need to look at it with better equipment to get a better idea of it..."

Later, deep beneath the earth, Gus Manfredi and Richard were inspecting the chamber. Gus looked up at the chamber ceiling, at the metal brackets that had been placed there to brace it. Kathy Rodriguez had assured him the floor of the chamber was relatively stable. The space above, however, was another matter. There were still instabilities in the rocks in the area, and more rocks and debris could fall at any time.

The place was dangerous, and Gus figured they didn't have much time to do further excavating. He looked around at the chamber, the glow of the lamps casting eerie shadows on the walls and the gaping pit where the Object had recently resided. Cal Bradbury's men had extracted it rudely and the area now looked a mess, torn and desecrated. Gus regretted the violence done to it. The scene conjured a memory of something he couldn't quite place. Perhaps it was the pit; he wasn't sure.

"Show me, where did you find these ankhs?" he said to Richard.

Richard led him to a section of the chamber where one of the lattice wall tiles had apparently been prized away, revealing the alcove within. As Richard explained, they had been scanning the wall tiles when the alcove had appeared.

"Here it is." Richard shined a torch on the alcove where two neat stacks of the ankhs remained.

Gus studied the alcove and noticed it was made out of more of the lattice wall tiles, five whole slabs to be exact. He counted the ankhs: eighteen in two stacks. With the one they already had, that made nineteen. He wondered about that. Why not twenty? And what were they for?

"Mmm, interesting," he murmured for Richard's benefit.

He began to photograph the alcove, taking note of the precise way the ankhs were stacked within it. As he snapped away, he thought about how the ankhs were an incredibly important find. The Earth had yielded some fascinating discoveries over the ages. These included the Antikythera Mechanism, an intricate piece of advanced clockwork found aboard the recovered wreckage of a Roman ship that sank in 65 BC. There were also the Ica Stones of Peru. Actually, Gus had once owned such a stone. It depicted a man seemingly flying on the back of a winged Pteranodon dinosaur; yet a Jesuit missionary had first recorded the stone's existence in 1525. Furthermore, Gus still possessed some pieces of petrified wood from India that had quite obviously been shaped prior to their solidification. If authentic, that would put humans living somewhere in the Pliocene epoch.

Of course, some of these items could be fakes. The history of archeological and paleological discovery was littered with hoaxes. But many genuine enigmas remained. He knew that, around the world, many archeological finds were being unearthed that did not fit into the conventional time-scale of pre-history.

Gus looked around the chamber again and wondered if it and the Object constituted the greatest archeological discovery ever made. Or perhaps it was the greatest hoax ever perpetrated? That was still a possibility. He hoped that Feynman and his team would be able to shed some light on that possibility with their tests.

He turned to the third member of their expedition. She was still standing by the fissure where he had left her. "Katarina, you should have a look at this."

"Coming," she said absently...

She had been staring down into the crack in the earth, now barely an inch wide, where it was thought John had disappeared. She had wondered at her own strength in making the journey back down here. A part of her had dreaded the descent - especially now that she was pregnant - but she knew she must.

The expedition down here to inspect Richard's ankhs was of interest to her, but she had mainly come to pay her last respects to John. She had brought a flower, a silver cholla she had found above. It reminded her of a time he had picked one for her and spoke of his love for the rare and hardy cactus flora. She cradled it in her hands, captivated by the strong earthy smell, and saddened by its fate to lay here, deep beneath the desert and the sunlight. She had intended to place it in the fissure, but on a whim she turned and threw it into the pit beside it where the Object had been.

"So these are Richard's ankhs?" She peered into the alcove.

"Well, I guess they're Cristina's too." Richard grinned.

"Are you all right?" Gus looked at Kathy. She still seemed sad.

"I'm fine." She straightened up and counted the ankhs. "I count eighteen. That plus the one you have makes nineteen. Does that seem strange to you? Are you sure there isn't one missing?"

"That's what we thought," Richard laughed slightly. "But we scoured this chamber. Maybe there were only ever nineteen of them here."

"Mmm, maybe. I notice they all have holes in them. What do you suppose that's for?"

"I have a theory about that," said Gus. He gently took one of the ankhs and placed it over his chest. "See. Maybe the hole was for some kind of lanyard and it was worn around the neck."

"Makes sense," said Richard.

There was a brief moment of silence, during which they heard the distant rumble of stones falling. Kathy shivered and looked expectantly at Gus.

"Well, I think it's time we got out of here," said Gus. He carefully gathered up the ankhs and placed them in a secure satchel by his side. He spoke into his radio mic. "We're coming back up."

...During the ascent, as he stood in the cage, Gus considered his options. For the moment, he had possession of these strange ankhs. His instincts for caution kicked in and an idea suddenly formed in his mind. Perhaps he should hold onto the ankhs for a while longer, just in case to keep them safe? And why stop there? Perhaps he could inadvertently leave them out of the excavation report he would soon write? If they weren't on the paperwork, then they couldn't be discovered.

For once, he realized with a sly grin, he was one up on Professor Feynman. He wondered, was he seriously contemplating this devious (and very unprofessional) move for security reasons only, or was it to satisfy some deeper, darker motivation? Was this some punishment to teach the professor not to deny him, Giuseppe Manfredi, his share of the research? If so, it was childish and petty - but Gus knew sometimes he could be like that.

He remembered even Howard Carter purloined a few scarabs and ushabtis from the tomb of Tutankhamun – or so it was rumored.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cal Bradbury, mechanical and on-site engineer with the Tesla Institute, had been in charge of extracting the Object from its original site at Joshua Tree, and now he was supervising its placement at the Institute. It was a tricky operation all round, but no more difficult than the sort of work he used to do in the construction business. The Object had been brought down to the Secure Division's underground installation lab via a freight elevator. From there it had been transported by a forklift, fitted with a special attachment, over to its designated space within the lab.

Cal watched as Simon, the crane operator now operating the forklift, lowered the Object into its prepared place. A twelve-foot hole had been dug directly into the lab's floor to accommodate the long shaft.

"All right, she's looking good, Simon," he said. "A couple more feet and we're in."

"Careful!" This was Professor Feynman, as usual in his lab coat, nervously supervising the installation like a protective mother hen.

Now that the Object was firmly within his domain, he was free to indulge his excitement at this remarkable new acquisition. Normally a calm man, he breathed a sigh of relief as the Object settled smoothly into place.

"Okay, lock her down, boys," said Cal, satisfied with the job.

After the Object was secured in place, another team of technicians descended on it. They busily connected an array of nodes, sensors and cables that would link it to the nearby control room where tests could be conducted.

Feynman had insisted everything had to be in place the same way it had been in the chamber, and all the measurements had to be exact. Many on the team had wanted to study the Object's shaft before it went in, but Feynman was adamant this was the best way to proceed. He felt that placing it the same way it had been found, dug directly into the earth, would be a key to yielding its secrets. Guided by an intuition he didn't normally feel, he reasoned it had been put there in that way for a purpose. He hoped he had managed to emulate those conditions enough here in his lab for it to work.

There was of course the possibility that there was nothing in the Object to work, that its purpose was purely as an ornamental artifact - as Manfredi had suggested - but Feynman was quietly confident that it would surprise them all.

"What do you think, Cal, do we have a mere ornament or a device of some kind?" He stood in front of the Object, looking at it with some satisfaction, and even a little pride.

"It looks like it should do something, don't it?" said Cal as he joined him. He pointed to the side of the Object. "Like, that smooth section on the side could have been some kind of control panel, and the ovular interior might have contained a focussing material, now gone."

"Interesting idea," said Feynman, thinking Cal was being overly fanciful. "But for what? And how was it powered?"

"I don't know, Prof," said Cal good naturedly, "but I can see this Object becoming a whole new area of interest in physics. 'Object Physics' - something like that." He gave a short laugh.

"Yes, to go with Astrophysics, and Nuclear and Particle Physics, and the other departments," said Feynman doubtfully. Turning to one of the white-coated scientists working on the connectors, he said, "Will it be long before we're ready to conduct our tests, Mr Mullens?"

"No, not long, Professor," said Gary Mullens, a young member of Feynman's Group One team who specialized in sensitive instrumentations. He had dark, straggly hair and a large jaw and, unusually, he was wearing round sunglasses - the kind favored by certain rock stars.

"Just a few more connections to go," he added. "We'll have you up and making with the tests before you know it."

"Thank you, Mr Mullens," Feynman replied. He was about to turn back to Cal, but noticed Mullens coughing. He asked, concerned, "Are you all right, Mr Mullens?"

Gary coughed once more. "I'm okay. Just a little phlegmy, s'all." He thumped his chest and gave Feynman the thumbs up. His smile betrayed a chipped tooth.

Cal waved at Gary and said, "Hey Gaz." Mullens waved back and coughed again. He turned to Feynman. "Well, what's next?"

"What's next..." Feynman stopped talking when he noticed something strange about the Object. It seemed to be brighter. He continued to watch it and, yes, the crystalline ring was beginning to gradually light up, accompanied by a low humming sound. Then both light and sound faded out. Then it started up again, alternating between light and dark, slowly at first, then speeding up rapidly, the sound pulsing along with it until it phased as one continuous light source and hummed steadily.

From some charge deep in the earth it had turned itself on.

Both Feynman and Bradbury stood there, stunned.

The car that pulled up at the security gate was a strange hybrid vehicle. It was small and blue and emitted no sound as it idled by the gate. An identification logo on its rear proclaimed it a 'Tesla Veritas'. Its two occupants held out their I.D. tags to the guard sitting in the gate office. The guard glanced at the tags and the occupants: the driver, a Chinese-American man of twenty-eight, wearing dark-rimmed glasses; and the passenger, a dark-haired African-American woman of twenty-two. The guard nodded and pressed the button that raised the gate. The car went through, passing a sign that read:

TESLA INSTITUTE

SCHERFF CENTER

HIGH SECURITY DIVISION

"I'm telling you, Yang, it's a portal for an alien invasion," said Lina Thigpen as she watched the driver, Yang Lee, guide the Veritas into its parking spot. They had both seen the photos of the Object at Joshua Tree and the theories as to its origins were flying thick and fast.

They left the car and walked across the well-manicured lawn towards the ornamental fountain in front of the Center.

"But that reasoning assumes the Object is some kind of device, doesn't it?" said Yang. He had a quiet yet self assured voice. He wore a white shirt and tie, and with his dark-rimmed glasses looked every inch the brainy theoretical physicist that he was. "What if it's purely decorative and nothing more than some ceremonial pagan artifact?"

"Right, so maybe it's just some big crystal donut."

Yang rummaged around inside his backpack and pulled out a brown paper parcel, as though he was about to present Lina with some evidence to back up his theories. "Okay," he conceded. "I'm just saying."

They sat down on the edge of the fountain. It was circular and had a dais in the middle, upon which stood a whimsical atomic molecule structure; the 'nucleus' was a large golden ball on the dais, surrounded by two blue electrons suspended on wires.

"Want a sandwich?" Yang held out a cheese and ham.

"I'll pass," said Lina.

Looking around slyly, Lina took a thin, perfectly rolled hand-made cigarette out of her jacket pocket. She lit it and offered it companionably to Yang. "Doobie?"

"Are you kidding me?" Yang looked comically aghast. "You know the security guys are probably watching you right now? Do you want to get busted?"

"Bring it on, motherfuckers!" Lina made a show of waving the joint around and drawing on it with a satisfied sigh.

"And what if they pull a drug test on us today?" Yang was still freaking.

"Yeah, you're right." Lina made a move to butt the smoke out. She laughed. "I was just messin' with you. It's just a regular roller anyway. I'm saving the good stuff for later." She laughed again, waving it under his nose. "I got you good!"

The weed smoking, a habit from her days back in Compton, even before her student days at Tesla High, the nearby school for gifted students, was not something Lina was willing to give up here at the Institute. It was the same for her liberal use of the MF word - a defiant attempt to embrace with pride something of her roots when the racist naysayers put her down. Even though it strained her relations with some of the more straight-laced faculty members and students (especially the other African-Americans who accused her of contributing to the negative stereotyping of blacks), she considered it her duty to be a little _different_.

This flowed on into her appearance, which although not outlandish, was at least unconventional. Her narrow, oval face was delicate, except for her eyes, which were large and expressive, and she sported studs and piercings on her eyebrows, nose and below her lips. On her neck was tattooed two American Indian pictograms that symbolized the hunt and the gathering - a legacy of a brief flirtation with anthropology in High School. Over a t-shirt that sported the legend 'No Logo' she wore a punk-looking black jacket covered in zippers. Her khaki green camouflage pants (she never wore dresses or skirts) were tucked into a pair of big black combat boots. Her spiky, almost Afro hair was tinted with silver highlights, making her look more like some alternative rnb diva rather than the postdoc researcher in experimental physics that she was.

"So what do _you_ think it is?" asked Lina.

"I'm trying not to think that far ahead," Yang mumbled between bites of his sandwich. He held out his hand to catch some water spray from the fountain. He decided to humor her pet theory. "I feel like I've walked into one of them Big Dumb Object stories. I suppose that crystal ring could make a good focussing material for an event horizon."

"Right on, Yang! What do you think the mechanism is - wormhole?"

"Sure, wormhole - why not?" said Yang, still humoring her. "But an event horizon could be a black hole. Anything going into it would probably be burned up in the quantum firewall."

"But that doesn't make sense," protested Lina. "If there was an event horizon of some sort, the thing would be meant to do something useful."

"I agree," said Yang. "It has to be something more than a mere black hole."

"Right," said Lina, impressed by Yang's idea of a _mere_ black hole. "What about matter-energy transference?"

"Well, as you know," said Yang in his best lecturing voice, "the forces needed to break down the binding energy of nuclei would be enormous. It would require something...extraordinary." Yang was looking into space now, lost in the thought. Coming back to earth, he turned to Lina and grinned. "It's probably simpler to just think of the Object as a big crystal donut, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Lina, grinning back at him.

"I guess we'll soon find out." Yang looked at his watch. "Shall we go?"

They walked towards an imposing edifice of steel and bulletproof glass that looked more like a military installation than a research lab. Its only concession to ornamentation was the Institute logo (two large owls) above the main entrance. Built during the bad years of the Institute's so-called 'information wars' when paranoia ran high, it was originally meant to secure its more sensitive research projects. Although it still retained that function, nowadays it was mainly used for biological disease research. The heavy security measures it had originally employed had been relaxed considerably, although some archaic remnants of the bad old days were still in place.

Inside, past the large glass doors, was a large foyer with comfortable chairs spread about amidst indoor plants and scientific displays, including a large robot of plastic and metal on a stand, its arms held wide as if it were welcoming visitors.

"Hey, Eleanor," said Yang to the secretary sitting at her desk. He held up his I.D. pass, as did Lina.

"Hi all," said Eleanor. "Professor Feynman is expecting you down below."

They looked at each other expectantly and headed for the door near the robot (which was called 'Frank'). The elevator they entered was small and contained a column of four buttons on the wall. Lina pressed the lowest button, marked IL, and they felt themselves descend.

"Wonder what's up?" said Yang.

"Feynman better not have started without us." Lina looked at her watch. They weren't late.

"Nah, 'Ratty' wouldn't do that to us."

"Yes he would!"

As they reached the installation lab level they heard the sirens and the yellow lights blinking, indicating a Level 2 alert. Yang swiped his I.D. card in the slot and they entered the control room. It was dimly lit, with chairs in front of various consoles of equipment; but a strange bright light was emanating from the installation lab beyond.

Yang and Lina could see now that it was the newly installed Object, which stood on the floor of the lab, emitting the white light and the steady hum that Feynman had witnessed earlier.

Professor Feynman greeted them with a smile. "Welcome, lab rats, you're just in time!"

"C'mon Prof, how could you start without us?" Lina looked around and saw she and Yang were the last to arrive. She figured they had already run some tests and somehow managed to turn the thing on. A wave of disappointment swept over her, but it was quickly checked by the thought that all her speculation about it could be coming true.

Both Gary Mullens and Cal Bradbury were sitting at the consoles monitoring the Object's energy levels. Professor Feynman's daughter, Alyssa, a mousy-looking young woman who wore her hair in a bun, and who was also on the project, was checking the photodetector readouts of the Object's event horizon.

The two new arrivals donned their lab coats and grabbed shielded lab glasses. Lina sat at her workstation, monitoring the data that was coming through from the Object.

"Sorry, I didn't really plan to start without you," said Feynman, "it was just..." He seemed lost for words.

"The thing started up on its own when we placed all the nodes to it," added Gary. "It was the damnedest thing."

"It phased by itself," added Cal, clearly in awe of what had happened, and very pleased.

The Object suddenly emitted a high frequency pulse that nearly overloaded the control room's audio monitors, then flashed a blinding white light. Then, just as suddenly, it went silent and dark. There was a breathless pause in the control room.

"Whoa! What happened?" said Yang Lee, the first to speak.

"Detectors overloaded," said Alyssa looking at her screen. "They were reading some activity just before the sensors fused."

"That thing is wicked powerful!" Mullens was also intent on his instrument read-outs. "I don't know how it didn't explode. Energy levels went right off the chart."

"But where are they coming from?" asked Lina, still confused by the suddenness of the event.

"I think it's drawing geothermal energy from the Earth," said Gary. "Cal, have a look."

Bradbury joined him at his console. They stared at the graph recording of the thermal conductivity from the TDB (transient divided bar) apparatus when the Object pulsed and formed the event horizon. There were clear indications of a power conversion process happening, with the source coming from somewhere underground. The Object's long shaft was apparently drawing in phenomenal amounts of energy from the Earth.

"Hoowee, look at her go!" said Cal, almost as excited as Gary. "What's the conduction rate?"

"You won't believe it, but it's 190 megawatts."

"What, that's about the peak power of an aircraft carrier!" Cal lifted his baseball cap, amazed. "There's so little heat loss and resistance?"

"Very little."

"Well, it's like a goddamn vacuum cleaner!"

"I know. How can it do that? What's the mechanism?" Gary chuckled with abandon.

"Still, I'm worried about the lab floor that's holding it," said Cal. "Should we reinforce and insulate it against the energy?"

"Uh-"

"No, but look, look at it..." Feynman was staring at the Object through the glass, fascinated. He was the first to notice it.

They all looked and saw it. The Object's event horizon – the central section of its ring – had activated. The surface was now a ghostly, shimmering oval of light.

"Cal, you were right about the oval and its focussing material," said Feynman. "Amazing." Cal tipped his cap in acknowledgement of the compliment.

Lina looked at the Object, and a familiar thought came to her. "I told you it was aliens!" she said triumphantly. "Either that, or denizens of Atlantis. Oh my god, this has gotta be a ten on the Rio scale."

"What's the Rio scale?" asked Alyssa.

"It's a scale that the IAA came up with to quantify the relative importance of a candidate SETI find. A ten is the highest value. It usually refers to definitive evidence."

"What's the IAA?" asked Alyssa again.

Lina rolled her eyes. "The International Academy of Astronautics, dummy."

"No jumping the gun yet, Lina," said Feynman, still elated but cautious at this exciting and sudden new development. "I wouldn't call this definitive yet. There are still a lot of tests to be done first. It could still be any number of natural or even man-made phenomena."

"Yeah, you're right," said Lina. "Maybe it's only an eight on the scale then. But all I can say is, I'm going to be very annoyed if this turns out to be something somehow planted by the Russians during the Cold War."

"Gary, what's the atmosphere like in there?" Feynman asked Mullens. "Can we go in?"

Mullens looked at his instruments and replied, "Some residual ozone, I guess from when that event horizon turned on, but otherwise the room's clear. No radiation or air-borne toxins. It's weird, actually. I don't get any readings from the Object at all now." He looked at the relevant readings and saw they were eerily silent. He thought there should at least be some base-line signal, since the thing was actually operating. He looked at Feynman. "I'd say it's safe to go in."

"Right then, who wants a closer look?" Feynman rubbed his hands enthusiastically.

"Or not!" Alyssa looked concerned. "What if the thing, I don't know, explodes while you're in there? I mean, it just turned itself on in a pretty explosive light show just now. And despite what Gary just said about the thing being dormant in our instruments, it could still be volatile."

Feynman looked at his daughter, considering her words; then he looked at the Object, as if weighing up the possibilities. "Your concerns are noted, daughter. But I'm going in anyway." He gave her a peck on the cheek. "Who's with me?"

Inside the pressure-sealed installation lab, Lina, Yang and Professor Feynman stood unharmed before the Object, its opalescent glow lighting their awestruck faces. At this distance it appeared as a smooth and solid barrier. They could see now what appeared to be small veins running through it, giving off an overall impression of shimmering marble.

"It's tempting, I want to touch it," said Lina of the Object's event horizon.

"Yes, but all in good time, Ms Thigpen," said Feynman, transfixed by the glow.

"I don't know if it's just me, but I think I see what looks like an eye in the middle of it. See, the way those lines or veins curve around it?" Lina pointed to the feature within the event horizon."

"Oh yeah, you're right!" exclaimed Yang. The effect was uncanny. He looked again and the veins seemed to shift position and the image was gone. "They're moving!"

"Yes, very interesting," said Feynman. He saw the veins shift again, and the eye – or what appeared as an eye – came back. It was an abstract, liquid crystal eye, like a digital watch face. It seemed to wink at him. He blinked, startled.

"Maybe I've watched too many science fiction shows, but it looks like a gate to me," said Lina. "Some kind of entrance way."

"Let me guess," said Yang skeptically. "A portal for an alien invasion?"

"Well, it doesn't have to be an alien invasion," said Lina.

"I like it," said Professor Feynman, to their surprise. "Let's call it 'the Gate'...Hmm, 'Gate Physics', I wonder," he added, thinking of what Cal had said earlier. "But Lina, if you're right, a gateway to where?"

"The stars?" Lina suggested hopefully. "Let's find out!" She suddenly took out a pencil from her coat pocket and threw it at the event horizon. It sailed harmlessly through the center of the eye.

"Hey!" exclaimed Feynman, unimpressed.

Lina quickly ran to the other side of the Gate, then returned with the pencil in her hand. "It just went straight through," she said, disappointed. "I thought it would just bounce back, or at least disappear altogether."

"I can't believe you did that!" said Yang with admiration.

"Neither can I!" said Feynman admonishingly. "That could have been very dangerous and was very unprofessional!"

"Sorry, Prof. I just had to find out...Consider it my first practical experiment." Lina studied the pencil in her hand, checking for any wear or tear from its passage through the event horizon. "It seems okay."

"Hrumph!" Feynman fumed beside her. As her postdoc advisor he had been mentoring her for almost a month, and it was not getting any easier.

"I'm not saying it is," said Yang, "but suppose this Gate did turn out to be certifiably of extraterrestrial origin; where would we go from here? What's the protocol? Is there a protocol?"

"Yes, there is – 'post detection protocol'," said Lina, pausing to remember exactly what it was. "Uh, we first internally investigate the, uh, Gate; then we seek independent verification and confirmation, probably from the IAA. I guess we inform the Institute's senior administrators at some point. If we decide together we have definitive proof, they are supposed to inform the executive government."

"Huh," said Yang, intrigued. "Then what happens?"

He looked at Lina expectantly, but it was Feynman who responded. "Then they take it away from us."

Yang and Lina looked at each other, disconcerted by that thought. Noticing something on the flat side of the Gate, Yang walked over to it. What he saw there surprised him greatly. "Could you three come over here for a moment?"

As they joined him, he said, "Check it out!"

They crowded around the panel and what they saw amazed them. An array of symbols appeared on the panel, glowing from within the Gate. There were thirty-two of them, in different sizes and colors, evenly spaced across the screen. The figures appeared primitive, as if they had been hand-drawn.

"Cal was right again: it's a control panel!" said Feynman, astounded. Suddenly realizing its significance for the research, he said, "I think we'll need to get someone from Linguistics in on this. Does anyone have a clue what we're looking at?"

"I do!" said Lina with some satisfaction. She had done some Linguistics studies when she was at Tesla High - pretty basic, but enough to help her here. "They look like glyphs, pictograms, maybe a type of Japanese Hiragana, but I've never seen this configuration before. It's a jumble of alphabets and symbols." She took out her phone and began photographing the panel's glyphs.

"Could they be alien?" asked Feynman, caught up by Lina's own speculations.

"They look kind of Cyrillic, actually," said Yang, teasing. "Maybe it's your Russians!"

"No, if it is alien, then the Gate builders are either using languages borrowed from Earth cultures, or their own language has similarities to ours," said Lina, disappointed. "I mean, look at that one," she pointed at the last of the yellow glyphs in the middle of the panel. "That looks like the Greek letter for Omega. And that one," she pointed at another, the third in the bottom row of red glyphs, "could be some kind of rune. And I see Celestial and Geomantic characters, and more." Her finger darted over the panel, identifying more of the strange glyphs. Her face registered excitement and some perplexity. "It's a _Babel_ of languages. What do you think, Yang?"

Yang was quiet, carefully studying the array, dozens of possibilities and permutations turning in his thoughts as usual. He hunched his shoulders at an obvious thought. "I think they're haptic - touch sensitive," he said, his fingers hovering over the glyphs. "Even though the figures seem primitive, it looks like a touch pad for inputting data. A control panel, like the professor just said. Intriguing."

He pointed to two large blue glyphs glowing above all the other, smaller glyphs below. "These two seem to be significant."

"Let me guess," said Feynman. "You've found the on button."

"Maybe," said Yang. "The left one's an eye." He turned to Lina.

"Yes, it is," said Lina, studying the large blue glyph that did indeed remind her of a stylized Egyptian Eye of Horus.

"So, with your permission, Professor Feynman, I'd eventually like to try engaging some buttons when we've confirmed it's safe to do so," suggested Yang.

"But wait a minute," protested Feynman. "Could it really be as simple as that - press a button and make the thing go? Wouldn't there be some sort of decryption algorithm we'd have to input first before we gain access to it?"

"Possibly," said Yang. "But we've already somehow turned it on, so I'm going to say no. It may come to decryption algorithms if we try to give it other commands. But considering how far down this thing was, I doubt that security was an issue. I think whoever made this configured these controls for intuitive use: they kept it simple..."

While they were talking, Lina was studying the glyphs, fascinated by them. Her hand hovered over the large Eye of Horus glyph, and without meaning to, she touched it.

"Shit!"

The Gate glowed momentarily, emitted a deep pulse, then collapsed its event horizon. It had turned off.

"Lina!" Feynman admonished her.

"Sorry!" Lina gave him a scared little girl look, which in no way reflected how she felt.

As if deliberately compounding her mischief, she impulsively touched the Horus glyph again, and the Gate glowed back to life. It made the same deep pulse and the event horizon reappeared. In all, the reboot took a fraction of the time and commotion as the first initiation had done - as though it had already warmed up.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. At the others' surprised looks, pointing to the offending glyph, Lina said, "On/off button."
CHAPTER FIVE

Kathy tried to clear her mind of the day's events as she entered her motel room. It was situated just across Twentynine Palms Road from the Joshua Tree Saloon, where she'd just had her meal with Gus, Richard and Cristina. She turned on the TV in her room and laid down on the bed. She looked up at the ceiling.

It seemed strange to her that the discovery of the Object (or 'the Gate' as it was apparently being called now) should bring her back to this place. The last time she'd been here, just a couple of years ago, she had stayed at the Joshua Tree Inn just a couple of hundred feet down the road. It had been a pilgrimage for her, being the place where country singer Gram Parsons had died back in 1973. She'd been a fan for as long as she could remember. Her family history had recorded that her mother had met him in that year and he had autographed her copy of his latest album, _GP_.

Perhaps it was leftover feelings from John Hannebury's death, but Kathy really felt sad at the thought of Gram dying up there in Room Eight of the Joshua Tree Inn before his time. He'd only been twenty-six, one year older than she was.

She had spent a night in Room Eight, that last time she'd been here. That had been with her old boyfriend, Billy. They had spent the night writing some bad country songs on her guitar, making love and listening to some of Gram's music. In the morning they checked the mirror on the wall opposite the bed, to see if it had moved. It was apparently the only thing that was authentic to the room when Gram had been there, and it was said to be haunted. Needless to say, it hadn't moved during the night. And where Billy was now, Kathy couldn't say.

It had only been a week before that she had gone back down to the chamber with Gus and Richard and inspected the site of John's last moments of life. The memory still haunted her. Between Gram and John (and Billy), she suspected this town would always be full of ghosts for her.

Fortunately, Gus and his crew would be finishing up soon and heading for the Institute to analyze the chamber's items. She couldn't wait to get back there and have a good look at this Gate. The reports she'd received in the meantime from Cal Bradbury had indeed been exciting. Preliminary tests had narrowed down the Gate crystal ring's provenance to either a large natural diamond or possibly a synthetic one. Moissanite had been an early candidate, but Cal had conducted a double refraction test that had ruled out the gemstone's telltale rainbow reflections.

Getting a conclusive reading on the Object required taking a small sample of the crystal in order to analyse it within special spectrometer or X-ray machines. Cal had finally been able to attain such a sample within the confines of the lab with the help of a special laser cutter. He had then taken the small piece from the rough-hewn edge of the crystal and placed it, without further manipulation, within the Institute's infrared spectrometer. The results had identified metallic inclusions within the crystal lattice that were indicative of synthetic diamond.

Kathy got up and turned to the latest photographs and spectra readouts that Cal had kindly sent to her, and spreading them out on the bed, began to study them now. The first graph, that displayed a spectral range of 1650cm-1 to 400cm-1, showed a nitrogen absorption band for the Gate sample at 1130cm-1. There was no doubt about it: the Gate's ring was a diamond type 1b – a synthetic diamond. A very large synthetic diamond. It was a remarkable achievement. There were a number of commercial diamond manufacturers around the world, but even the best of them had only been able to produce diamonds as big as a fist.

She then consulted a couple of photographs of the sample taken at 10x magnification. They showed up the metallic inclusions, but there was something strange about them. Firstly, there were so many of them. And secondly, they seemed to be arranged in a particular order that was way too regular, as if they had been specifically placed there. In a funny way they reminded her of computer chips.

Looking closely at the other graphs, she could detect the characteristic spectral fingerprints of silicon and phosphorus. There were also elements of boron in the data. That intrigued her: she knew that boron-doped diamonds were superconductive. Perhaps that meant the Gate had microelectronic properties?

She thought again of the metallic inclusions that had reminded her of computer chips. Her mind began to race. The combination of thoughts about computer chips and super-hardness and superconductivity led her inexorably to one thing – some kind of nano-composite. A super computer chip – or even a super computer. Was the Gate a quantum computer?

With a bemused grin she collected up the separate sheets of readouts and photos and packed them away, vowing to give Cal Bradbury back at the Institute a heads up on her line of thought in her next report. It was thrilling to pick through them, but she knew the data was very incomplete. She would need to set up other experiments and utilize some of the special scanning equipment she had designed with John's help and others in order to gain better results.

Her eyes then came to rest on the GoPro camera she'd placed on the side table. She had managed to borrow it just that morning, but there hadn't been time to do anything with it. Now, although it was getting late, she decided it was time to use it.

She rigged up the camera to the motel room's large flat-screen television. Then, with an air of occasion, she inserted the SD card that had been found in the chamber, the one that she had recorded of John's last moments. Making herself a coffee, she then sat back on the bed with the intention of watching the footage all the way through.

It was hard going watching John again, especially the moment when she put down the camera so that they could kiss. She heard herself murmur off-screen, 'I'm a work-in-progress'. She was almost embarrassed by it now – it sounded stupid. The camera was now trained on the Gate, a low angle ground view. The kiss was happening. Then the ground started to shake as the aftershock began. She could hear John talking to Cal on the two-way. She and John both ran to the Object, then the camera juddered as the earth shook violently and knocked it sideways.

Kathy watched the screen with her head at an angle now, so she could see the scene the right way up. The Gate was gone from view, but one part of the fissure was visible, and she saw now that it was widening, then just as quickly closing. She had seen a lot of footage of earthquakes in action before, but the violence of the earth in this instance was incredible. The fissure gaped wide again, and she heard someone yell off-screen. It sounded like John. Perhaps this was the moment he fell into the fissure.

As the quake subsided and the image settled down, a thick pall of dust and smoke hung over the screen, obscuring the scene. Kathy realized that at least one of the lamps she'd placed was still working, providing a shadowy illumination of the eerie scene. For long moments there was silence, the only movement the dust receding.

Thinking there would be nothing more of note, Kathy was about to fast-forward the video to the end, when suddenly, and improbably, she heard a noise in the chamber. She turned the television's volume up and she could hear a scraping noise, then what sounded like breathing. In a corner of the screen – she almost missed it – a shadow moved!

Then the image went to static...

CHAPTER SIX

Earlier

...The aftershock was still in progress and he had just seen Kathy Rodriguez hit by the rock. She dropped to the ground and John Hannebury instinctively left the shelter of the Object to help her. Then another falling rock struck him a glancing blow and he too fell to the ground. He tried to crawl toward Kathy, but he blacked out.

As the aftershock subsided, the Object activated, emitting its weird glow, and the opaque eye within the oval seemed to stare down upon the fallen Kathy and John. Suddenly, a woman came through the vortex. She was thin and dressed in a white robe. A dark shawl covered her sandy-colored hair.

Seeing the man and the woman lying before her amidst the rubble-strewn chamber, she gasped in surprise and wonder. Then, looking back at the Gate, she saw that it was flickering, as if it had become unstable. Galvanised into action by this, she quickly took hold of the man, who was nearest to her, and dragged him towards the Gate's event horizon. A sudden thought came to her and she left the man and went to an area of the chamber wall. Finding a niche there she took one of the ankhs within and then ran back to the man, dragging him through the event horizon. No sooner had both of them disappeared within the Gate when it shut down completely...

...John saw a bright light and his eyes flickered open. He turned his head and saw the light was coming from the Object. He looked around and saw that he was in an enclosed cave or chamber and that he was lying on a bunk. A figure hovered over him attending to the wound on his forehead. The figure said something to him, but John did not understand the words. It sounded like the voice of a woman. His sight became blurred and he fell into darkness again.

...The next time he awoke on the side of a mountain. It was rocky and mostly bare of trees. The mountain rose up behind him sheer and curved on one side like the inner walls of an amphitheater. He gasped as he breathed in the hot desert air. He looked up and squinted at the sun. The heat was unbearable. He got up and stumbled then crawled his way to the shade of the only tree in sight. It was a gnarled and wiry old olive tree, but its silver-green leaves offered some shelter. He laid down with his back resting against it.

There was something hanging around his neck. It was a leather lanyard that was attached to a strange flat pendant that resembled an Egyptian Ankh. He wondered what it was and who had placed it there. His temple was throbbing, and when he raised a hand to feel it he noticed it had been bandaged.

Presently a woman appeared. She kneeled beside John and offered him some water from a gourd. It was the woman who had attended his wounds in the other chamber. Her face was delicate, with high cheekbones. Her kohl-lined eyes were large and penetrating. She looked to be about thirty. John was slightly relieved. He hadn't hallucinated. He asked the woman about his predicament, but she replied in a language that was not English. To John it sounded vaguely like Hebrew, but it was different. There were some words he thought he knew, but the rest was gibberish.

The woman stayed with John until the sun dipped below the horizon. She offered more water and dates from a cloth bag. Then she brought up a donkey she had tethered nearby and ushered John to ride on it. In this way she led John down off the mountain and they headed out through the cool desert landscape.

Looking around at that landscape, John could only guess that he was somewhere in the Mojave Desert. But either the concussion he had suffered had affected his perceptions or something was wrong. There were none of the usual cacti, no yucca, not even a shriveled joshua tree to be seen anywhere. It was flat and featureless, apart from the occasional hill or distant mountain range. There were no paved roads, just a dirt track that led he knew not where.

They wandered in this desert for hours until they came upon the fire light of an encampment. John's companion gave out a loud, high-pitched croon, signalling the campsite that she was coming.

Two similarly attired men welcomed the visitors. John's companion evidently told them something about him and they murmured sympathetically. John was led to the campfire and instructed to sit down. One man brought him a bowl of dried fruit, mostly dates and figs. John was hungry, so he ate and devoured the fruit that was offered.

The man sat down next to him. He had a long, thin face, with startlingly blue eyes that flashed in the firelight. He removed his hood, revealing a bald, angular head. He looked to be about forty. He began to speak. To John's surprise he understood most of the words. The man was speaking an archaic form of English.

He said, "Greetings stranger. Mine name ist Evram. Our sister Mari says thou hast come through the _Shakra_. What ist thou name, stranger?" He spoke with a thick middle-eastern accent.

"Uh, I'm John. That's my name."

"'Shohn?' Ah, very good." Evram seemed happy about the name, as though it was what he had expected.

John ate another date, then asked, "What is the ' _Shakra_ '?"

"The _Shakra_? It is the-" He paused, momentarily lost for the word. "The...gate we use to travel."

John sat up straight and dropped the piece of fruit he was about to eat. "You mean the Object, the thing in that chamber? You mean that thing is yours?"

Evram looked at him quizzically. "Nay, not 'ours'. It is more for everyone. That is how thou wast brought."

"Where am I then? And why am I here?"

"Why, thou ist in Sinai, friend."

"What, the Sinai Peninsula in Egypt?" John reeled at the thought. Could he really be so far away from California?

"I dost not know that name _peninsula_. But aiy, it is Sinai." Evram held his arms out wide to indicate their surroundings. "All is Sinai."

John had an idea. "Is there a town nearby, perhaps to the north-east, called Jerusalem? Do you know it?"

"Aiy! Yerushalayim and Hebron to the north! Alexandria and Egypt to the west! Very good, very good!" Evram was again pleased with the conversation. "We go to Yerushalayim."

"Aiy...okay. But why am I here? Why did this Mari bring me here?"

"Thou wast injured. The _wadesi_ , the chamber was about to fall. It was not safe for thee. Mari brought thee here because Yarweh wills it."

"'Yarweh wills it'", John repeated, recognizing the old Jewish name for God. "Not if I can help it. How do I get back?" He looked down and remembered the strange pendant around his neck. "And what is this thing?" He held it up to Evram.

"It is the _Piria_ , the tablet. It will help thou return when the time comes." Evram took out a similar pendant from his robes and held it up to John so that he understood they all wore them. "Me and thou art all brothers and sisters of the _Piria_."

Evram saw John shiver. He was still only wearing the shorts and top he had worn on the descent into the chamber. Evram called out to one of the men, who came over bringing with him a bundle of rags. It was one of the same robes the men wore. He told John to put it on. When he was satisfied that it fit him, he got up. As he walked away he said to John, "Sleep, thou must sleep."

For the moment there was not much else John could do. So, wrapping the rough, dirty robe around him, he slept there by the fireside.

In the morning the fire was out. It was quiet. To John's dismay the camp had been struck, he saw no one around. Just when he thought he'd been left alone, Evram appeared. He was leading a donkey. He smiled at John and beckoned him. He held out a gourd of water and encouraged him to drink.

"Come. We go, we go to Yerushalayim."

They soon caught up to the others. They were walking along a trail on what seemed to John like a north-easterly route. They were leading two donkeys and three goats, all packed with provisions.

The day's journey was long and mostly uneventful. At one point they passed an enclave of rocks and cloth tarps where some people appeared, eyeing them suspiciously. There were men, women and some children, all dressed in rags. Abu, one of the members of John's little band, stopped and talked to some of them.

John was struck by the seeming poverty of the people, including his companions. He wondered how long it would be before they came upon a road or at least some sign of modern civilization. Everything he had encountered so far had seemed positively biblical. It was not hard to imagine himself being in those times with these people, in this ancient, sun scorched land.

He thought about what Evram had said, about going to Jerusalem. He decided to seek him out. There were still many questions he needed answers to, and as far as he could tell, Evram was the only person in the group who spoke English - which was in itself strange.

"Evram," said John, walking beside him and his donkey, "how is it you speak English and the others do not?"

"I am not the only one," he replied. "Mari speaks it also. Though not so well."

"So how do you know about English? And, if you'll forgive me, why do you speak it so strangely?"

"Strangely?"

"Yes, you say 'thee' and 'thou' and 'aiy', like you're from the middle ages or something."

"The middle ages?" Evram seemed amused. "Aiy, that is many years to come! I spent much time there, in Londres – uh nay, _London_. Ah, the isle of England. Twas a merry time!"

"I don't understand," said John, annoyed. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Nay, Sir John. I would'st not be bold with thou. Thou ist a stout fellow."

He looked at John with a playful eye. John still wasn't convinced that the man was not joking with him. He noticed too that Evram's accent seemed to slip into an English accent as he said those last words. Something was definitely off.

Evram suddenly gave orders to the others to stop for the evening encampment. A fire was lit and the animals were fed. John noticed they used wooden torches dipped in pitch for lamps. Soon, all five of the group, including John, were seated around the fireside enjoying the evening meal, which consisted of a bowl of some kind of mash with a rough, unleavened bread.

Now that the day's hard work was over they seemed to relax and became a friendly, close-knit group of people. They laughed and shared jokes and conversation with each other, all in that familiar yet strange language. John listened to them, regaling each other with stories and, at times, song. He wished he could understand them: the stories were related with much animation and at least looked interesting. Every now and then he caught a word he was sure was Hebrew. Sometimes entire strings of words seemed to make sense. He wondered - could it be Aramaic they were speaking? But it was a language that, as far as he knew, had not been used for centuries. Perhaps Evram's people belonged to some kind of cult that believed in practising the old ways?

He joined in with their conversation when he could and asked many questions. Sometimes Evram answered, sometimes one of the other men responded in their own language and Evram translated for them. John noticed the woman, Mari, his 'deliverer' never spoke to him. She seemed to regard him with suspicion. For his own part, John was intrigued by her. The only woman of the group, she comported herself with a confidence and a stillness that he found bequiling - and she was not unnattractive.

They called themselves _Driadi_ , or explorers, and claimed they were on a jerehad, or holy mission. Sometimes Evram translated it as 'a vision quest'. Another name they had for themselves was _Sinici_ , which apparently meant 'people of the Sinai Gate'. According to Evram there were three Gates: one here in the Middle East, one in England and the other – what they called 'the broken one' - in California. They claimed they were able to travel enormous distances instantaneously with them. John had trouble believing this, even though his memory of the events that had brought him here had seemed to bare it out. It prompted an important question from him.

"If the Gates do what you say they do, then really, who are you? Are you aliens or something?" He laughed nervously. "Did you build the Gates?"

"Nay, we are not aliens, we do not come from other worlds," said Evram with no hint of offence. The question had amused him more than anything. "And we did not build the Gates. We found them."

"You found them? How? Where? When?"

"It was a long time ago in our history. The how and where and when is of no consequence. It is enough that we have been using them ever since. We are _Driadi_ , explorers. We seek knowledge and enlightenment."

He waved his hand dismissively, as if the matter was finished. It was time for sleep. They spread out their bedrolls near the fire and settled in, while one remained on watch.

As he gave John a spare bedroll to use, Evram said, "We come to Yerushalayim soon, my friend. Thou will see." He nodded his head as if in anticipation of some great event to come.

They continued on their north-easterly route, keeping mostly to pathways that avoided the main roads. For some reason Evram and his _Sinici_ seemed to be traveling incognito. John could sometimes see small bands of people, carts and animals scattered along the roadways in the distance. There were never cars or trucks, and he had yet to see anything like an electricity tower.

By the third day, they had left the desert behind and were entering a land of rich pastures. Shepherds were seen tending their flocks of sheep. Olive groves grew in abundance. They were coming into a green, fertile land of rivers and pine trees. At some point they crossed over from Sinai into the land John knew as Israel.

A pair of men joined them on this third day. These two were Hassein and Binyamen. From what John could tell of their conversation with the others they had concluded successful business in the eastern region. Though what this business was, John could not fathom. Questions to Evram about it were deflected casually as though it would not be of interest to him.

John was beginning to feel agitated. He realized the further he travelled from the Sinai Gate the further away he was from Kathy and his ex-wife and son. He had been so caught up in this new adventure that thoughts of home had remained in the back of his mind. That in itself was strange. They were almost always in the forefront of his thoughts. Evram had told him that he could return to them somehow using the tablet or _Piria_ around his neck, but he still did not know how it worked.

There were still so many questions left unanswered. Why had he so readily agreed to join Evram and his people? The reality looked more like he had been kidnapped and his co-operation bought by a vague promise of return. Why was he here and why did everything seem so strange? He knew the Sinai and parts of Israel were somewhat desolate, but where were the cars, the electricity, the signs of twenty-first century civilization?

After another day, this last question was answered as they stopped at the top of a hill and looked down at a wondrous scene below.

There was a great city spread out before them upon a great hill. John was surprised at how authentically ancient it all looked. There was a high stone wall around the city. Inside, the clean roads were full of the traffic of carts and animals and people. John saw some men standing by the nearest city gate who looked different. They wore what looked like kilts, revealing their bare legs. And they wore metal helmets. It was strange. The buildings were made of stone and wood; some were impressive, high structures towering above the walls. High on a hill in the centre of the city stood a large white stone building that might have been a temple. There was not a car or a bus or an electric light to be seen anywhere. In fact, there was no sign of electricity or any other modern convenience at all. It truly might have been something out of the middle ages, or even earlier.

Evram spread his arms wide, indicating the city. Smiling at John, he said, "Yerushalayim!"

It took a moment to sink in.

John looked at the scene again and realized the men in the metal helmets actually looked like Roman soldiers. The white temple on the hill glistened in the sunlight. He suspected it was made of marble. He knew the second temple of the Jews in Jerusalem was made of marble - but it had been razed by the Romans in AD 70.

"Nah, it couldn't be!" he gasped.

He thought about all he'd experienced since he'd been unceremoniously dropped into this strange land, then finally he understood. He was not in the present. He was in the past. Somehow the journey through that Gate, that _Shakra_ , had sent him back in time!

CHAPTER SEVEN

2016

The Gate room, as the installation lab had now been dubbed, was a hive of activity. Cal Bradbury and his team were still conducting tests on the Gate frame's crystalline properties. To the side of the Gate, Lina Thigpen and Yang Lee were still setting up the equipment to begin work on the problem of the control glyphs. The Project Director, Gerard Feynman, was in the control room with his daughter, Alyssa, going over the data accumulated so far about the Gate's event horizon. Their recent photodetector scans had yielded little result, either for reflected or emitted light energies. They were now busy planning the next stage of the project.

Quietly watching over the proceedings were three guests, all top administration staff, who had made a surprise visit to the lab. One of them was Stephen Wharton, the Institute's Director, the head man in the administration. He was a tall, bearded man who looked much younger than his sixty-three years. He had also been a renowned physicist before taking over the Directorship. Next to him was Alan Waterman, introduced as a Security Advisor. He was forty-two and tanned and handsome in his dark, tailored suit. Next to Alan was Marianne Schuba, introduced as the Institute's Head of Security Co-Ordinator. She was thirty, with well-coifed blonde hair and she wore an elegant, dark-blue dress.

"So, have you had any luck working out this Gate, Cal?" Wharton asked Bradbury. He had Schuba and Waterman in tow, leading them on the tour.

"Yes sir, we're getting some good data from the spectroscopic imagery, and I believe we've at least cracked some of her code."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she's not made of natural mineral, she seems to be synthetic - man-made. Them early on-site tests were correct. If I had to put a name to it, I'd say she's one helluva synthetic diamond, all one piece."

"Is that even possible?" asked Waterman, astounded.

"Not with our present technology," said Cal. He looked up at the Gate, impressed by it as always. "But that's not the interesting thing about it," he added.

"No?"

"No. Its cellular matrix is showing up properties of silicone, phosphorus and boron. Kathy, our crystallography expert, is the one who caught it. There were a lot of flaws in the glass, but very regular flaws. And those flaws do appear to be doing something within the crystal."

"What exactly?" asked Marianne.

Cal lifted his baseball cap and scratched his scalp. It was a familiar action, one he did when he was intrigued by something – which, in this lab, was often. "Well, we won't know for sure until we can do a deep scan of the crystal while the Gate's on. So far none of our equipment has been able to get a reading, it's so powerful. We're waiting on Kathy to bring in a special scanner that she hopes will do the job. But what if she's right? What if these flaws are all super-connected, in every part of the Gate, like synapses in a giant brain? ...It's early days yet, and I'd like to have Kathy here to look at it, but I think what we have here is a quantum computer."

"A quantum computer?" asked Waterman, whose science knowledge was not up to par. "What's that?"

Cal patiently explained: "It's something we've been trying to create for, oh, decades, and we're still a long way off. It basically works on the principle of harnessing quantum potentialities called cubits that hover between the binaries of zero and one. In theory at least, it should make processing, say, a trillion times faster."

"Wow!" enthused Waterman. "At those speeds, what would it be capable of?"

"Well, that is the question! But to tell the truth, comparisons between classical computers and the few quantum types we have – which are pretty primitive – haven't been that impressive. The quantum speedup has been negligible. But it is still early days. If those two over there can work it out," he indicated Yang and Lina, "we might have a crack at the answer."

With that, continuing the tour, Wharton guided them over to the side of the Gate, where Yang and Lina were working on the interface. They were shown the smooth panel on the Gate's side, which was overlaid with a photocopy they had made of the glyphs.

"Have you worked out what these symbols mean yet?" asked Schuba.

"Ah, only one so far has been confirmed," said Yang. He seemed a little embarrassed.

"The on/off button," added Lina.

"They're not just words or symbols," continued Yang. "They're touch sensitive control devices - or buttons - that interface with the Gate and make it work."

"So how do you work out which buttons do which?" asked Waterman.

"Well," said Yang, pushing his dark round glasses back on his nose, "we're assuming - and it's a big assumption - the Gate offers some form of dimensional travel. Therefore, we think many of the glyphs will offer up co-ordinate inputs."

"In short, we're going to try trial and error," added Lina. "Which also means, switching it on..."

Now that Cal and his team had completed their tests, Yang and Lina were cleared to switch on the Gate, for the benefit of their guests, and in order to conduct their own tests. Waterman, Schuba and Wharton stood back from the Gate, waiting breathlessly. Yang's hand hovered over the large blue Eye of Horus button. Trying to give the moment some sense of occasion, he said, "Here goes!" then pressed the button.

The now-familiar pulse sounded and the event horizon appeared as the Gate burst into life.

Schuba and Waterman stood bathed beneath its opalescent glow, their mouths open in astonishment.

"Impressive light show!" said Waterman.

"Is that – what – an eye I see in there?" asked Marianne, gaping at the event horizon.

"It looks like it, doesn't it?" said Yang, amused. "It seems to repeat that pattern. If you keep watching it will go away."

Marianne continued to stare into the eye. Suddenly, it winked at her, then it disappeared. She was astonished. "Have you sent anything through it yet?"

"Oh, just one test object," replied Yang, thinking about the pencil Lina had thrown in.

"And what happened?"

"Uh, nothing."

"Oh," said Marianne, disappointed.

Lina watched as Wharton shepherded Schuba and Waterman over to the control room. Catching her eye, she gave Schuba a playful wave and a friendly smile.

With Schuba and Waterman safely out of the way, Lina and Yang conducted their trial and error tests. Strictly speaking, the job should have included a properly trained linguist, but - impressed by her first guesses (and wanting to keep his team small) - Professor Feynman had decided to indulge Lina. Yang was assisting because he was naturally intrigued by the puzzle of the glyphs. The Gate controls were the interface of the mechanism that made the event horizon work, which was where he needed to be if he were to make any sense of what it was doing. So they worked in tandem.

Now that the Gate was operating, they had the actual interface glyphs lit up in front of them. They began scrupulously going through and recording every combination of the Gate's glyphs, starting from the first of the twenty-four in the middle yellow grouping, to the last of the six glyphs in the bottom red grouping. Each attempt resulted in apparently nothing at all. Then, when Yang tried the first double combination, featuring the first of the yellow glyphs and the second large blue glyph, the Gate emitted a brief burst of light that seemed to indicate that something had changed within it. Professor Feynman confirmed the burst by checking the Gate's energy readings on his equipment in the control room.

"What combination was that?" asked Lina.

"I just touched the first yellow," Lee indicated the glyph. "Then I tried that second blue glyph next to the on/off, and that did the trick."

"Ah, I'll bet that's the entry button!" Lina was excited. "The first one was a co-ordinate, and the entry button engaged it."

"Are you sure that would be a co-ordinate?" said Yang. "Surely it should be a six digit combination for x, y, z? I was thinking those six runes at the bottom..."

"Maybe." Lina looked down at the twenty-four glyphs in the first group. "But like you said before: they probably kept things simple. I'm thinking these twenty-four glyphs in the middle make up twenty-four separate co-ordinates."

"What? Twenty-four Gates?"

"Possibly. Shall we tell Feynman?"

"Um, let's just try some other combinations first and see what they do," said Yang.

Looking at the Gate's event horizon, Lina couldn't help but wonder if they'd just opened a portal onto another world, or perhaps even another universe. Impulsive as ever, she ran around to the front of the Gate and said to Yang, "Watch the other side!"

"Hey!" Yang shouted, but it was too late. Lina had already taken out another pencil from her coat and thrown it through the event horizon. Watching from the control panel, Yang saw the pencil disappear.

It did not land on the other side of the Gate.

Yang breathlessly reported this to Lina, even as he chastised her for the unauthorized experiment. He looked over at the control room window for Feynman's reaction, but he was busy talking to his guests and had apparently not seen the incident.

"Yes!" exclaimed Lina, ignoring the rebuke. "I knew it! What do you suppose is on the other side?"

"Assuming there is an 'other side'," said Yang, still trying to process what he had just seen, "I'd guess, like you suggested, another Gate and chamber like the one we found at Joshua Tree. But unlike that one, intact."

"Yeah, that makes sense! But I was thinking more along the lines of what _else_ would be there."

"Who knows? But we'll have to wait until Cal and Gary get their rovers built before we can send something across and see."

Nearby, Cal Bradbury and Gary Mullens were now working on the test robots that were to be sent through the Gate. There were two of them. They were modeled on the Mars Rover, _Curiosity_ , but smaller and far less sophisticated. They would have loved to create a fancy robot with 'deep learning' and 'cloud robotics' and all that good stuff that places like DARPA were working on, but for what they were supposed to do, they didn't need it. With their four wheels, stocky sensor-covered body and articulated 'head' that housed their sound and vision inputs, the two robots were easily anthropomorphized as large mechanical dogs, or super-large insects. Gary, who always exhibited a fellow feeling for his mechanical objects, had dubbed them _Sticky Beak_ and _Nosey Parker_. Besides high definition sound and vision, it was hoped the robots would relay back to the lab GPS positioning data, atmospheric data, temperature, radiation levels, soil samples and a host of other readings of what exactly was on the other side of the Gate. They were presently working with _Sticky Beak_. Its twin, _Nosey_ , waited in a nearby bay.

"I still think we should give it a funny K-9 voice," said Gary as he knelt beside _Sticky_ and inspected its 'eyes'. "Yeth mathter," he mimicked.

"There is absolutely no point in doing that – apart from feeding your Dr Who fantasies," said Cal. He was clutching a remote control device and was ready to give _Sticky_ its first test run. "Now step back and let's give _Sticky_ a run."

Manipulating the device, Cal coaxed the robot into motion, whereupon it zipped across the lab floor and toppled over when it was forced to turn too quickly.

"Oooh!" said Gary, flinching. "I think you need to recalibrate that remote."

"Either that, or give him a wider base." Cal walked over and set the robot back on its wheels. It seemed to have suffered no apparent damage from its little spill.

"Hey, what if that remote control doesn't work on the other side?" asked Gary.

"Don't worry, I've thought about that," said Cal. "I've got a backup in place."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"You'll see. It's very 'hi tech'". Cal smiled a secretive smile.

"Would this 'hi tech' solution involve a rope?" Gary smiled back at him. He was happy. They were getting paid to make and play with robots. They were having a ball.

"It might," conceded Cal.

Inside the control room, Feynman and his daughter were talking to Wharton and his guests.

"Finished with the tour, Stephen?" asked Feynman. He turned to Schuba and Waterman. "What did you think of our little discovery?"

"Very impressive," said Marianne. She looked at the Gate through the observation window. Her gaze inadvertantly fell to rest on Lina. She pointed to the extraordinary sight of the Gate's event horizon. "I wonder, is that thing a wormhole?"

Feynman smiled, expecting the question. "No, as far as we can tell it's not. We thought that too at first. And we still call the thing an 'event horizon', implying some kind of black hole or wormhole beyond, but it's something of a misnomer."

"Why's that?" asked Alan.

"The main reason," said Alyssa, taking up her father's thread, "is that the Gate doesn't seem to show any signs of cosmic radiation, or gravity wells, or the sort of exotic matter elements that we would expect to find within an event horizon. We haven't been able to detect much at all coming from it – not radiation, not gravity, hardly any signal. The most we've detected are some low energy photon emissions. It's very strange. We suspect there must be some containment field around it, stopping regular matter from destabilizing it, and people nearby - or trying to go through it - from being obliterated."

"Say, I couldn't help wondering," said Waterman, "is it possible this thing was made by - you know - aliens?" He gave them a bemused look meant to show skepticism.

Feynman and Wharton looked at each other, as if they'd heard this question many times before. "It's possible, I _suppose_ ," said Feynman irritably.

"Gerry's not a believer, at the moment," said Wharton, smiling. "For what it's worth, I think it was. But, either way, there can be no doubt we're sitting on the greatest scientific discovery since...well, Smoot and Mather discovered the shape of the Cosmic Background Radiation. As such, security was always going to be a problem."

He turned to Feynman. "Gerry, I appreciate the way you've run the project, including the discreet reports, and keeping your team small to help minimize security risks. But Alan and Marianne tell me there have already been some information leaks..."

"What? Who?" Feynman asked, surprised.

"Never mind that," Wharton continued. "The point is, we can't contain this for much longer. I'm going to have to pass this on to the board for their consideration, and then probably the government. I should have done it earlier."

Feynman looked over at his daughter. She nodded her head. "Okay," he conceded. "What do you need me to do?"

"I'll need a detailed report of your work here, with nothing left out. I think Weinstein, the President's Science Advisor, should have a look at it."

"I'll get on it."

"Well, we appreciate you showing us around, Stephen," said Marianne, heading for the door with Alan. "Now we have a better idea what's at stake here."

"You're very welcome," said Wharton, joining them.

After Wharton and his guests had left, Feynman went over to one of the computers to check the readout coming from the two detectors he had set up over the Gate's event horizon. For reasons only physicists (and perhaps filmbuffs) knew, one was labeled _Alice_ , and the other was labeled _Bob_. It was a peculiar characteristic of the event horizon that it seemed to give off very little in the way of signals. All that had been detected so far had been some residual photon activity from the marble-like shimmer. As Alyssa had said, the Gate seemed to contain a very powerful containment field. More than anything, it presented as an inert barrier. But looking at the screen now, Feynman was surprised to note that the _Alice_ detector was indicating a large spike in the Gate's energy matrix. He had noticed earlier a smaller one occurring with the detector placed at the front of the event horizon - the one labeled _Bob_. This detector had noted activity when Yang and Lina had engaged the Gate's glyphs earlier. Feynman wondered now what had set off _Alice_.

He called Yang in to the control room.

"What's up?" asked Yang.

"Yang, did you or Lina do anything with the Gate after that burst before, something else that might have registered with the detectors?"

"Uh, well Lina did throw another pencil in to the event horizon," he said tentatively.

"Ah, that must be it!" Feynman was annoyed at Lina for her unauthorized actions, but delighted in the data that resulted from them. "It seems our detectors are finally getting a promising reading on that event horizon." He indicated the work station opposite him.

Yang's eyes lit up. "Would you like me to have a look at the data, see if I can make some sense of it?"

"Be my guest," Feynman said magnanimously.

"All right!" Yang sat down enthusiastically at the work station and punched up the figures on the computer.

"Uh, what happened to it?" said Feynman, waiting patiently.

"To what?" asked Yang, looking up, confused.

"The pencil, of course."

"It disappeared. That is, it didn't come out the other side." Yang looked sheepish.

"Astounding!" Feynman was excited. "What do you think happened – was it vaporised?"

Yang concentrated on the screen, typing in information as he replied. "If there's a black hole on the other side, and a firewall like some theorists think, then yes, probably. But it's way too early to tell." He looked up at Feynman and indicated the data on the screen. "This might give us a clue."

"Mmm, yes," Feynman pondered, "that's what I'm hoping."

"Uh, excuse me, Gerry," said Yang. He quickly took out a music player from a coat pocket and donned a small pair of headphones. He then turned his music player on as he greedily scanned the lines on the screen. Loud heavy metal music could be heard bleeding from the phones.

Feynman left him to it. He knew once Yang put on the headphones there was no interrupting him. He was lost in his 'fast track to focus'. It was his way of attaining a zen-like state of mind, his work flow. Apparently he found heavy metal music most conducive because it was like a white noise to him and allowed him to concentrate intensely on whatever problem was at hand.

Feynman and his daughter shared a smile at Yang's quirkiness and returned to work. But the conversation with Wharton hung heavily on Feynman's mind. He sat for a moment at his desk in the control room, looking soberly out at the Gate in the adjoining lab. He knew the Gate was a once in a lifetime opportunity for a scientist like himself, and they had only just begun to tap its potential.

While Yang worked oblivious of them, he said, "They're going to take it away from us, daughter."

Alyssa smiled. He usually only called her that when there was no one else around, so as not to undermine her position. She started playing with a little soft toy monkey, which she called 'Julius'. It was the control room mascot. She then looked at Yang and saw that he was imperceptibly nodding his head to the music he was listening to. She smiled again. "Dad, you know that was always gonna happen." There was little sympathy in her voice. She saw it as her job to make him see sense.

A physicist like her father, she had staved off the suspicions of nepotism upon her installation as his senior lab assistant through her studious dedication and thorough professionalism. A serious woman, not prone to joking or easy friendliness, she might have been considered attractive if she smiled occasionally - and if she didn't insist on wearing her brown hair in a tight bun. It was an affectation her father often regretted. He had tried to get her to let it fall down in more womanly curves, but she ignored him.

He stood up, prepared to leave the room. "Thank you, daughter." He loved her, but she always had to be so _sensible_...

Meanwhile, Yang continued listening to his heavy metal playlist (sourced by an aficionado friend) and continued his fast track to focus. He hated the music, but it was the only sound that helped him to zero in on any problem, free of distractions. He looked again at the _Bob_ and _Alice_ detector reading that represented the event horizon's energy output.

While in his headphones the heavy metal band Slayer were exhorting him to spill 'the pure virgin blood', Yang found himself thinking about his young daughter Kimmy amongst all the data. Her birthday was near and he was thinking of a present for her. It almost threw off his concentration.

Letting the music wash over him, he regained his focus and tuned in to the information before him. There was definitely something going on in the data that was intriguing him. He looked at the lines for the _Alice_ energy stream. The peak had occurred very near the 24 electron-volt mark. It was a relatively small energy signal, but it was highly suggestive of large forces at work on the other side.

As the music changed to the crushing death metal tones of Morbid Angel, Yang began to wonder about wave function collapse. Since nothing of the event horizon had been measured, apart from the weakling photon stream, he reasoned that it must be positively awash with un-collapsed phenomena in there still in their superpositioned quantum states. Whether it was entangled particles doing their merry dance, or the mysteries of matter/energy conversion, their observation (and thus, the wave function collapse) was denied, cloaked like Schrodinger's Cat in its box. And this was intentional. The act of measurement was thwarted so that the Gate could be free to do its job. It was programmed for quantum autonomy. But how was it programmed, what exotic or elusive element could mediate between the quantum and classical worlds and stave off the collapse? What was out there that the Gate could usefully collect, apart from geothermal heat and ordinary matter? Radiation? Neutrons? Neutrinos?

The music in his headphones suddenly changed and Yang couldn't help but listen along. Evocative acoustic guitar arpeggios of some delicacy were played. Then a thunderous introduction, including what sounded like orchestral strings, swept him up in its glory. Was this really heavy metal music? The lyrics, when they came, were nonsensical and disparate – something about sorcerers selling time. He tried to block them out while he continued on the problem.

And then it came to him...

What if the secret ingredient was not found within ordinary matter, but in the dark matter, or possibly the dark energy, altogether the other ninety-five percent of the universe?

Disoriented, he suddenly took off his headphones and looked away from the screen. Ozzy Osbourne of Black Sabbath could faintly be heard proclaiming tinnily within the abandoned headphones: _'Silver ships on plasmic oceans in disguise'._

Yang gasped with excitement. He looked back at the computer screen and it was a blur. He breathed in deeply and settled himself. Nothing was proved. He had no more than another crazy hypothesis, a new direction to take. It was enough. Yang well knew that by these theoretical constructs he was pulling several quantum rabbits out of a quantum hat, but in the world of theoretical physics this was perfectly valid.

He experienced a familiar feeling of satisfaction that often happened when he was working on a problem. A musician himself, he knew as always the patterns – the music – had wanted to make sense.
CHAPTER EIGHT

"Well, are we ready to do this, lab rats?"

There was a well-justified sense of occasion in the control room as Professor Feynman prepared Team One of his research crew for the most important experiment they had yet conducted on the Gate. In the Gate room, one of the remote-controlled robot units Cal and Gary had built was poised to enter the active event horizon of the Gate.

Gary Mullens stood at his controls ready to direct the robot forward, while Alyssa Feynman watched the camera's monitor screen. Lina Thigpen and Yang Lee were also on hand.

"Ready when you are, sir," said Gary, waiting expectantly.

The Institute Director, Stephen Wharton, plus Marianne Schuba and Alan Waterman were on hand again to witness what would be a significant experiment.

"All right, Mr Mullens, do it," instructed Feynman.

"Okay, _Sticky_ ," whispered Gary, "you're up. Make me proud."

Inside the lab, the robot slowly rolled forward up the ramp they'd built for it. Watching the monitor screen, Alyssa swore she could see the event horizon's eye following _Sticky_ 's progress with interest. As the robot reached the event horizon a faint flash could be detected, then it disappeared inside it.

The robot continued to relay sound and picture to the monitors inside the control room, but all it seemed to show was its progress down the ramp on the other side of the Gate, heading towards the lab wall. A camera placed on that side of the Gate to monitor any activity there confirmed this.

The entire lab team seemed to exhale a sigh of disappointment.

"Nothing," said Alyssa. "Let me re-wind the recording. Maybe we missed something."

They watched as the vision was played again. Apart from a brief moment of static when the camera went through the Gate, there was nothing unusual.

"Pause it at that static, Alyssa," said Feynman peering intently at the monitor. When the image of the static returned to the screen, Feynman thought he saw something there. "Yes, there, it looks like some sort of pattern. Can you clean the image up at all?"

"I can filter out some noise and bring up the contrast," said Alyssa, working her vision mixer.

It was definitely an image caught there in the static: an outline of swirling geometric shapes.

"It looks like a vortex," said Feynman, surprised.

"That's very interesting," said Waterman, coming forward. "But what does it mean?"

"Well, it could possibly be a function of the Gate, or it could just be something thrown up by electrical interference," said Feynman. "I suppose that was what we'll call the control test." He turned to Lina and Yang. "Looks like you two are up."

"I hate to say 'I told you so', but I told you so." This was Lina.

Mindful of his guests, Feynman translated her comment for them. "Uh, what Ms Thigpen means is she predicted this test to fail, for the reason that we haven't yet inputted any commands into the gate. It was, as it were, on default or neutral mode when the robot entered the event horizon."

Yang and Lina went into the Gate room and engaged one of the glyphs and the entry button, causing another pulse to initiate. Satisfied that the Gate was now offering up a destination, they went back in the control room to await the robot's second try through the Gate.

"All right, Gary, let's see what we've got this time," instructed Feynman.

Again, _Sticky Beak_ the robot surged forward up the ramp towards the gate. The camera mounted on the robot relayed a clear picture of the Gate's event horizon back to the monitor in the control room. Everyone watched as the shimmering light engulfed the screen. Then, as the robot crossed the threshold, there was a brief moment of static and the screen suddenly went black.

"Wow, it spiked really high when it hit the threshold that time!" yelled Gary, checking his equipment.

"Never mind that," yelled Feynman. "Where's the picture, Alyssa, get us the picture back!"

"Yes, dad, trying!" Alyssa checked the monitor's wireless connection.

"Shit, look it's gone!" Lina stared out the window at the Gate.

They had all been caught up with the monitor screen. Now the others looked at the Gate in the lab and realized the robot had disappeared. It had not come through the other side of the Gate.

"Where is it?" asked Waterman.

"Check the other camera footage, cameras two and three," said Feynman to his daughter

Alyssa punched up two and three on her vision mixer and rewound the footage. She split the screen and replayed the footage of all three cameras from the same time marker. They watched the replay, with camera one going into the Gate's bright threshold, and both camera two at the back and camera three in front showing the robot disappearing, or at least not coming through the other side.

"It worked!" said Alyssa.

"Incredible!" said Marianne, impressed.

Feynman allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. He knew something very special had just happened.

"Have we got vision?" asked Waterman.

"Well, yes!" said Gary, excited to find the robot's camera transmitting an image of what looked like a darkened chamber, or possibly a cave. He was surprised to find that the remote and all the sensors on the robot were functioning perfectly. He had fully expected some interference from the event horizon, but that wasn't the case at all. It appeared the Gate was maintaining the continuity of the signal on both sides.

"What do you say, prof'" said Lina, turning slyly to Feynman, "have we got a ten on the Rio scale yet?"

Feynman blinked briefly and said, "Call it a nine."

"Outstanding!" replied Lina.

The camera continued transmitting images of the chamber beyond. Its light only shone far enough to reveal the indistinct image of a wall nearby, and that was all. It didn't look especially exciting, but it was enough.

"Well, there's definitely something there," said Gary.

"Could you get us closer to that wall, Gary?" asked Feynman.

"Sure." Gary urged _Sticky_ forward in the chamber and the robot obediently wheeled closer to the wall. They all watched with interest as the image of the wall grew larger and some detail appeared on it.

"That looks like the same kind of lattice pattern they found at the Joshua Tree dig!" said Feynman.

"And it's intact, which suggests it's not the same site," added Gary.

"So where is it?" asked Feynman. "Do we have co-ordinates yet?" He looked at Mullens, who had rigged the robot with a special U-GPS emitter.

"Well, uh, no," he said reluctantly. "We need to give _Sticky_ – uh, the robot – more time on the other side in order to get a signal."

"All right!" Feynman clapped his hands in anticipation, and added, "Let's give it more time." He was almost gung ho in his excitement.

They waited while Gary prepared his program.

"How are you going to get a signal?" asked Wharton.

"Not sure if I can!" said Gary, firing up a special detection program on his computer. "It all depends where this other chamber is. If it's like the one at Joshua Tree then it's somewhere underground, and that's a problem. It's hard to get a signal out.

"Fortunately," he turned now to address the Institute Director, "I've rigged _Sticky_ with a special emitter that's designed to get a signal to the surface from underground. It's made by a Swiss company that specializes in speleological applications. I've adapted it to hone in on any nearby receiver using a microwave frequency, like a cell phone, and then piggy back from there to the nearest base station, where I can pick up the signal on GPS. If we're lucky we'll get a signal come through here." He indicated the computer screen, which was showing the detection program interface. A prompt was flashing the notice: ACQUIRING SIGNAL...PLEASE WAIT...

They waited expectantly.

"Yes!" shouted Gary looking at the screen, which had brought up some co-ordinates and pinpointed them on a world map displayed before him. "According to the readout it says the border of France and Spain, south-west; somewhere inside the Pyrenees!" He was ecstatic.

For a moment there was stunned disbelief. Then everyone began to cheer.

"Are you sure your data's correct?" asked Feynman, when the cheering died down. He sounded agitated, always the scientist. "Is it possible it's faulty or you've mis-read it somehow?"

Gary looked hurt. "No. I don't see how. The U-GPS signal is reading loud and clear. It is what it is, Prof – uh, sir."

"Uh, but-" Feynman seemed lost for words.

"You know, _sir_ ," interrupted Lina, turning to Feynman, and as usual not lost for words, "I don't think the Russians, or even Tesla himself, could've come up with something like this yet."

She paused. Then, mindful of the guests looking on, and speaking slowly and deliberately, she said, "So, whatever this thing is – matter transference device, wormhole, entanglement, you name it – will you finally agree we've got something extraterrestrial on our hands?!"

All eyes were on Feynman. He was annoyed at Lina for putting him on the spot like this in front of the others. For a long time now he had struggled to fit the Gate and what it represented into the physics paradigm that he was so familiar with. This was difficult, because it was nothing but a found object, a cheat, a weird phenomenon that had eluded so many steps necessary to its comprehension. He resented it, and he resented having to resort to any pseudo-scientific theory to explain it.

"Um...possibly," he said, as though the admission had been torn from him.

"And where would you say we are on the Rio Scale now, sir?"

"Ah, all right, let's call it a ten."
CHAPTER NINE

"-and that is the cause of all the commotion over there."

A large image of the Gate was projected onto a pull-down screen, the event horizon glowing and rippling its mysterious invitation. Stephen Wharton was holding court in his conference room reporting the latest intelligence on the Gate to a small group of the Institute's top administrators and advisors, who included the Provost, the four school Deans, the Secretary, Treasurer and the Board Chairwoman.

"I can't stress strongly enough," he continued, as the video footage continued showing further details of the Gate, "this is the most important, far-reaching research project we've ever taken on."

He looked with amusement at his audience. Most of them looked back in awe and disbelief. "I know, it's a lot to take in, isn't it?"

"Uh, let's see: unlimited geothermal energy, matter transference and – oh yeah \- the inferred discovery of extraterrestrial life. Duh!" This was Keith Shorter, the Institute's Treasurer: a small, rotund man. "Would you like a Nobel Prize with that, Professor Wharton?" he added.

"Stephen, can we see this thing for ourselves?" asked Sylvia Morales, the Board Chairwoman. She seemed more disturbed than excited by the news. "I think I need to see it."

A few others in the room murmured their assent.

"Yes, I've scheduled a tour down to Scherff after the meeting for anyone who's interested," said Wharton. "But for now, if you can focus, I'd like to go over what this means for us." He looked at Alan Waterman as he sat down. "Alan?"

"Yes, it's obviously a great thing, Stephen, but it does pose its problems," said Waterman, sitting across the table from Wharton. "For one, the government will have to be notified, and when that happens they'll probably take the Gate off our hands. They'll probably bring in a team of their own people."

"What, why? Our squints are just as good as their squints, aren't they?" asked Shorter.

"It's not about who's better," said Wharton. "I'd say it's more about what the government would call 'national security'. The thing I didn't mention in my talk just now, that you should also know, is this: the latest tests on the Gate have revealed at least twenty-three more Gates situated underground all around the world, and all of them are accessible from our Gate."

"Twenty-three?" said Shorter, surprised.

"At least," added Marianne Schuba, sitting next to him.

"So, if security's a problem let them come and beef it up here," added Shorter, indignant. "They don't need to take our people away. We're an independent, privately run institute, for chrissakes!"

"No," said Waterman, losing patience, "don't you see? It's political now! We're just a bunch of academics to them. They'll roll right over us playing power politics when they find out about this. At the very least, we can expect to have to take on board a lot of their planning and administration people."

"Alan is right," said Schuba. "And, clearly, the government should be involved in a matter like this. But I still think there is room for some compromise. This is now an international situation. Many governments and many scientists must be involved. It is too big for just one government to control. Yes, let them bring more security if they want, but we had the Gate first and we have had the most time to study it. And I think that is all to our advantage."

"I agree, Marianne," said Wharton. "I think we should at least fight this. It would be different if this began as a government-sponsored operation. But we initiated it, with the help of the Joshua Tree Authorities, and we are still, as Keith said, an independent, privately run institution. And there is one other thing in our favor..." he paused.

"What is it Stephen?" asked Marianne.

"Well, it's the other Gates. Some-"

"Oh yeah, where are they all, by the way?" cut in Shorter.

"Uh, that's what I was coming to," said Wharton, slightly annoyed by the interruption. He took a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and glanced at it. It contained a list. "Some are apparently too remote to be picked up by Mullens' U-GPS emitter, but so far we've confirmed Gates in the French/Spanish border – that was the first one we encountered – then New Zealand, two in Africa, two in Russia, one in China, India, Canada, Brazil, Iran, Australia, Indonesia and England. And most recently we've found another one here in the US – on the east coast, in New York State."

There were exclamations of surprise all around the table.

"Oh, that should take the heat off," said Shorter, relieved. "With a Gate of their very own to play with, those Washington pencil necks might leave us alone!"

"I doubt it," said Waterman. "But you're right, it gives them something to think about."

"So, where do we go from here?" asked Sylvia Morales.

"Well," said Wharton, "I've received a communiqué from Eli Weinstein, the President's science advisor. He wants an update. I plan on inviting him to come out here to see this for himself. He's an old friend from my M.I.T. days, and I think – besides being blown away – he will at least be sympathetic. Other than that, we keep working on the Gate."

He got up and looked around at all of them. "Now, who's up for the tour?"

CHAPTER TEN

There was busy activity in the Gate room at the Scherff Center. Professor Feynman and his crews were now working around the clock. A third crew had been added, with each given eight hour shifts. Slowly, they were beginning to build a picture of the Gates and what they were.

Experiments were trialed on the Joshua Tree Gate's composition, its performance perimeters and sundry other tests. Cal Bradbury and his team were still looking into the wonders of the Gate's geothermal conversion process and performing tests on the composition of the shaft. So far, its mysteries were eluding them.

Professor Feynman was particularly intent on working out the extraordinary mechanism that allowed for the instantaneous movement between Gates. Because there was some solid experimental background to the theory, he was leaning towards entanglement, as suggested by both Lina and Yang. The idea was very similar to the old science fiction notion of teleportation. It was a theory based on the proven 'spooky' (Einstein's word) connection between paired atoms operating at a distance, and using that connection to pass matter back and forth between them. Many physicists had seen it as a theoretically possible solution to long distance transit. Feynman knew there had already been successful practical teleportations of small elements such as quarks from one location to another using the theory, but nothing on a larger scale - nothing like they had witnessed with the Gate. It was all crazy stuff.

In the meantime, Kathy Rodriguez had focussed her attention on the Gate's crystalline oval frame, and she had come up with her own intriguing line of inquiry. It was the idea that it contained within its crystalline structure the keys to alternate dimensions.

This theory was thought to be a bit _out there_ by Professor Feynman, but he encouraged her to pursue it nonetheless, feeling perhaps that after all she'd been through she deserved some leeway. Kathy had long been an adherent of string theory and M theory, which encouraged multiple dimensions. Although her math was not, in her opinion, up to scratch on it, her own studies into the multi-dimensional qualities of crystals at their quantum extremes had drawn some favorable comparisons with M theorists. Therefore, in anticipation of gaining access to the Gate, she had begun the planning and allocating of resources towards experiments in that arena.

She finally had the chance to study the Gate and put her theories about its remarkable properties to the test when Gus Manfredi and his team packed up operations at Joshua Tree and returned to the Institute. Having gained Professor Feynman's permission to do so, she invited Gus along to her first orientation session in the lab.

Alyssa Feynman frowned at Manfredi as he entered the control room with Kathy. She was not keen on allowing these outsiders to gain access to her precious lab and its secrets. But her face softened as she remembered it was Kathy's first visit since the incident at Joshua Tree, and she warmly greeted her.

"Welcome back. Long time no see."

"Thanks," said Kathy, smiling. "Wow, this looks great!" she enthused over the banks of instruments and computers assembled in the room.

Manfredi saw Alyssa's toy monkey, Julius, sitting on a console and, curious, picked it up.

"Please don't touch that..." Alyssa hissed at him.

"Sorry..."

Acting like a chastened child, Gus gingerly put the monkey back in its place. Looking back at him, Kathy smiled at his antics.

"Well, here we are, Gus," said Kathy, staring out into the large installation lab from the control room window. "We've finally made it."

"Yes, indeed!" Manfredi stood looking at the Gate and the Gate room, impressed.

They could see that members of Feynman's Team One had already arrived and were setting up their various tests. Gary Mullens was working on one of his robots near the Gate ramp. Lina Thigpen and Yang Lee were busy studying the Gate interface panel. Cal Bradbury and some of his technicians were over by a wall installing cables. Kathy looked on with approval as other members were setting up the specially modified SEM electron microscope she'd had made to order to study the Gate's crystalline frame. Because she sought to analyse the crystal frame whilst the Gate was in operation, she had needed to design a special rig that operated directly onto the crystal surface. This required an air-sealed vacuum chamber as part of its equipment. The unwieldy contraption was not pretty, but it would do the job – she hoped.

It all looked as it should to Kathy - with one strange exception. A woman in a white lab coat and her assistant, a bearded young man, were walking a primate - what looked to be a chimpanzee - through the empty ring of the Gate. "What are those two doing there with that chimp?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, that's Doctor Farside and her assistant with Marcia." Alyssa Feynman gave a rare smile at Kathy's interest. As evidenced by Julius, she loved monkeys. "Isn't it cute?"

"What are they here for? Oh..." Kathy guessed the reason. "They're gonna send her through the Gate..."

"No, not yet," Alyssa added quickly. "There's still some tests to be done with Woody and Jean Luc..."

" _Who?_ " asked Manfredi, who was starting to find Alyssa's talk amusing.

"Uh – the rabbits." Alyssa looked at him innocently. "Point is, we're gearing up to having people go through eventually."

"Oh, I see."

Kathy stared out the window at Doctor Farside. She was a large, matronly-looking woman with a stern face. She seemed to enjoy bossing around her young assistant, who was clearly devoted to the animal in his care. Kathy's compassion was all for the chimp, Marcia.

Kathy held her breath, then said to Gus, "Well, shall we join them?"

"Yes. Lead on, _cara mia_." Manfredi accompanied her to the Gate room door.

Entering the Gate room, Kathy felt a dizzying sense of dislocation. As she stood there regarding the Gate for the first time since the incident at Joshua Tree, she flashed on an image of John in the chamber. It was like a physical shock to her.

Manfredi noticed her disorientation. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

"It's okay, I'm fine," she said, recovering.

Now looking at it, Kathy was struck by the Gate's incongruity. Here in this bright space, without its dark chamber of lattice tiles, it looked out of place. She had trouble even recognizing it as the same Object that she and John had encountered.

Just then, Lina Thigpen, who was operating the Gate, engaged the large blue Eye of Horus button and it sprang to life. Impressed, Kathy and Gus watched as the crystalline oval ring lit up like a beacon. Manfredi felt a sudden tingle in his breast, reminded of the Ankh symbol the Gate looked like in its entirety. The event horizon that pulsed into existence immediately presented its eye. To Kathy, it looked like the eye of some wonderful beast or bird, and it seemed to look straight at her. Transfixed, she walked to her right and the eye seemed to follow her. Gus also saw the eye, but instead of a beast or bird, he saw the Eye of Horus.

The chimp, Marcia, was startled and uttered some howls, while her trainer, the young man, tried to restrain her.

"You're good to go, Gary," said Lina.

Now Gary Mullens came forward, and standing near the Gate ramp with a remote control, sent one of his robots up the ramp and through the Gate. Kathy held her breath as she saw the robot disappear. He monitored his robot's progress on the other side with a small screen he had hooked up to his remote. The robot was still relaying pictures and audio of this new chamber with its camera.

" _Sticky_ 's giving a good signal now," said Gary. "The remote's still working – at least for now. I think we've finally ironed out the bugs in the...No, it's down again. Damn!...No, it's up again!"

"It's gotta be interference from the event horizon," piped up Alyssa through the Gate room intercom.

"Maybe." Turning from his remote, Gary suddenly saw Kathy and Gus, and smiled. "Hey, look who's here!"

At the appearance of Kathy, almost everyone in the Gate room stopped what they were doing and came over to greet her and Manfredi. Most had not seen her since before the incident at Joshua Tree. For a time the lab was awash with their chatter and laughter as Kathy became re-acquainted with her work mates. Knowing that she had recently suffered the loss of John, they were guarded in their comments about her absence, and even less inclined to explain why they hadn't visited her at the hospital. Kathy understood all this implicitly, and took their reticence with good grace. Both she and Gus were particularly interested in what they had discovered about the Gate so far, and pumped them all for information.

"Well, check it out," said Gary, enthusiastically showing them his monitor feed from _Sticky Beak_ the robot, who was still in the chamber on the other side of the Gate.

"What chamber is that?" asked Kathy, watching the feed, which showed a darkened space lit by the robot's light.

"It's the New York chamber, right beneath the Catskills."

"Can you get the robot to show us the shape of the chamber and what's in it?" asked Manfredi. He was excited at the prospect of seeing an intact chamber. It felt to him like they were breaking into a sealed tomb in the Valley of the Kings, the first to uncover its riches.

" _Sticky_ , its name is _Sticky_ – or _Sticky Beak_ ," said Gary, fussily.

"Uh, sorry. _Sticky_..." Gus was amused.

Placated, Gary turned back to the screen and began manipulating _Sticky_ 's light beam so that it showed a wider arc of light, revealing more of the chamber. "It's circular, roughly fifty feet in diameter. About ten feet in height. As you can see..." he trained the light on the centre of the chamber, where another Gate stood, "the Gate is in the centre...

"This is interesting..." He sent the robot over to an object near the wall. Kathy and Gus watched the display as it showed what looked to be a type of bench or platform.

"What is it?" asked Kathy.

"It seems to be a bench, or a bed, I'm not sure. There are four of them spread around the chamber. Apart from them and the Gate, the chamber is almost featureless. There is one other thing, however..."

He sent _Sticky_ over to another part of the room. Shining the light downwards, they saw the lattice tile pattern giving way to a large circular disc embedded in the floor. It was shiny, almost translucent, seemingly made of some hard crystalline material not unlike the Gate's oval ring.

"Ah, the disc!" Gus exclaimed.

"You know about it?" asked Gary, surprised.

"We found parts of one like that in the Joshua Tree chamber. We wondered what it was for. The same with the benches."

Seeing the disc in place gave Kathy an idea. "It looks like something you'd stand on, doesn't it?"

"Yes!" said Gary emphatically. Now it was his turn to get excited. He looked over at Cal Bradbury, who had been listening to their conversation. "Like some transporter device!" Star Trek visions danced in his head. "Beam me up, Scotty!"

"Maybe it's short range?" suggested Cal, coming forward and sharing in Gary's enthusiasm. "But what would control it?"

"The Gate controls?" rejoined Gary.

"I don't think so. I imagine some kind of hand held device..."

Gary and Cal continued theorizing, enthusiastically throwing up crazy ideas and having fun with them. They were oblivious now of Kathy and Gus beside them...

At Gary's mention of a 'hand held device', Gus stood there astonished, his mind conjuring its own line of thought. His hand reached up to the ankh he wore attached to a leather lanyard and hidden beneath his shirt. Taken from his hidden inventory, it was another breach of professional ethics, but he was beyond caring. Now he wondered. _Was that the controller? Was it the way up to the surface?_ There had been no sign of a door in this New York chamber, nor the one at Joshua Tree. Perhaps this ankh was the mechanism by which the surface was gained. If the Gate technology enabled teleportation between Gates, then perhaps it also allowed for it to the surface. It was an intriguing notion.

Attracted by the chimp, Kathy went over to speak to Dr Farside. Seeing Professor Feynman, dressed in his white lab coat as usual, Manfredi headed in his direction.

"Ah, Manfredi, I hope our little set-up here meets with your approval?" said Feynman, changing direction to intersect with Gus, who chafed at his typically condescending tone.

"Yes, of course. Thank you for letting me see it. It's wonderful. You've done a great job." Gus was genuinely effusive. He appreciated the privilege Feynman had granted him in allowing him to see the Gate and the Gate crew in action. Although, he couldn't help wondering when he would get the chance to investigate it further for himself.

"Yes..." Feynman deflected the compliment coolly and got straight to business. "I've been meaning to talk to you – about your reports from the Joshua Tree site."

"Oh? What about them?" Gus felt a twinge of guilt. He still had not reported the existence of the ankhs they had found. He wondered if he had been uncovered.

"You weren't very up-front about it, were you...?"

Gus didn't know what to say. He gulped and looked quizzically at him.

"I mean that damn disc thing you found. It's almost hidden in the manifest, along with all those drearily tagged and numbered tiles you collected."

"Oh," said Gus, relieved. "I did mention it in the Executive Summary," he offered innocently.

"Yes, but it barely rated a mention! I missed it the first time. And then Mullens here discovered its partner intact in the New York chamber. A heads-up would have been helpful!"

"I'm sorry. You're right, I should have given it greater prominence."

It occurred to Manfredi that perhaps he should come clean now about the ankhs. Whatever security concerns and childishly unprofessional urge he'd had to keep them from Feynman had dissipated now, leaving him with a sense of contrition. And he already had an alibi worked out for the time lag between discovering and reporting them. He decided to try it out on Feynman now.

"There's something else I need to tell you about, Gerry," he began. "It's pretty urgent and I've only just found out about it..."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it is," Feynman interrupted him. "But we have some important experiments to run here. So, if you don't mind..."

Gus was taken aback by the brusque dismissal, which seemed ruder than usual for Feynman. He had a mind to leave immediately, but a sense of duty caused him to remain. The information about the ankhs was too important to maintain this spiteful charade he'd set in motion. The guilt of it was beginning to weigh on him.

"But listen, there's something you have to know," he began, but again he was cut off.

"Look," Feynman continued doggedly, "if it's about your request for lab time with the Gate, I'm afraid it'll have to wait, Gus – again. I know I promised you a look when you rang me from Joshua Tree, but I'm sorry I just can't help that. I'm thinking when we've established we can get people to go through the Gates we might be able to give you another look. You could perhaps check out the chambers on the other side then, hmm? Would you like that?"

By the end, Feynman had adopted a placating tone, but it was all to no avail. Manfredi was furious with him. He decided, in the face of such breathtaking bad manners, the news about the ankhs could wait. Feynman only had himself to blame.

Without saying a word, Gus turned around and headed for the control room door.

"Do I take that as a 'no' then?" Feynman said facetiously behind him.

Gus looked back briefly to wave goodbye to Kathy, who was busy helping to calibrate one of her microscope sensors. He gave a thin smile at that: she was already looking like one of the team.

Giving the Gate one final glance, he happened to reach up to the ankh hidden beneath his shirt and noticed a slight tingling feeling about it. He realized it had been there all along, ever since the Gate had been activated. Intrigued – and making sure no one was looking – he reached in and partially brought it out.

He gasped as he saw that one side of the ankh was emitting a dull yellow glow now. It came from a number of the same type of glyph symbols that were on the interface panel. There was a symbol on both ends of the horizontal part of the T, with a further symbol at its centre. Below that, at the end of the vertical, was another symbol.

At first he didn't know what to make of it. Then he realized that he must have been correct about Gary's idea of the teleportation disc. It had required a controller device. He looked down at the ankh, the thing glowing with its mysterious symbols in his hand...

It was the controller. It had to be!

"Hey, what's that?"

The sudden presence of Alyssa Feynman and her suspicious, accusatory question startled Gus, who had no time to put the ankh away out of sight.

"Um, uh," he stammered.

The jig was up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

It had been a long session, but now most of Team One had departed the Gate room. Cal Bradbury and his technicians had set up the last of the sensitive scanning devices needed for the next shift, but Cal had remained to help Gary with his work. Doctor Farside had finished giving Marcia the tour of the facility and was confident the chimp under her charge was ready for the challenges ahead. Having been satisfied that her own crystal sensors were in place and ready to go, Kathy Rodriguez gave the four remaining team members a farewell and left them to it.

"She seems to have bounced back from what happened at Joshua Tree," said Gary to Cal Bradbury as they watched Kathy depart.

"I wouldn't bet on it," said Cal.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," agreed Gary.

"It takes time."

" _Hey, could you people wrap this up soon?"_

This was Alyssa Feynman speaking through the intercom in the control room. A constant presence was required in the control room during lab research, and as project co-ordinator, Alyssa was often there working the consoles and making sure research timetables and bookings were kept. The truth be told, she was bored and starting to lose patience with Yang and Lina, whose tests seemed to be leading nowhere. She would prefer to be with her father, who was busy grilling Gus Manfredi about the ankhs he had kept from him, and which she had uncovered. She smiled at the memory of it.

"I guess it's back to the lab," said Gary, checking the robot _Nosey Parker_ 's sensors.

"On the slab," added Cal, preparing _Sticky Beak_ for another run.

The two robots had pulled double duty going through the Tesla Gate and exploring the Gates on the other side. They had faithfully relayed back all that they could discover about them. Cal and Gary had been kept busy seeing to their maintenance. Now Lina and Yang Lee were using them to help test their theories about the final six glyphs on the interface panel. They had carried out a number of tests using combinations of the final glyphs with the co-ordinate glyphs. Each time they hit the entry button a definite response was recorded in the Gate, indicating something had worked. When they sent _Nosey_ or _Sticky_ through the Gate, however, no real change seemed to have occurred. The robots simply spewed out atmosphere, video and field data consistent with what they already knew about the chamber.

"I don't get it!" said Lina, looking at the glyphs on the Gate in frustration. "They're supposed to do something, but what?"

"We'll just have to keep trying," said Yang patiently. "No need to get frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated!" said Lina.

Watching the exchange, Cal and Gary looked at each other and grinned.

"I think what we need now is a new frame of reference," said Yang.

"How do we get that?"

"Well, we've been sending the robots through to check on conditions on the other side _after_ we engage the last glyphs. It's time we sent one in _before_ \- I mean leave it in there and see what happens. Basically, a control robot."

"A control robot!" shouted Gary, excited. "Oh, that's so simple I should've thought of it for you, Dorothy!"

Catching the Wizard of Oz reference, Yang laughed. "And I should've felt it in my heart! Shall we try it?"

This time they met with more impressive, although alarming results. The control robot – namely, _Nosey Parker_ \- was sent through without the final glyphs being engaged. Then one of the final red glyphs was engaged and Cal immediately lost his video feed to _Nosey_. The same thing happened to the remote controlling the robot on the other side. _Nosey_ was effectively stranded in the New York chamber.

"Well, that can't be good!" said Cal looking dejectedly at his remote. "Are you sure you sent _Nosey_ through to the right chamber?"

"It was definitely reading New York before it cut out," said Gary, watching his U-GPS readouts from his booth nearby.

"Okay, let me think," said Lina, trying to work out the situation. She could feel an excitement building. Whatever this was it was new, it was a result.

"All right, let's just send _Sticky_ through now with the red glyph engaged and see what happens," she said finally.

They sent _Sticky Beak_ through. The footage they received back from _Sticky_ clearly showed _Nosey Parker_ , the control robot, was gone.

"Are we reading New York for this one?" asked Cal.

"New York, same as the other one," confirmed Gary.

"Awesome!" said Lina. Turning to Yang, she said, "What do you think happened to it, what did that glyph do?"

"I don't know," Yang admitted. "Both robots seem to be inhabiting separate space/time realities in the New York chamber. Could it have created an alternate dimension?"

They stood there considering Yang's words. Gary and Cal looked at each other and smiled. Like Kathy, both were fans of the idea of multiple dimensions. It was another awesome theory from science fiction coming to life before their very eyes.

" _You've got ten more minutes before Team Three have their spot,"_ Alyssa's voice from the control room inappropriately interrupted their deep reverie.

"Damn. Nearly done," responded Lina.

Lina sighed. She was beginning to feel frustrated again, but this time for opposite reasons. Just as they were making progress, they had to stop. She couldn't wait to come back and continue their tests.

"But what about _Nosey_?" asked Cal, concerned at the thought of his precious robot being lost.

Coming out of her reverie, Lina said, "We'll bring _Sticky_ back here then re-engage the Gate without the last glyph. That should re-activate _Nosey_. If not, then we'll send _Sticky_ through." She was beginning to get a feel for the way the Gate operated. She reasoned that by repeating the sequence they used to send _Nosey_ through they would gain a result.

When they did as Lina instructed, sure enough, the readout revealed the errant robot waiting in the New York chamber. Cal worked his remote control to rescue it from its predicament.

With that done, they parked the two robots safely in their bays and began to exit the Gate room. Feeling a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie about the session, Gary suggested they all retire to a pub in town, but Yang and Lina begged off.

"S'okay," said Cal, putting a fatherly arm around Gary. "I'll join you, my friend!"

They all entered the control room just as the first members of the third shift appeared. For some minutes greetings were exchanged and lab coats were replaced with street attire.

Before they departed, Cal stared out the window at the Gate and said to Gary, "You know, it has to be said. This Gate sort of reminds me of the Gate on that TV show – you know the one I mean."

"Yeah, I do," assented Gary. "With those stupid 'chevrons' and that clunky turning mechanism."

"Pretty hokey," Cal laughed. "Ours is so much better, since it doesn't have any moving parts."

"And let's not forget – that cool oval shape and that vein-y eye," added Gary, enjoying their pop culture rap. "And what's with all them military dudes having control over it all the time? Why should they have all the fun?"

"Yep," agreed Cal warmly. "It's not even an original concept. They did something similar way back on Star Trek TOS."

"The Original Series?"

"Of course. That episode called _City on the Edge of Forever_."

"I remember. A classic...!"

Yang, who was waiting for Lina, smiled as he listened to their banter trail off as they left the room. He knew well the Star Trek episode Cal had mentioned. But as he recalled, the gate they had featured on it involved...

He stopped in mid-stride and looked back at the Gate through the control room window. He suddenly realized something. His eyes grew wide, almost coming out of his head. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"

"What is it?" asked Lina, concerned. He seemed upset.

Standing nearby, Alyssa listened intently, wondering what was going on.

"No way, no way!" Yang looked at Lina and seemed to come to his senses. "No way, I've forgot the wife's birthday! She'll kill me!"

"Oh!" Lina laughed, it was far less serious than she thought.

"Hey, don't laugh: this is serious!" said Yang, offended.

"I'll bet it is!" She still found it funny.

"You don't know my wife!"

They left the control room together, with Yang still in his frantic state.

Yang had realized it the moment he thought of that Star Trek episode. It had featured a gate that involved _time travel_.

Once he had made that connection he thought of the last glyphs they'd been working on, and immediately understood what they were...time co-ordinates. Of course, he could have been completely wrong, letting his love for old science fiction concepts get the better of him, but he had a feeling he wasn't. It explained everything, including why _Sticky Beak_ had not encountered its partner in the New York chamber – by engaging one of the red glyphs _they had sent it somewhere else in time_.

He couldn't wait to get Lina away from the prying ears of Alyssa, who he knew reported everything back to her father and the Institute's security people. He was glad he'd had the presence of mind at the time to fake being upset at forgetting his wife's birthday.

They had only just passed the security gate when he burst out with it.

"Are you sure?" she asked, still skeptical. She lit up a _herbie_ and opened her window.

"Well, not a hundred percent. But I'm telling you it feels right." He frowned at her for a moment and indicated the cigarette. "Do you have to do that in my car?"

"Ah, sorry man, I wasn't thinking." She held it out the window. "Do you want me to get rid of it?"

"It's all right. Finish it."

"Thanks. All right, let's assume you're right: what then? When do we tell Feynman?"

Yang became tentative. "Uh, I don't think we do, yet."

"We don't?" Lina was surprised. "Why not?"

Before he responded, Yang recalled a conversation he'd had with Professor Feynman in the control room during the session. He had presented his report outlining his theory about the Gates being driven by quantum autonomy and dark energy, and Feynman had rejected it out of hand. "This is at best a ridiculous zero-sum proposition, Yang," he had said. "Your Bayesian guesswork is steering you very wrong this time." And then Feynman had dismissed him in his usual arrogant way, leaving Yang to join Lina in the Gate room, a flustered and distracted man...

"Because it's just a theory for now," Yang responded. "I don't want to tell him until we have solid evidence. Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah, I guess so," she said doubtfully. "But wouldn't you call that disappearing robot solid evidence?"

"It's not bad, but I need more."

By force of habit Lina passed the joint over to Yang. To her surprise, he took it. She watched as he took an experimental drag. "Hold it in," she advised him. "There you go." He nonchalantly handed it back to her.

They sat there together, laughing and thinking over the possibilities.

"Think about it: time travel!" said Lina.

"I know!" said Yang.

The idea was still sinking in, but he already had a notion of what was to come. The discovery of time travel would be treated as the complete paradigm shift that it was. There would be panic, and chaos, and surely there would be a power struggle to control it. He gulped when he thought about it, his head fairly swimming with the possibilities – or perhaps that was just the marijuana stick beginning to take hold.

Still excited about his discovery, Yang stopped at a traffic light. "There's another reason I don't want to tell Feynman yet."

"Because he'll have to report it to Wharton, and he'll be expected to pass it on to the government?"

"Right."

"And what they don't know won't hurt them?"

"Something like that. It's probably just me being totally selfish about the Gate and the Institute, and paranoid about the government. But I just don't trust them. And I want more time to study this - before it gets taken away."

The lights turned green. He pressed on the accelerator and drove off.

END OF PART ONE
PART TWO:

THE TIMEGATE

CHAPTER ONE

All the appropriate tests and safety checks had been made. _Sticky Beak_ and _Nosey Parker_ had been thoroughly checked for structural damage and their molecular breakdown examined. They were found to be okay. The two rabbits, Woody and Jean Luc, had been sent in and brought back and were also doing fine. Marcia the chimp was a very unwilling test subject, but once she was strapped to her seat on the robot she seemed to be resigned to the inevitable. She returned from her trip through the Gate seemingly in fine health. She related to her trainer through sign that the temperature had been quite comfortable on the other side. This itself was a good sign: it appeared all her faculties were intact. Later tests on her physiology, including x-ray, cat scan and blood work all gave her a complete bill of good health. All that could be done had been done. It was time to send a human through. Question was: who?

Feynman herded the unmarried members of his team who were without children into the Gate room, where the Gate stood, a mute judge and sentinel over them. He gave them a brief talk about the possible dangers they would be facing, then asked for a volunteer.

During the talk, Lina Thigpen – who, being unmarried and without children, was of course present - had time to think the situation over. She had been tempted to go through the Gate event horizon from the moment she first stood in front of its glowing light. There was something mesmerizing about it, as if it beckoned her to enter. The sensible experimental physicist in her, however, saw the stupidity of doing so without the proper tests being performed. But now that they knew there was a seemingly safe destination on the other side, and the Gate had been as thoroughly tested for safety as it could be, she felt few qualms about volunteering. There was also the question of the time travel glyphs that she and Yang had just discovered. She figured, the sooner they started getting people going through the Gate, the sooner they would be able to test the glyphs.

Feynman's talk finished, and there was a breathless pause, then...

"I'll do it," said Lina.

"Thank you, Lina. I think we all appreciate it," said Feynman sincerely.

The others clapped, and some patted Lina on the back, offering support.

After the meeting, Professor Feynman took Lina aside into the control room. He sat her down at his usual workstation and looked warmly into her eyes.

"I'm proud of you, Lina. You're a credit to the Institute."

"Thanks Prof." Lina glowed at the compliment, but wondered uncomfortably what Feynman was going to say next.

"Now, are you sure you want to do this? No one will think any the worse of you if you back out, you know."

"Yeah, I really wanna go. I want to see the other side of that thing." Lina felt there was something more to his questioning. "Why, what's up?"

"Uh, nothing." For a moment Feynman looked to Lina like he had a mind to say something else, but instead said, "No qualms about what might happen going through it?"

"A little bit. But that's normal though, isn't it?"

"Yep," said the professor. "You'd be a fool not to feel a little scared."

There was a pause wherein Feynman almost looked embarrassed. So far, Lina thought, the talk sounded like last will and testament.

"I don't mean to worry you, Lina," continued Feynman, "but I am obliged to advise you to get your business in order over the next few days. You know, just in case."

" _My business in order?_ Wow, that's heavy!"

"I know. It's not as bad as it sounds," added Feynman quickly. "It's just a formality, a precaution. Oh, and Ms Winslow wants you up stairs. There are some papers for you to accept."

Lina left him and made her way above ground to Ms Winslow's office. She was an officious little secretary who, when Lina got there, coolly proffered her a form indemnifying the Institute in case of her death or injury.

The magnitude of what she was going to do was beginning to sink in. _Definitely, last will and testament._

The night before the mission, Lina was lying in bed with her new partner. They had just made love, and Lina was enjoying the sensation of her shoulders being massaged by her lover, her breasts brushing against her lower back as she did so. The room was dark, except for some fragrant candles they had lit.

"You seem to be in a pensive mood tonight," said the partner, kneading her shoulder blades.

"Maybe I've got a lot on my mind," said Lina. She turned over and smiled up at her.

"Smart-ass," said the partner.

Lina ran her fingers through her partner's blonde hair, and they kissed.

"Trouble with the Gate?"

"Mmm, let's just say new developments."

"Intriguing. Care to share?"

"I know it's kind of your job, but can you keep a secret, Marianne?"

Marianne Schuba, Lina's new lover, laughed, and said, "Yes, and everyone else's too!"

...They had met for the first time in the control room, during the tour with Wharton. Or at least that was the first time for Lina. Marianne had been admiring her from afar a little longer than that. Later, Lina was doing an aerobics workout in one of the Institute's gymnasiums. It was one of the less busy gyms, which is why she liked it. She had the floor to herself and was doing her routines to a selection of favorite rnb divas, including Beyonce and Wynter Gordon. Suddenly the door opened and Marianne was there.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked. She was wearing a black leotard and had a towel draped over her shoulder.

"No, that's fine," said Lina in mid-step.

So they did the routine together, and it was during the Wynter Gordon song in particular, amidst the sweat and the music, that Lina felt a definite _frisson_ of excitement and connection with her...

"...What is it?" said Marianne, still hanging on Lina's secret.

Lina told her about volunteering to go through the Gate. It was not a big secret \- especially since Marianne, as Security Director, was privvy already to many of the Institute's secrets, including the Gate. But she didn't know about this latest development, and her emotional response surprised Lina.

"What on Earth were you thinking, Lina?" Marianne scolded her. "Do you have a deathwish or something?" She looked up at the ceiling. There was a diorama of the solar system swinging from it.

"No. There's been enough tests, I think it's safe. I just want to do it. It'll be like using the transporter on Star Trek."

"You and your Star Trek!"

"Hey, you like it too, geek girl."

"Yes, but on that they understand the science behind what they're using, even if it's made up; you don't with the Gate. And it's real."

"You're right, we don't understand the science. But the only way to learn about it is to use it, see what it can do."

"And what if what it does is scatter your particles throughout the universe and doesn't put them back again?"

"I guess you'll have a hard time finding me again." She smiled at her.

"Like the dark matter, like a light beam in a black hole!" Marianne gave her an affectionate push.

"Physics metaphors?"

"No, they were similes, stupid." She pushed her again. "All right, let's say it works and you find yourself on the other side, in that other chamber. How do you get back?"

"I've been instructed to do a quick scan of the chamber and then return through the Gate immediately. It will still be on all the time I'm there; and it's two-way, so I can come back at any time."

"What if it turns off while you're there?"

"Me and Yang have been working on the Gate's operation. It's pretty simple really. We know enough that I should be able to operate the Gate myself if I have to. If all else fails, they could dig me out."

"You're being sent to the one in New York, aren't you?"

"Yeah, it's in the Catskills, near the town of Monticello."

"Monticello?" said Marianne, intrigued. "That's not Thomas Jefferson country, is it?"

"No, that's Virginia. But if I happen to run into him I'll say hi!"

"It's not funny, Lina. You could die tomorrow." She held her tight.

"Or not. Gary calculates there's only about a one point two percent chance of that."

"Have you finished, you know-?"

"Sorting out my business?" she finished it for her. "Yeah, my meager savings and possessions are safely willed away to mama and my brothers. And I've instructed Yang to cancel my internet accounts should anything go wrong, blah blah blah."

They lay there for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought. A police siren went by on the street down below.

Lina thought about a bus trip she had once taken with her mama when she was a girl. They had just been to Santa Monica, where she saw the ocean for the first time, and were now on their way to Disneyland. She had waved as the bus made its way past the familiar sight of Compton, as if acknowledging all the friends and people she knew there. Although she couldn't see it from the bus, she gave a special silent prayer to the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial at the Civic Center on Compton Boulevard. Her very devout mama had always said he was a great man.

"Look mama, there's home!"

She turned and looked up at her mama, a neat woman wearing a floral dress and a black hat, and felt vast waves of love for her.

The bus driver had been keeping up a running commentary on the interesting places along the route, and now his voice boomed out again on the microphone set attached to his head.

"Ah people, if you will look to the estate on your left, let me tell you people, that's a really bad neighborhood over there. If you were to be dropped into the middle of that place, you probably wouldn't make it out alive."

Some of the passengers oohed and aaahed at the thought of such approximate danger. Little Lina, whose kindly thoughts had been directed to that place, just wondered why the bus driver was talking trash about her hometown like that. His words disturbed and confused her and set off a sudden cascade of thoughts and emotions. She asked her mama, but mama just shushed her and seemed embarrassed by the whole thing. Later, amidst the happiness of Disneyland, she thought of that bus driver's comments. Those racist, ignorant words (he was, of course, a white man) had gnawed at her memory, planting a seed of dissatisfaction in there. She wished he had never said those words. They made her unhappy for the first time on this happy day. They made her think her hometown was a bad place...

She chose not to bore Marianne with these maudlin thoughts. Instead, she stared fondly at her and wondered if maybe she was the Great Blonde Beauty of her dreams. The racial thing disturbed her slightly, but she knew deep down it was what she needed. She suspected the answer - with respect to Marianne being the woman of her dreams - was probably no, but she knew she would defintely do for now. In any case, the mission tomorrow could make that thought moot. She said, "Did you know black holes are probably incubators for new universes?"

"Yes," Marianne looked at her, unsurprised. "If you equate big bang singularities with black hole singularities."

"Whoa, that's hot!" She kissed her.

"Ooh, talk dirty to me!"

"Slut!"

"Whore!"

Lina presently let go of her fears about tomorrow. She wondered what it would be like to have her atoms scattered throughout the universe.

And the dark matter did not come between them even once.
CHAPTER TWO

Eli Weinstein, the President's Science Advisor and Director of the OSTP, describes himself as a scientist and a bureaucrat, and mostly in that order. He graduated from M.I.T. in 1976 with a degree in electrical engineering and computer science. From there he was recruited into the Intel company, where he was in the perfect position to take advantage of and help develop the burgeoning home computer industry. Promotions followed to the point where he became Chairman of the company in 1993. His role on various industry boards and his close contacts within the government brought him to the attention of its inner circle. He was appointed director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy in 2007. An active campaigner and respected spokesperson for science and scientific endeavors, he is often called upon by the media to explain scientific concepts and trends.

\- Promotional literature from a 2009 science seminar.

"The place has changed a bit since last time I was here," said Eli Weinstein to Stephen Wharton as they strolled towards the Scherff Center. It was a crisp morning in the San Bernadino Mountains and the frost still lay lightly on the grassy lawn they walked upon. Weinstein was more heavily set and not as tall as Wharton. He was bald with just a horseshoe of hair, and he had an open, honest face.

"How so?" asked Wharton.

"Looks less like Fort Knox!" He laughed, looking around him. He remembered razor wire on the fences, and more guards.

They came up to the atomic fountain. "This wasn't here before. I like it, very retro."

"It was designed and built by some of our Engineering students."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

They stopped for a moment while Weinstein held his hand out for the fountain's spray. It occurred to him that the fountain design was so retro it was about seventy years out of date. He declined to mention it to Stephen.

"How do you like the Directorship?" asked Weinstein.

"It has its moments," said Wharton, sensing what was coming next.

"It's interesting that you're now the Director of this place, like your father before you. I seem to recall you wouldn't be caught dead here back in the day."

"What can I say? Time heals all wounds, or something like that," said Wharton, not wanting to rehash old history.

"Yes, something like that," said Weinstein, deciding to drop the personal line of questioning. He hadn't really come to talk about old times between them. The present situation was much more pressing.

They walked on towards the entrance.

"And it waits for no one. Your report on the Gate has spurred up a lot of interest in Washington. The only concern we have is why it took so long for you to let us know about it."

"We were just being scientifically thorough." Wharton tried not to sound defensive. "We weren't sure what we had at first."

"Of course. It must have been exciting."

"It was. It still is," said Wharton, leading him in to the building. "And you're just in time to see us send someone through the Gate."

"Wow, it's getting crowded in here!"

Lina looked over at the amount of people who had come to the lab to see her take her first trip through the Gate. Everyone on Feynman's research team was there, including Stephen Wharton, Alan Waterman, Marianne Schuba and a few others she didn't know who had clearance to be there. One person she did know – from seeing him on television: Eli Weinstein. He had already wished her good luck and shook her hand. Lina had thought to herself at the time: The President's Science Advisor's here. Now I am feeling nervous!

She was outfitted in a thin, heavily insulated one-piece suit, and carried an oxygen tank and mask. She looked like a scuba diver, without the flippers. She was wired up for video, communications, heart rate and respiratory readings that would be fed back directly to the lab monitors via wireless connections.

Lina felt stupid in her get-up, which seemed like overkill to her. Although the robots had detected an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere on the other side, they weren't taking any chances.

Gary Mullens checked her suit for a final time, then shook her hand.

"It's been a pleasure knowing you!"

"Thanks, very encouraging," said Lina.

As Gary walked away he pointed at Lina and said, "Lab". Lina replied, "Slab", pointing back at him. After weeks the team members had refined their routine, meant for good luck, down to this contraction.

Gerard Feynman came up to her and also shook her hand.

"I think we're all ready now. Good luck." He tried not to convey the impression that he was leading Lina to her doom.

He turned around and faced the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin."

He signaled at Yang, who was standing by the Gate. He touched the button and the Gate powered up, the event horizon glowing in front of them. Some of the guests in the crowd, who hadn't seen that before, gasped.

Feynman looked at Lina and said, "Ready?"

She nodded, then walked towards the Gate.

As she approached the event horizon, Lina held her breath and closed her eyes. She thought of Marianne, then stepped through.

For a moment her atoms were scattered to the universe.

Then, in another moment, they reassembled and she was standing on the other side of the Gate. It was an extraordinary feeling: her heart was thumping, her pulse was racing.

Getting her bearings, she relayed a message back to the lab via her headset. In her best NASA launchpad voice she said, "This is Thigpen to Tesla Base. I've made it, and I'm fine, people."

In her headset she could hear the cheering.

" _What's the oxygen level like over there?"_ It was Feynman.

She breathed in deep and felt nothing but pure oxygen and nitrogen.

"It's fine," said Lina. "I don't know how it's here, but it's all right."

" _It may be residual,"_ said another voice. It was Yang. _"Keep checking it."_

"Will do," said Lina.

" _What about temperature?"_ asked Yang. _"Has it changed at all?"_

"No, it's still a bit chilly in here," said Lina.

" _All right, do a reconnaissance and inform us of anything unusual,"_ said Feynman. _"Otherwise, report back in five minutes and come back through."_

"Will do," said Lina again.

She turned on her torch and looked around the chamber. What she saw was pretty much what the robots, _Sticky Beak_ and _Nosey Parker_ , had faithfully relayed before. It was roughly spheroid, about fifty feet in diameter. The roof was about five feet above her. Looking back at the Gate, which was in the middle of the room, she could see that this room's Gate was partly sunk below the floor. There was no ramp, only the lattice floor tiles leading up to the event horizon.

Lina walked around to the side of the Gate and confirmed that it too had the interface glyphs there as well.

Moving back around to the other side, she stared intently at the ground. It was the round plate on the floor. She could see it was about two feet in diameter. She bent down to touch it. It was smooth and crystalline. She shined her torch at the wall nearby. It had two glyphs on it, side by side. She was surprised. Neither of the robots had picked this up.

"Uh, Tesla Base. I've found some more of that writing in here. It's on the walls."

" _Acknowledged, Lina, we can see it,"_ said Yang through the headset _. "Can you tell if they do anything – are they more buttons or are they just descriptive?"_

"Yeah, 'Welcome to Monticello Gate Station'", murmured Lina.

" _What was that?"_ asked Yang.

"Uh, nothing. Look, I can't tell unless I touch them. And who knows what will happen? Do you want me to try?"

There was a pause, and then Feynman's voice was heard _: "Only if you're comfortable with it, Lina. You're authorized to push some buttons, but we'll leave it to your discretion."_

Lina exhaled deeply. "My call," she said. She pushed one of the buttons.

She looked around for some type of effect, but, for a moment, the chamber remained dark and silent. Then she thought she suddenly heard a noise and saw something move within that darkness. It was a shape, a blur - a presence within the chamber other than herself. She gasped.

" _What is it?"_ asked Yang in her ear, concerned.

"I think I – never mind."

She stopped talking as the chamber slowly lit up, giving off a muted, non-directional light. She surmised it was a result of the button she had pressed. She turned off her torch and looked around the room. It was only a light going on, but she gaped in wonder.

"Let there be light!" said Lina.

In the better lighting she could already see the benches by the walls. Or were they beds? She also detected the temperature inside the chamber suddenly getting warmer. The chill had gone from the air, and the room now felt comfortable. "I think the room's adjusted its temperature for me," said Lina. "It now looks and feels kinda cosy."

" _Yes, confirmed,"_ said Feynman, looking at his own displays on the other side. _"The temperature's risen by about ten degrees. Interesting. Anything else to report?"_

"Uh, no, nothing," said Lina absently.

She looked around for evidence of the strange form she thought she had seen, but there was nothing. It had unnerved her; but with the light, she was okay now. She shook her head in embarrassment at her reaction. It had definitely been a little spooky inside the chamber, but what was she - a child afraid of the dark? She looked at the floor and noticed the latticed tiles seemed to be giving off a glow. They were in various shades of earth, the patterns irregular, sometimes triangular, sometimes shaped like bricks. "I think it's coming from the tiles!" She bent down to touch a floor tile, and found it slightly warm. "Probably the heat too."

She looked around the room. It seemed so alien. The cocoon-like shape of it, the strange benches, the opaque, prismatic glow of the room, and most of all, the crystal Gate in the middle, it all bespoke a civilization far beyond any that she knew. A growing realization began to form in her mind, a thought that she could not deny. Although the context made it corny, it felt like an epiphany.

" _It's five minutes, Lina. Time to come back,"_ said Feynman. _"How's your breathing?"_

"Still fine," said Lina absently, taking in a few breaths to confirm there was plenty of oxygen in the room. "I'm coming back, Tesla Base."

When she returned through the Gate, the people waiting in the lab burst out in spontaneous applause. It could have been Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins coming back from the Moon, so great was the sense of occasion.

"Well done!" Feynman was the first to greet her. He almost shook her hand again, but checked himself just in time. They had worked out a protocol not to contaminate, or be contaminated by, the returning Gate voyager until she had been given a thorough checkup. "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I, Prof!" said Lina.

Feynman turned to the waiting crowd again. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you don't mind, Lina won't have time for socializing right now as she has to go straight to the infirmary for her checkup. If you wish to stay and mingle, that's fine. If all goes well she should be back later to accept your congratulations and admiration. Thank you."

While the crowd laughed or murmured their disappointment, he quickly moved Lina to an adjoining door that led to the medical center.

It had been a long day, but it wasn't over. Lina faced a battery of tests to determine if the Gate had exerted any negative effects on her. First, however, there was time to get out of the stifling suit she'd had to wear and to shower. There was also time to reflect on what she had just done.

She sat on a shower bench, wet and naked as the day she was born. She sat next to the suit she had worn and shed, left in a neat pile. It would soon be recovered by staff and be subjected to a similarly rigid battery of tests to determine its viability.

Despite all her talk of aliens, she found she didn't believe it before; but now she realized they probably existed, and that we really weren't alone. She looked defeated and dejected. The knowledge that had come when the chamber lights had turned on had produced a profound shift in her consciousness. She began to wonder if the shape she had seen was simply a psychological manifestation, a premonition of that knowledge.
CHAPTER THREE

All through the drive back to his office on the main campus Stephen Wharton had waited patiently for some impression from Eli Weinstein about the Gate, and especially about the government's plans for it, but none had been forthcoming. Wharton sensed he was dealing now with Weinstein the bureaucrat, not his friend the scientist. He had kept his distance, keeping personal remarks to a minimum, interested only in the Gate. There had been no apparent thaw in his behavior towards him, not since their frosty first meeting at the campus that morning. Perhaps, Wharton surmised, he felt he needed to keep that distance in order to say what he had come here to say.

"Would you like a drink?" asked Wharton.

"Sure," replied Weinstein, sitting down on the offered couch.

They were now in Wharton's inner office on the main campus. It was furnished with a large desk, comfortable Director's chair and a pair of couches and a coffee table set up in a conference configuration. On the walls were various framed diplomas plus a large framed reproduction of Max Ernst's _The Forest_ , which Wharton enjoyed contemplating at times. On the desk were the usual family photos and stress-relieving devices including, incongruously, a slinky.

"I was surprised when you arrived and there was just you," said Wharton, handing him the drink.

"Expecting a full military convoy with entourage? Believe me, there was some pressure to bring a General or two with me." He laughed briefly, pointedly not mentioning where the pressure had come from. "But I insisted I meet you alone." He took a sip of the drink, a fine malt whiskey. He remembered it as a favorite of Stephen's back in the M.I.T. days.

"I appreciate that," said Wharton, sitting down opposite Weinstein. Looking at Weinstein toying awkwardly with his drink, and seeing no point in dragging it out any further, he simply asked, "Well, what did you think?"

"I think it's one thing to read reports on something," he began slowly, "it's another to witness it first hand – especially this Gate! I must confess I'm stunned. It's an astounding discovery, a real game-changer. It could revolutionize the way we think about everything, it opens the box on so many possibilities..." He put down his drink. "And the government's shit-scared of it. And it has to be shut down, Stephen, for now. If you don't, we will."

He stopped talking, giving Wharton a chance to respond.

"But why?" Wharton took a casual sip of his own drink. He didn't sound surprised, or pained even. He had already gone over in his head some of the possible reasons they would give for shutting it down and he was just curious to know which ones they would choose.

"Don't you see, now that it's confirmed people can go through, it creates a whole bunch of possibilities, yes, but also a whole bunch of problems. It would be different if the Gates were confined to just these ones here, but they're not."

"I take it you – or the administration – don't want to inform the countries that have Gates in them?"

"Not at the moment," said Weinstein. "It's not just the problem countries like Iran and China we would have trouble controlling that concern us. They are all interlinked. What you've told us about the Gate, there's no mechanism to stop traffic coming through from any other Gate, apart from severing them completely from their power source. Big problem."

"Not if every country sets up its own customs and importation security systems, like they have at airports," Wharton countered. "There's no reason why every Gate can't be appropriately regulated by its host country. Have you considered the real-world applications of the Gate?"

"Yes, I understand your point, Stephen: with the appropriate security measures put in place the Gates could be a sort of super-fast underground rail service. Gate stations all around the world. 'Wire grandma a ticket, it'll be the ride of her life'. It's a beautiful idea. 'Unite the world'. But there are other, as you say, 'real world' applications for it."

"You mean military."

"Yes, for one. It could be useful for covert operations and any number of activities the government would like to implement. But the key is in keeping it quiet, and keeping it with us."

Appalled, Wharton looked at his old friend. "Is any of this your own personal view, or are you speaking for the government now?"

He looked hurt. "I haven't stopped speaking for the government. Look," he softened, "if it was up to me, I'd give you complete freedom to continue working on the Gate program in any way you see fit. But that's not the position I'm in at the moment. I can't do it."

"How are you going to keep us quiet?" said Wharton.

"What?"

"You said before the key was in keeping the existence of the Gate quiet. I was wondering how you were going to do that."

"Well, Stephen," he began reluctantly, "you know any talk about the Gate to other countries would be considered an extreme act of national betrayal. We would firstly be relying on you and your research team to conduct themselves with discretion on this matter."

"Yes, they all had to sign statutory declarations that they would not reveal information. That's standard here. But my own spies tell me that already two members of Feynman's team have been freely discussing the Gate with others. And you saw the crowd in the lab this morning. Some of them aren't even involved in the research. That's a lot of people. What can you do with all of us if we decide to speak up? Murder, perhaps?"

"Come on Stephen, don't be so melodramatic," said Weinstein laughing nervously. "If it comes to that we can just take it off your hands and bury it, and all you'll have is what amounts to a conspiracy."

"But what about the other Gates?"

"What about them?"

Wharton walked over to a wall and pushed back a panel. It revealed a world map dotted with many colored pins. "We know the locations of every one of them; and although they'd be hard to find, they could be identified."

"Well yes, there is that," allowed Weinstein, feeling cornered. He rubbed his palms in his eyes. "That was probably a bad way to start."

"You think?" Wharton closed the panel and sat down again.

"The fact is, we need you on our side, Stephen. I need you on our side."

"Threats aren't the way to do it."

"No, I'm sorry I said that." He paused, thinking of how to get through to him. "Let me tell you the two things about that Gate that really scare the hell out of the government. The first one's that power source, harnessing geothermal energy the way it apparently does. Don't get me wrong, it's an amazing feat of science and engineering. We definitely should be investigating that and I'm sure we will in time. But we live in the real world here; and you, more than anyone, should understand the problems industry and the economy will have with that. The time just isn't right. Not yet."

"But we don't have to say that's how it's being powered. I don't have a problem with that if it means keeping the Gate going."

"Good. I know we don't have to say that. But once it starts being used, questions will inevitably be asked about what runs it. And we can't risk that."

"What was the other thing?" asked Wharton.

"The other thing is its apparent alien origins, of course. Some people are very uncomfortable with that."

"Do you believe it's an alien design?"

"I do. I had wondered at first if maybe it came from some secret government project. But the President and all the top people I've spoken to assure me it's not one of ours. And it's certainly not from the Russians. If it was just one Gate here and one in New York State we could possibly swing it as something we cooked up. But not with them all over the world and deep underground: that makes it a pretty hard sell."

"Doesn't the public have a right to know the truth?"

"Boy, what a leading question! How do I respond to that?"

"Honestly, I should hope," countered Wharton.

"Okay, honestly I'd ask what truth are we talking about here? The truth that 'aliens have been among us'? How do you think people of certain faiths, who have their own truth about 'God's chosen people', will receive that? What will they think when they find out we are not unique?"

"I don't know, Eli, maybe not happy. _I_ think the way organized religions have brainwashed populations for centuries is not my problem. In any case, why can't aliens be included in 'God's chosen people'? It's a big universe and I think it's time organized religions and those who follow them grew up and learned to play with the big kids."

"Okay. So do you want to be the one to break the big news to the public? You've made it pretty clear that ultimately we can't stop you from talking."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're a man of standing, Stephen, but do you think they'll believe it coming from you?"

"Uh." He paused, thinking it through.

"You see, even you are beginning to doubt your influence. There's only one person who should make the announcement that 'others' are out there, only one person the public will believe."

"The President?"

"Exactly. Anyone else will either be doubted, ridiculed or plain ignored."

"It could come from the media," said Wharton.

"God help us!" responded Eli.

"Or from you, speaking on behalf of the President."

"Possibly, but I'm not going to do that."

There was silence between them. Wharton poured himself another drink. He had made up his mind to co-operate - for now. He didn't really have a choice. Perhaps it would buy him some time.

"Another?" He held up the bottle.

"Please," said Weinstein, watching as his glass was refilled. "This all came at a damn inconvenient time. As you know, the Burton Government's in election mode at the moment and could be handing over the reins to either the Vice President or that Damien Tillburn and the Republicans in January. I'm not even sure of my own status, given as how I'll be the Science Advisor to the President of the old regime. My guess is Tillburn, if he gets in, will want his own man in my position and appoint a new science advisory team. So my own job's on the line. I'm hoping he'll at least see the sense in keeping me as the point man on this project. We'll see."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Wharton with some concern. "What's your impression of Tillburn? What can we expect from his administration, if he gets in?"

Eli smiled grimly. "They're Republicans, Stephen! And Tillburn's a hawkish one at that. So don't expect any favors..."

He took a long drink. Wharton looked discouraged.

Seeing that his talk was beginning to sink in to his friend, Eli pushed his advantage. "We're talking about a New World if you or your people can't keep a lid on this, Stephen, and I don't know if we're ready for it. The main issue at the moment is time: we – either Burton's or Tillburn's government – will need more time to consider our options. That's all we ask. Needless to say, the Institute will be compensated for this inconvenience, but it needs to be done...So what do I tell Washington?"

"All right Eli, you can tell the folks in Washington we won't resist the shut down. But I want something in return, and it's the same thing you want."

"Time?"

"Yes, a little more time. Just a few more loose ends to tie up here. We'd like to find out what the mechanism is for getting to the surface, and there are still some glyphs on the Gate's side that we haven't deciphered. We don't know what they do."

"Sounds fair enough." Weinstein lifted the glass to his lips. "I'll see what I can do. But you won't be able to hold off having a Washington presence on your project much longer. It's just a matter of time. You understand that, don't you?"

"That's all right. We expected it."

Weinstein exhaled a deep breath and seemed to relax. "Shall we drink to this?"

"Sure," said Wharton.

They clinked their glasses and drank. They looked at each other and knew an understanding had been reached between them. The first skirmish had been met and casualties were minimal – so far.

"Anyway, how are the grandchildren?" Weinstein asked indulgently.
CHAPTER FOUR

Kathy Rodriguez was the first person to get lab time on the Gate after Lina's passage through it. She was eager to discover more about its crystalline structure and to uncover its secrets.

Her first task was to finish the deep scans on the Gate's crystal frame. The special scanner she had set up was an electron microscope, which used a beam of accelerated electrons for illumination. Its shorter wavelength made it ideal for investigating crystal structures in high resolution. Kathy's special modification of the microscope could present that output in 3-D. She intended to use it while the Gate was turned on and the event horizon was in view. She hoped the microscope would penetrate the Gate's intense matrix and allow an accurate three-dimensional reading of what was going on while it was operating.

It was clearly an important experiment and Professor Feynman himself was in attendance to help Kathy undertake it. In fact, it was he who would be operating the Gate's interface panel for her.

"Are we ready, my lab-uh, Kathy?" He frowned. For some reason, he could not bring himself to refer to her as one of his lab rats. Perhaps because of what she had already been through, somehow, it did not fit.

"As ready as you are, sir," said Kathy, standing by her scanner.

With a whoosh of sound the Gate was engaged and the event horizon became visible. Kathy felt the now-familiar sensation of being penetrated by the sub-harmonic frequencies, like the woofer speaker back home blasting her during a dramatic moment in a movie. That moment always felt so personal, as though the Gate was possessing her, body and soul.

As she began making her observations she couldn't help wonder what she would find. She had been deeply intrigued by the news that the two robots, _Sticky Beak_ and _Nosey Parker_ , had somehow inhabited the same space within the New York Chamber. It conjured up thoughts of alternate dimensions, a theory that was being seriously considered throughout the wider scientific community. The existence of alternate universes would resolve many questions that physicists and cosmologists had about our own universe.

"All right, I've got enough plates of this stage, Professor," said Kathy. She looked over at Feynman and saw him absently fidgeting with his white coat. "Shall we move to the next stage?"

"Right you are," Feynman assented happily. He engaged one of the co-ordinate glyphs, and the tell-tale pulse went through the Gate.

He waved to Gary Mullens, who was on hand to send one of the robots through the event horizon, and the second stage of Kathy's tests began.

Later, Kathy was in her office poring over the plates of the many observations she had made. They were fascinating viewing – at least to someone like her, who was trained in reading them.

She fed the data from the resulting plates into a powerful computer that contained an interpretive modeling and feature detection program that rendered the images in colorized 3-D. This was then connected to a wraparound headset that projected the resulting display in dynamic moveable three dimensions. It was a setup that was based on the virtual world of computer gaming; but here it was being applied to lab work.

Placing the 3-D viewer on her head, she looked at the first plates she had taken – the ones done while the Gate was in relative repose, before the co-ordinate glyphs had been engaged. She was met with a delightful panorama of crystalline beauty, as though she was actually inside the Gate's matrix.

"Oh my!" she cooed as she studied the plate. It was breathtaking.

Even here she could clearly see the flaws were much more than the mere pinpoint inclusions that she had previously thought they were. As she turned her head the viewer responded to show her hundreds more of the supposed inclusions, stretching off into seeming infinity in a suspiciously regular pattern. Now she could see that they were a miniaturized technology – perhaps even nanotechnology - somehow embedded within the crystal. She could see that they were all connected by a wondrous mesh of veins that threaded intricately through the entire complex, like neurotransmitters and brain synapses.

"Mmm, maybe it really is a quantum computer!" she whispered to herself, reminded of her earlier speculation about the Gates.

Moving on to the next set of plates in the series – the ones that showed the Gate during its operation – she was astounded by what she saw. The Gate display suddenly came alive in a burst of colors of brilliant blue, red and yellow. Looking up and around at the panorama she gasped as she witnessed a dazzling light show of infinite variety. She felt a profound sense of intimacy with the display, as though the Gate itself was a sentient, living thing, trying to reach out and communicate with her.

It was difficult not to be overwhelmed by what she saw, but she managed to harness her rational faculties and began to try to make sense of the data. She detected subtle shifts within the colored membranes that held the structure together: ghostly connections, possible hints of other potential membranes (universes?) infinite in number. It was as though the crystal was throwing up fabulous aftertones of entangled vortices, multiple dimensions.

When Kathy moved on to the final plates she had made – those that showed one of the Gate's mysterious final six glyphs operating – this effect was multiplied exponentially. For a brief moment (which was as long as she could stand it) a light shot through her brain like a nuclear pulse, like a vision from God. Within that light she thought she glimpsed an infinity of possibilities, a vision that included, briefly, an image of John somewhere lost in time and space, but alive and real. It was a singular experience, but it was too dazzling, too disorientating for her senses to cope. Almost nauseated, she quickly removed the wraparound display set, grateful for the pallid reality of her office walls.

"What the hell!" she exclaimed, breathing hard.

At first she thought she might throw up, but the wave of nausea mercifully passed. It was worse than morning sickness.

Afterwards, she thought about that image of John that she had glimpsed in the final plate. Where had it come from? Was he somewhere connected with the Gates? Or was her obsession with the Gates - and John - simply getting out of hand, creating phantoms where none existed?

She looked at her computer screen and continued working on the report of her findings. It was titled _The Quantum Dimensional Dynamics of Gate Crystals_. It was full of dense soliton and Painleve equations, but there were certain passages where she indulged in some idle speculation...

There are unusual symmetries exhibited in the crystals at three dimensions. But activation increases these dimensions exponentially, so that by around seven or eight there are exceptional new structures. And by nine, perhaps...There are many possible structures, perhaps some dimensions that could give rise to, say, time travel.

Do the Gates navigate around these symmetries? Is it possible?Even time travel?

If it is, then perhaps they provide a solution to the usual single timeline paradoxes where the cause and effect of time's arrow is violated. Multiple quantum dimensions, multiple timelines created through time travel in this way would reset past histories and lead...who knows where? Either way, a theoretical time traveler could return to a present timeline and not be affected by changes made in other past timelines, because the traveler's own, authentic timeline would not be compromised. There would be no altered future timeline for that traveler, simply the continuity of her own history when she re-entered it. Nor would her consciousness be altered so that she remembered being visited by herself (if she'd had a notion to visit her younger self in that other past). It simply could not happen. The younger self she would meet would belong to some other timeline distinct from her own. Her own past would not have changed in any way.

Of course, entropy is still a problem...
CHAPTER FIVE

The people rise like a lioness; they rouse themselves like a lion that does not rest till it devours its prey and drinks the blood of its victims.

\- from Numbers 23:24

Jerusalem, AD 33

"What year is this?" John asked Evram.

They were sitting in the shade of a large gardenia bush in the courtyard of their lodgings. It was the day after their entry into Jerusalem and John was still trying to come to terms with the fact he had time traveled into the past.

"By your calendar it would be AD thirty three," Evram responded.

"So this is the time of Jesus?"

"Aiy, Jesus." Evram said it as though it was a word unfamiliar to him.

"Ah!" John had suspected as much, but having it confirmed was very exciting. "Is this timeline the same as the future?"

"Do you mean the future that you come from?"

"Yes."

"Nay, it will become a different future. We are visitors here, my friend. The moment we entered this timeline a new one was born."

"So there are multiple or infinite timelines, and paradoxes don't happen?" he asked.

"If by paradoxes you mean causes in this timeline affecting or altering events in your future timeline, then no they do not. This timeline will play out in its own way, perhaps not very differently to the one you know, depending on what we do while we are here. But it will not enter your future."

John grinned in satisfaction. He had always hated the single timeline theory, with its paradoxes and disappearing nonsense.

"So are you here to change this timeline or are you just here to observe it?"

Evram hesitated, seeming embarrassed by the question. "We," he paused, considering his words, "we came to observe, to make witness to the life of the man you call Jesus. Here he is called _Yeshua_."

"Yes, of course!" said John remembering Jewish references he had read to the name. He wondered in amazement at what else Evram knew, what else he and his people had learned about this Yeshua, the historical Jesus. This was indeed exciting news. It changed everything about the journey for him. The reservations he'd had about the _Sinici_ and why he was here were lost in thoughts of finding out about Jesus of Nazareth.

He looked pleadingly at Evram. "What else have you discovered? Can you tell me?"

Evram gave an indulgent smile and said, "In time, my friend, in time." It was all he would say on the subject for now, and John knew there was no point in pushing him any further.

As the days went by in Old Jerusalem, John learned much else about Evram and his people. He had indeed been a visitor to England in the Middle Ages. There he had been an Anglici, or man of the English Gate. It had been his last port of call before joining the _Sinici_ , which explained his Old English. But in conversation with John it had begun to disappear. The thee's and thou's became less frequent in his language the more he talked with John. It seemed he was an expert mimic.

John in turn found he was picking up the language of his companions quite readily. It helped that it bore a resemblance to Hebrew and was indeed Aramaic. He managed to practice it in his dealings with people in the market, where he went, usually with Mari, to buy food and supplies for his friends. Some people looked at him askance when they heard his accent and his broken language, but most accepted him as yet another traveler from foreign lands. Being a major trading hub, Jerusalem was full of them.

Now that her wariness of him had worn off, Mari was helpful to John in learning the business of the market, and indeed the customs and behavior of the people of this place and time. It was she who had suggested he not wear his boots when they first came into the town. They had provided an old pair of sandals for him in their place. It was a good idea. The Roman soldiers, in particular, were suspicious of everyone, townsfolk and foreigners alike. He did not want to attract attention in his climbing boots. To this end he also cultivated a beard which, with his authentic robes, helped him to blend in with the crowds.

It was worse for Mari. As a woman who was known to travel and live with a group of men, and having no apparent husband, she was sometimes targeted for abuse.

A week after their entry into Jerusalem, Mari was at the market when she found herself surrounded by women who cursed her and spat on her.

"What happened?" asked John, who had been haggling with a vendor over figs when the incident occurred.

"It is nothing," she murmured. "Let us go."

On the way back, as they walked the cobbled streets of the Tyropoeon, she explained what had happened and why. Now that they were away from the market, she let her feelings show.

"They are so ignorant, those women," she hissed. "I hate them!"

It was the first time John had seen her angry. She had always seemed so calm and dispassionate. "Maybe you shouldn't come with me to the market in future," he offered.

She looked at him with surprise. "Nay, I will not hide from them."

"Okay. Good for you!"

She smiled at his strange turn of phrase. He stopped briefly to admire the detail of a limestone wall they were passing. Scratched into it in Aramaic was what looked like a proverb from the Bible. He tried to read it, but could make out only some of the letters. He thought it might be something from Numbers. It put him in mind of Yeshua, as most things did in this city.

"Mari, tell me, where is Yeshua now? Is he up north in Galilee?"

"Aiy," she said. "He gathers the people in."

"He gathers the people in?" he repeated, delighted by her biblical imagery. "Like a shepherd?"

"Aiy," she smiled, "like a shepherd."

"If you don't mind my asking, why are you not with him?"

"I – we – prepare the way. We gather the people in here also."

"You are working for him, not just observing?"

John was surprised. Her words did not accord with what Evram had told him about the _Sinici_ 's purpose here. Could it be they were actively participating in events and changing the timeline? If so, why had Evram been so evasive about it? Was there some shame attached to it, was it a violation of some trust or code of conduct? He wondered.

They came to the southwestern gate, the one known as the Essene Gate. It was near their lodgings in the Lower City. It was high and forbidding. Soldiers stood beneath it watching the traffic entering and leaving.

"Mari, Evram once told me I have an important part to play in this journey. But what is it, and what does it mean? Does it involve Yeshua?"

"To that I cannot say. It is simply because you are here, because I brought you to us from the broken Gate."

"What does the broken Gate have to do with it?"

Mari became hesitant. "Because - because it is a sign for my people. A sign that we must soon leave."

"Leave? Why? Where to?"

She shook her head. She would say no more.

Always evasions, John thought. More revelations and more mysteries.

Just then they passed by the soldiers who were standing at the gate. Two of them could be heard laughing and taunting some of the passers by. One was average height, the other was a big man.

"Hey, you there!" A Roman soldier detached from his gate duty and came over to them. He was the big man who had been laughing.

He spoke to them in Latin, which John did not know. But Mari stopped and stood very still. John looked at her and she seemed to tremble.

The soldier said, "Hey, you don't look too bad for a Jew. Why don't you get rid of your man and join me and my friend outside the Gate so we can do you like a dog?" He laughed and leered at her. He looked over at his friend, who joined in with the laughter. He seemed drunk.

Mari pretended not to understand and, holding John's arm, walked on. The soldier made a grab for her, but she deflected his hand.

"Hey!" he said, indignant. He seemed intent on pursuing her, but then he spied another woman, this one walking alone, and decided to bother her instead.

"Are you all right?" asked John when they were safely away. "What did he want?"

"The usual," said Mari. She looked at him. "You know."

"Yes, I guess I do," said John, wishing he didn't. The reports of women being raped at the hands of the soldiers here were all too common.

The next night, John and his seven companions broke bread together and drank wine in the humble quarters that served as their home. The smell of fresh bread dissipated some of the smell of animal dung and hay from the stables below, but not by much. In any case, by now they were well used to it.

John watched as they silently passed the bread and wine jug around. They reminded him of a fresco straight out of Da Vinci, with Evram as the central figure. He watched them fill their cups, at times nodding to each other as if they were in quiet communion with each other. He had noticed many times this silent co-operation between them. When tasks needed to be done, often nothing was said. A look or a nod of the head between them would be enough to get the job done. It intrigued him and had him wondering, not for the first time, about telepathic abilities. But there were many things on his mind this night.

Noticing John's pensiveness, Evram finally spoke up. "Shohn, you do not drink with us?"

"Aiy, yes I will, my friend. I was just thinking about the Temple. I was there today you know."

"Aiy, what did you think if it?" asked Abu, the youngest of the company. "It is beautiful, yes?"

"It is," John agreed. It was more than beautiful he thought. It was astounding. "But the market there is a disgrace."

First he had performed the ritual cleansing in a nearby bathhouse. Then, joined by a throng of pilgrims, he had walked the wide steps up to the tunneled entrance and through to the Great Court itself, the white walls gleaming in the afternoon light. Coming up to the white marble he held his breath, then touched it. The intricate relief work carved into the columns, the two large cherubim, which were actually sphinxes sitting side by side, they all overwhelmed him. It was truly a holy monument. The capitals of the columns were beautiful, outlined in gold relief. Yet, beneath them, under the colonnade, he saw the men, the money changers at their busy tables selling birds in dirty cages and other small animals for sacrifice. He was disgusted: it looked like a market. The smell of the animals rose above the incense that was burning in the altars.

He stood at the entrance to the Court of Women and the Temple proper beyond. Many pilgrims, all Jews, went by him and into the Temple. As a Gentile he knew he could not go any further, on pain of death. He looked out at the city below. He thought about Jesus and the Temple and of the old story of him turning over the tables there. He had always believed that was a decisive moment in his life. It was the moment when Jesus outraged the High Priest Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin council, and their punishment rained down on him. Of course, there was also that claim of him being the son of God. Setting himself up as a higher authority than they, that no doubt would have angered them as well.

He thought about what Mari had said about him gathering in the people, and her indication that the _Sinici_ were doing that here as well. Since then he had kept a closer eye on Evram and his people, and thought more about the activities they had undertook. He remembered, almost from the moment they had arrived in Jerusalem, there had been many late night meetings and discussions with various people of the town and elsewhere. Sometimes he had been awoken by their furtive whisperings. Yet Evram had not confided their activities to him, nor had he revealed more about Yeshua.

To a suspicious person, it certainly might look like they were leading some kind of clandestine network, perhaps in the service of Yeshua. He even suspected that the walks into town and the market with Mari, which Evram and the others had encouraged, were a tactic to keep him ignorant of their business. Either way, they were clearly participating in something.

He looked up from his musings and noticed Evram looking straight at him. His gaze was concerned but not unkind. The other men, having finished their meal, quickly cleared the table, leaving only the wine, and made themselves scarce. He was alone with Evram now.

"Shohn, you have many questions," he said. "Ask them." He folded his hands and sat up straight, attentive to John's questions.

Now that the invitation was made, John at first had trouble gathering his thoughts. There was nothing to do but dive in with his first thought.

"All right. Is Yeshua some kind of revolutionary?"

"If you mean by that someone trying to organize the people in order to overthrow the rulers, then no. He seeks to help the poor. Sometimes that means helping them organize their affairs, but I do not believe he seeks to overthrow."

"But can that be done without coming into conflict with the rulers?"

"It is difficult," Evram conceded. "He – we – wish we could be left alone to help others. So we are a threat, to the Romans and the priests. There may be conflict. We prepare for it."

"Why did you tell me you were merely observing this, when you're obviously actively working to help Jesus – Yeshua – change things?"

"We seek to help him fulfil his mission this time, aiy." He paused, seeming a little embarrassed. "It is shameful to our people. It goes against our code to keep the timelines pure."

"Tell me, where are your people from, Evram? You told me you're not aliens, but you know more than my people, don't you?"

"Aiy, we know more. That is because we are from your future."

John nodded his head in satisfaction. The thought had occurred to him, but it was no less startling for it being confirmed. "I thought so."

"You understand we cannot tell you anything of that future."

"Yes, I understand," said John reasonably. "Is Yeshua one of the _Sinici_?" he added.

It was a suspicion he'd had for a while and he needed it confirmed one way or another.

"No, he is a native of this place and this time," Evram responded, somewhat surprised by the question. "He cannot be anything else."

John felt relieved at that news. It would have been a letdown if it turned out Jesus was nothing more than some man from the future gone native in the past, like Kurtz in _Heart of Darkness_.

"Have you witnessed those things in the Bible, in the Gospels?"

"I have witnessed them all, and more," said Evram.

John gulped the last of his wine. "How much of them are true?"

He could feel his heart pounding as he asked the question. He sat almost breathless as he listened to the answers.
CHAPTER SIX

2016

Burton Orwell, the US President, was going to make history. Not because of any revolutionary legislation he had put through the government (all of those had been vetoed or watered down by the GOP), or for any innovative foreign policy he might have pursued (though opening diplomatic ties with Cuba was a good start). No. He would make history simply for the color of his skin: which was black. He was the first African-American President the country had ever known. He was the inaugural member of that club. He was the Jackie Robinson of American politics.

Perhaps it was enough; but Orwell wanted more. Now at the end of his second term, with a newly elected Republican ready to be sworn in, he had not achieved all that he wanted - not by a long mile. In fact, as his Presidency was winding down, he was in danger of being known as that not very rare species of bird: the lame duck President.

He had come into his Presidency with, if not naivete, then at least with some idealism, some belief that he could make a difference. But the long years of pushing against the vested interests and entrenched beliefs of, not only the Republicans, but Senators and Congressmen within the Democratic Party itself had worn him down. In his more pessimistic moments he had begun to believe that Democracy, in particular the checks and balances of the two house system, was simply all about maintaining the status quo. In the end, the inertia of office had won out, and he feared he would leave it without leaving behind a legacy, something he would be remembered for beyond the mere color of his skin.

Then came the day his Science Advisor, Eli Weinstein, informed him of the discovery of devices - 'Gates', he called them - that could instantaneously transport a person between large distances. The news was explosive, and Orwell grasped its full significance quickly enough.

His first impulse was to announce the Gates to the world, to bask in the glory of such a discovery, with all its significant ramifications - particularly in raising the stature of his exhausted administration. He was not above that vanity. But his common sense grasp of the political realities of the situation quickly brought him back to earth, and reluctantly, he rejected the idea. He felt sure that, at some point, the public would and should be told about the miraculous objects that were lying in wait beneath their feet; but for now, the Gates were clearly a matter of national security. Also, their importance was clearly world-wide. From what Weinstein had said, there were similar Gates scattered in countries around the world.

Orwell quickly gathered a small circle of his top staff, including his Vice President, National Security Advisor, Secretary of Defense, and Science Advisor for a high-level security conference on the subject. They convened in the Situation Room, a high security conference room within the bowels of the White House. With the administration winding down during this interregnum period, all were aware that this was perhaps the last time they would be able to meaningfully participate in the top level of government.

It was a lively discussion. Orwell opened it with a suggestion for the other so-called 'Gate countries' to be informed of the existence of the Gates. But this was politely intercepted by General Wingfield, Orwell's adviser in the Dept of Research and Development who, made bold by the evanescent Presidency, thought it better to bury the existence of the Gates under a ton of bureaucratic paperwork.

"I don't think they need to know what we've got under our bonnet," advised Wingfield. "Or theirs," he added with an ingenuous grin.

General Wingfield saw the workings of government as one big greased machine. He was a spritely man, for his years. He still had all his hair – albeit it was decidedly salt and pepper colored now. The toothbrush moustache was a similar hue. He seemed to have a self-satisfied smile permanently pasted to his round face.

Orwell understood well the General's true agenda, which was to hide any hint of the alien technology that the Gates, perhaps, represented. A leading light in the religious Right, Wingfield feared the convulsions that news could cause. Orwell wanted to turn his silly emoticon smiley face into a frown. Instead, he said smoothly, "They – being a good dozen or so countries around the world – will eventually find out about this, Arthur. Some of them at least have some very good lines of communication..."

"You mean they have spies," interrupted Wingfield.

"Precisely. It's already hard to sit on this. It's so big. We face the prospect of alienating them, at the very least. Not to mention it's just the right thing to do."

"I agree with the President," offered Robert Furbush, the Vice President. His words were meant to be conciliatory (he and Orwell had had their differences in the past), but he clearly had reservations. "But I don't think we should ignore the - let's call them 'the potential military' - applications of these Gates. At present, with our knowledge, we do have the advantage. I'm wondering whether we should squander it."

Orwell looked at Furbush, his beady eyes and sharp nose, and wondered how the man had managed to get the Vice Presidency. Then he remembered: they had needed a white and reasonably hawkish presence to placate the more hard line elements within the party.

"Another item worth considering about these Gates," chimed in Sebastian Flint, the Chief of Staff, "is the potential profits and economic gain to be had from spinoffs from the technology." A quietly spoken man, with a shock of sandy hair and a weirdly triangular face, he always seemed to have his eye on the main prize – namely, the economic question. He had many connections deep within the higher echelons of business and industry. "I'd like to see us exploiting that."

"Well, I don't think we should be ready to hand this over to private industry just yet, Sebastian. It may come to that, but maybe we should hear from someone who's a bit closer to the ground on this one."

Orwell then turned to the man at his right, who had been silent through the entire exchange. Eli Weinstein had only just returned from his visit to the Tesla Institute and had barely had time to brief the President before the meeting. "What do you think, Eli?"

Eli breathed in deeply. He had heard these views before. In fact, he had presented some of them to Stephen Wharton recently. But he suspected what he had to say now would not exactly please everyone.

"I think there are details about these Gates that are not yet resolved, gentlemen," he began. "The people at Tesla need a little more time to complete their experiments on the Gate in their possession. In my opinion there is simply no point in proceeding with any plans until these details are investigated and ironed out."

"Hold on!" roared Roger Whitman, the Defense Secretary. Whitman was a retired four star general who had distinguished himself in campaigns in Syria and Operation Desert Storm in Iraq under General Schwarzkopf in 1991. The retirement had given him a slight paunch, but a graying beard helped hide his sagging sixty-year-old face. "These delays are just unacceptable. We need this thing operational ASAP. If your people down there, Eli, aren't up to the job, then maybe we should militarize immediately."

He looked to Orwell for approval, but the President's face was impassive.

"Forgive me, Mr Secretary, but I disagree," said Eli with confidence. He addressed his response more to the President than to Whitman. "I know these people. They're good people. I think they deserve a chance to show us what they can do. From what I've seen already, they've done a remarkable job. I believe giving them more time will present us with a much better outcome."

"Yes, go on, Eli," said Orwell.

At this, Whitman snorted contemptuously under his breath. Orwell frowned at Whitman. He was beginning to come around to Eli's point of view. He could see that the Tesla Gate people's work would best point the direction that should be taken on the Gates. It would also give him more time to consider his options – even though, with his administration coming to a close, he didn't have much time.

Encouraged, Eli said, "Well, they're nearly there, sir. All they need to do now is work out how to gain access to the underground chambers from the surface, and the Gates could be considered operational."

"Is that all we're waiting on?" asked Orwell.

"There are some items on what they're calling the Gate's 'control panel' that are still baffling them, but they're of no great concern at the moment. I think we can soon...move forward."

"May I remind you, sir," stated Whitman, turning to Orwell and still antagonistic to Eli's plans, "we only have a small window of opportunity left to act on this information. If we wait any longer we will ultimately leave the decision to act with your successor."

Some others present made sympathetic noises in agreement with Whitman. Orwell sighed. All eyes in the room were now on him, most of them waiting for him to deliver the right verdict, the expected verdict. He smiled grimly. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. Finally, here at the very end, he was being called upon to actually do something, something important that could perhaps change everything. But he felt that, in this instance, inaction, stillness, contemplation – qualities too little used in this game of politics he had come to resent - was the proper course of action. Time, and the men before him, were hovering on his next words.

"Gentlemen, I'm inclined to agree with Eli on this one."

With this, there was a general expelling of breath and frustration, particularly on Whitman's part, but Orwell ignored it. He continued in his best statesman's manner, intent on proving that this lame duck still had some quack in him. "Science is not a competition for the finishing line - even though politics frequently is. I can't in good faith go against it and commit this administration to a course of action that might prove unwise and immature. Therefore I'm going to recommend that Eli's people be given the requisite time needed to make their final discoveries. And if this means acceding this matter to my successor, so be it. I have spoken. I am done."
CHAPTER SEVEN

Lina Thigpen, the Gate 'veteran', had clocked up five trips through the Gate so far. Now she had dispensed with the oxygen tank and suit.

On the second trip, Lina discovered that the chamber lights and temperature controls were engaged automatically, as soon as she appeared. She surmised that by pressing the glyph during her first visit she had set off the room's automatic detection system. This time Lina tried the second glyph on the wall but, mysteriously, nothing seemed to happen.

Further tests on the Gate determined that return trips initiated from the Gate in the New York chamber were also viable. This had required the Tesla Gate to be turned off while Lina operated the New York Gate on the other side. First, she sent one of the robots through, then she followed. She appeared back at the Tesla gate with no ill effect.

Doing this had also confirmed the exact co-ordinate glyph that corresponded to the Tesla Gate's destination. Previously, attempts to use the sixteenth glyph in the series had resulted in one or other of the robots to go through the Tesla Gate and come out at the other side as though they had gone nowhere. Now they knew this was because the Tesla Gate had engaged its own destination.

Of the twenty-four available glyphs, they had now determined that twenty-three of them were for viable destinations. So far, the thirteenth in the sequence had not yielded up a destination. All attempts to access it had resulted in a shutout. Theories were put forward as to why this was so, including Lina's notion that this was probably the Gate where the Gate builders conducted their operations from; but the mysterious thirteenth glyph continued to keep its secrets.

While all this was going on, Dr Robin Farside performed a series of physical tests upon Lina to find any signs of possible cell and bone degradation eventuating through prolonged Gate travel. So far, no ill results had been detected. Farside had also been concerned about the possibility of Lina and another explorer's DNA patterns recombining imperfectly or, disastrously, with each other during transit within the Gates. To the doctor, whose mindset was very much pessimistic, the chances for catastrophe were ever present. But, as far as she could determine, the transit process was completely safe. This was confirmed when an enthusiastic Gary Mullens joined Lina for a journey to the other side, to no effect. The Gates seemed to have the ability to identify discrete individual biology right down to the molecular level and to reconstitute it in fixed and perfect form at the other end of the process every single time. The same could be said for clothing, minerals and other non-biological materials. Farside surmised that even a couple walking arm-and-arm through a Gate together would not end up a hideous mutation on the other side – although it was not a manoeuvre she would recommend.

As more people joined Lina in using the Gate Professor Feynman instituted a security protocol wherein sentries were posted in all of the existing Gate chambers around the world. The idea had been Alyssa Feynman's. Always suspicious and security conscious, she had persuaded her father that some kind of official presence was needed to be kept in the other Gate chambers at all times. On reflection, Gerard Feynman realized the measure was probably long overdue...

After Lina finally finished enduring Dr Farside's tests, she and Yang got their first chance to test the time glyphs (as they were beginning to call them). They were still keeping their theory about the time glyphs quiet from Feynman, and their latest research proposal suggested they were merely following up ideas about the mysterious disappearance of the robot in the previous test.

Glancing at the research proposal Lina and Yang had provided, Feynman looked distracted. He had arrived late in the lab, due to a morning swamped by students at his office. Finally, after some thought, he announced he was in favor of the proposal, despite its apparent aim of 'identifying alternate dimensions' within the Gate. But he had a couple of concerns.

"Do you really think you'll encounter a so-called 'alternate dimension' on the other side?"

"It's just a theory, Gerry," said Yang. "A wild one, I admit. But we've seen it do a number of things already that defy our ideas of physics, so anything's possible at this point - even alternate dimensions."

"Okay," said Feynman doubtfully. "I see by your notes that you're not using the robots. Please explain."

"That's because the robots can't do what we need to do in this experiment," said Lina. "We need someone over there to interact intuitively with the environment. I may even need to leave the lab to get my bearings."

"That's right," said Feynman, looking down at the proposal notes. "I see you're the designated investigator. You sure you want to do this, Lina, without further tests with the robots?" He sounded concerned. She was surprised.

"I'll be fine, Prof." She smiled.

"Well, all right, it's your show. Good luck." With that, he headed for the control room to observe and monitor the test.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lina shared a conspiratorial look with Yang. "Let's do this!"

Yang operated the interface panel and re-started the Gate. He then touched the Institute co-ordinate glyph – the sixteenth - then the first of the time glyphs on the left, then the entry button. The Gate made its usual pulse noise to indicate it had been engaged.

Feeling a moment of apprehension, Lina paused in front of the event horizon. She looked up to see the strange eye of the Gate staring down at her, as if judging her. This was the moment of truth. When she walked through the Gate, where (or rather, when) would she be? Was it really possible, as Yang seemed to think it was, to walk back (or possibly forward) through time? Or would she simply be annihilated? She comforted herself with the thought that the robot _Nosey Parker_ had not suffered any ill effects from its passage into that other dimension in the earlier experiment.

Maybe she would be all right? She hoped so.

She gathered up her courage, thought again about Marianne, and stepped through the Gate...

For a split second she felt a kind of euphoria, a sense of intimate connection with the universe, a 'oneness' with it, and then she was through to the other side. The experience was intense, to say the least. She found herself still in the Institute's Gate room where the Gate was. She breathed a sigh of relief. But looking around, she realized something was different.

She heard an exclamation of "Oh my god, look!" The voice sounded familiar. She walked off the ramp then looked over at the two people standing by the Gate controls. One was Yang, and the other was - herself! They both looked at her in wonder. A smile crossed Yang's face as he looked from one Lina to the other.

"See, I was right!"

"Hi," said the Lina who had just come from the Gate. "Crazy, isn't it? Look, could you tell me what day and time it is?"

"It's November 27, 2.20pm," said the other Lina. "Hey!" she waved at herself.

The other Lina waved back.

" _What the - ?"_ It was Alyssa in the control room.

Lina looked over at the control room and grinned at Alyssa's confusion. "Gotta go. Bye." She smiled at Yang and her doppelganger, and ran back through the Gate.

Once back on the other side, she paused for a moment, taking in what she'd just experienced. She took some slow, deep breaths and thought about it. According to her other self she had gone back in time by exactly one day. She remembered being there: they had been monitoring another of Gary's missions. She looked over at Yang - the real Yang \- waiting expectantly, and gave him a thumbs up.

"So, did it work?" he asked.

"I just traveled one day back into the past and met myself!" she said breathlessly, more to herself than to him.

There could be no doubt: the Gate's time glyphs seemed to offer up co-ordinates that sent travelers into the past. Lina was astounded. But she was even more overwhelmed by the thought of having met herself _back there_. She took a further moment to consider the implications of that. She didn't remember seeing herself come through the Gate yesterday. As far as she could tell, nothing had changed. Her memories were the same. It could only mean one thing: that the Lina she had just met had existed in a different dimension or timeline to the one she was in.

"Motherfucker! Alternate timelines!" She looked at her watch, then at Yang. "How long have I been away?"

Checking his own watch, Yang said, "Approximately a minute and a half."

"That's about how long I spent over there. So it must have got added here!" She laughed.

"Are you all right?" asked Yang, concerned. "Are you ready for stage two, or do you want to abort?"

"No way! Let's do the second glyph, Yang." She looked up at the control room, where Feynman seemed to look quizzically at her, and held up two fingers at him. "Stage two, coming up."

Yang engaged the second of the time glyphs, and then hit the blue Entry glyph. When the Gate pulse sounded, she went through again.

She arrived again in the Gate room at the Institute, but there was no one in the lab. She walked over to the control room door and opened it. Just then the outer door opened and Alyssa Feynman entered, joined by Doctor Farside. They both looked startled.

"Lina, what are you doing here?" asked Alyssa. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know, I'm sorry," said Lina. "But could you just, uh, remind me what the date is today?"

"The date? It's October 29, you know that. Now come on, you've gotta get out of here."

She moved forward, as if to take her hand. But Lina pulled away. Looking into the control room window she saw the clock. It read 2.22pm. She ran to the Gate.

"Hey, what's the Gate doing on?" said Alyssa behind her.

"Bye Alyssa," said Lina. "It's been nice knowing you." She ran back through the Gate.

"Well?" said Yang Lee, now standing in front of her.

"October, 29, that's almost a month ago," she murmured to herself. "Thirty days, to be exact. What were we doing, what were we doing? Ah!" She remembered it must have been around the time Doctor Farside had been doing her experiments with Marcia the chimp.

Finally, she looked at Yang. "I just went back thirty days. You were right, Yang, you were right!"

Yang smiled at that, but the look of concern was still on his face.

Professor Feynman, who was beginning to realize that something unusual was happening, suddenly joined them. "What's going on? Are these alternate dimensions actually working, Lina?"

"Oh, it's more than working, Prof," said Lina.

"I think we're done for today," said Yang. "It's time, Lina." He looked at her and she caught the meaning: it was time to tell Feynman about the time glyphs.

"Ah, one more test," said Lina. She wasn't finished with traveling back in time. There was one more thing she had to do. She thought for a moment, calculating the days, then said, "Take me back five days."

"Ah, okay," said Yang, surprised but willing to comply. "The first glyph five times?"

"That's right."

"Ah look," said Feynman, becoming suspicious, "unless you tell me what you're actually doing, I think you should stop this test right now."

"Sorry, Prof, just one more," said Lina. She turned to face the Gate just as Yang engaged the new entry co-ordinates. Ignoring Feynman's protestations, she went back through.

This time, when she came out of the event horizon, she was prepared to meet her double. If she'd read the glyphs right, she knew exactly where she would be. She walked towards the control room and waved at the people inside.

"Hey, it's me!" she called.

Inside the control room, Yang and the other Lina looked out at her, their eyes wide. She was almost certain she heard Yang say "See, I was right!" again.

She cupped her hands and yelled to her double: "Don't drive down 3rd Street today!"

"What?" said the double as she came out of the control room and faced her. "Shit, it's really you – uh, me!' For some reason she was holding Alyssa's monkey, Julius.

Lina repeated her instruction.

"Why?" said the double.

"Never mind, just don't do it." She had crashed her car while driving down that street on this day. Not badly, but enough to be annoying. "And, by the way, what's the date?"

"It's November 23."

"Thanks. Oh, this is too good. Mind if I take a photo?" She took out her phone and turned so that the camera framed both Linas. Instinctively, both women smiled and the double held up Julius as Lina took the _selfie_. Putting the phone away, Lina asked, "Where's Alyssa, by the way?"

"Bathroom," said the double, throwing the monkey up in the air.

Lina grabbed it as it came down, thinking she would do some mischief. "Mind if I take this?"

"No, but Alyssa will kill you – hey, _me!"_

"Thanks. Bye!" She headed for the Gate.

"Wait, don't go!"

She stopped just before the Gate and turned to her double. "I'm already there." She went through the Gate.

It was time to finally tell Professor Feynman about the time glyphs they had found. Crossing over the event horizon again, however, she noticed there was something missing. Looking at her hands, she realized the monkey, Julius, hadn't come through the Gate with her.

"What the -?" she said.
CHAPTER EIGHT

That evening, Lina, Yang, Cal and Gary were sitting in a Starbucks in San Bernadino reviewing the day's events. Some Latin lounge music was playing on the sound system and the place was full of people. Yang and Lina had decided to share their discovery of the time glyphs with Cal and Gary, to get their input before they wrote their report about the experiment for Professor Feynman.

Cal and Gary took the news quite well.

"Whaaaaat?!" said Gary, his eyes almost popping out of his head and into his cinnamon latte.

"No bloody way!" said Cal, his jaw nearly dropping into his cappuccino.

"Are you sure?" they both said in comic unison.

For the next half-hour they listened in rapt attention as Yang and Lina related their story, from the initial discovery right up to the moment Lina stepped back out of the event horizon after meeting herself in the past.

"You're not pulling our legs, are ya?" said Gary. He was used to having tricks played on him – because he was often playing tricks on the others in the research team.

"No. Honest Injun," said Lina.

'So how do the time glyphs work?" asked Cal.

"There are six of them," said Yang, hovering over his hazelnut coffee. "As far as we know, the first two glyphs would seem to indicate movement into the past by day and approximate month (or thirty days)."

"Yes," said Lina, sipping her bitter short black. "I'm going to take a wild guess and suggest the other four go by years, decades, centuries and millennia."

"Or maybe it's centuries, millennia and hundreds of millennia," suggested Gary.

"That would be a fairly awkward counting system," corrected Lina. "If you wanted to go back, say, fifty years you'd have to touch the year button fifty times."

"Okay, let's assume you're right," admitted Gary. "It's a strange system for setting time co-ordinates, anyway. Why didn't they just use a dial, or a lever?"

"Like George Pal's _The Time Machine_!" interjected Cal enthusiastically.

"Rod Taylor!"

"Yvette Mimieux...mmm..." Cal stared dreamily into the distance.

"Yes, I take your point about the calibration system," said Yang. "It does seem awkward. I wonder, why would they do it that way?"

"Maybe it allows for precision?" suggested Lina.

"But here's a thought: how far back in time do these Gates go?" asked Gary seriously.

"My guess is about thirty thousand years," said Yang.

"Why do you say that?" asked Gary.

"Well, because that's about how far the carbon dating for the original Joshua Tree chamber went back. Remember, Gus Manfredi and his team worked that out early on? And if Lina's right about the counting system on those glyphs, with millenia as the longest intervals, it would be awkward going back further in time. Otherwise I think the Gates would have been calibrated differently."

"That still takes you back well before the beginnings of civilization," said Cal. "We were still mainly living as hunter gatherers back then. Agriculture and farming were only just starting to happen."

"Yeah, before that it was just millions of years of boring cavemen. Who needs to study that?" said Gary.

"Well, paleontologists, for one," said Yang.

"But that's right," said Lina, taking another sip of her coffee. "That's what the Gates are for: they've been studying us."

Cal looked wanly at his cappuccino. "Yeah, that's always been the assumption. But you have to wonder, didn't they have anything better to do?"

Lina laughed. "C'mon Cal, I know you don't mean that! Human history's pretty interesting. I'll bet studying it up close is a good time – us crazy monkeys."

"But I'm serious," continued Cal. "Why come all this way and spend all that time just to do that? I'll bet, before this thing is over, we find there's a lot more to it than that. And anyway, which history are they studying?"

"You mean the alternate timelines?"

"Yes. Your little escapade into the past brings up some interesting questions. If the quantum theory of multiple histories or parallel realities for time travel is correct, then what you witnessed wasn't really our history."

"No, which is the beauty of it: no paradox. I have no memory of meeting myself. But it was close to it. We were doing exactly what we did those days, except I was there as well."

"And you interacted with yourself, which probably set off a causality loop that will stretch off into infinity, like a hall of mirrors," Gary chimed in.

"Yeah!" laughed Lina, amused at the thought. "There's me talking to me, then the me I talked to, who remembers seeing me, goes through the Gate and talks to another me; and maybe it's the same conversation, or maybe it's different, and so on. But like the hall of mirrors, shouldn't there eventually be some degradation? It won't really go on forever, will it?"

"Uh, theoretically, it might," said Yang. He had taken out a pen and was doodling some numbers on a napkin. "You could, of course, eventually die in an entropic cascade failure," he added casually, still doodling. "Or you could put an end to it early by killing yourself – your other self, I suppose."

Lina looked aghast at the thought.

"But I wonder what your doppelganger will make of meeting you?" Yang continued, ignoring her concern. "Will she assume there's a single timeline for time travel because she remembers having met you?"

"Good question!" exclaimed Cal.

"Maybe at first," said Lina, still recovering from Yang's thought of killing herself. "But I think she'll realize when she goes through the Gate and meets herself she'll notice the conversation's not the same as the one she had with me – like something will be off, and that will clue her in...Maybe." She shook her head, wondering at the complexities of time travel. There was also the question of the second version of herself she had met – the one she had warned about the car crash. What would she make of it all?

"What are you working on, Yang?" asked Gary, seeing him scribbling on the napkin.

Yang showed his work to the others. It was a mathematical theorem:

"I was thinking of the second law of thermodynamics – entropy – and how that has been violated by Lina's excursions into the past. I think at least one answer lies in the fact that the second law, according to statistical mechanics, is only a statistical one." He pointed to his equation. "So if we express entropy 'Et' as a probability 'Pr' between two values 'A', where entropy is increasing, and '-A', where entropy is decreasing, that suggests there should always be some nonzero probability that entropy might spontaneously decrease."

He looked at them to see if they followed. Both Cal and Gary nodded sagely, as if they understood. "I've heard of it – the 'fluctuation theorem'," said Gary.

"Right. It has been tested and verified in a lab," Yang added for the benefit of Lina, who was frowning, because she hadn't heard of it.

"But that's only for very short time and scale lengths, isn't it?" asked Gary.

"Yes. So far – until now." Yang pushed his glasses onto his nose and smiled.

"I wonder if your other self took your advice about not driving down that street?" said Gary, scooping out the dregs of his coffee.

"If I know me, I probably did," said Lina. "I usually take my own advice."

"Which means the past, or the alternate past, is mutable," said Yang, pushing away his half-finished hazelnut coffee.

"Which means – what, we can go back and change things?" asked Gary. "Like save JFK, or Martin Luther King from their assassinations?"

"I'm not sure about that," said Yang with disdain. "You could perhaps do that, but I'm not sure if there would be any point to it. Whatever changes made in those other timelines won't impact on this reality – at least as far as causality goes." He thought some more and stared at his coffee, figuring the angles. "I suppose it would be possible now to see what would have happened if, say, Kennedy had completed his term of office. Could make for some interesting permutations."

"But how permanent are these other realities?" asked Cal. "I mean, can we visit them whenever we please? Or, if you leave one and come back to the present, does it mean it's gone forever?"

"Interesting question!" said Yang. "Perhaps there's a way of locking in to a timeline so it remains coherent." Yang sat there, contemplating the question with interest.

"Yeah maybe," said Lina, thinking back upon her own recent experience in the past. "But my feeling is it's gone forever, Cal."

"Mmm, pity."

"In fact," Lina now turned to Yang, "there's something I didn't tell you that occurs to me now."

"What?" said Yang, coming out of his thoughts.

"During the last time into the past - you know Alyssa's monkey, Julius?"

"Yeah, her security blanket," said Gary. "What of it?"

"I tried to bring it back with me – just to piss her off."

Gary and Cal laughed. They could well imagine how annoyed Alyssa would be over the disappearance of her beloved Julius.

"Anyway," continued Lina, "it didn't come through the Gate with me. I had it in my hand, and then it was gone."

"What? Really? That's very interesting," said Yang.

"It is, isn't it?" added Lina.

"It certainly brings up questions about this past we're beginning to enter into," said Yang.

"What do you think it means?" asked Cal.

"I think it means you can't bring anything back with you from the past," said Lina. "Clothing, money, maybe even people from the past - they won't get through the Gate."

"Bummer," said Gary. "Are you sure?"

"No, we'll need more proof of that, but I think I'm right."

"I think you are, too," offered Yang. "But clearly, we'll need to test this theory."

"Yes, but I think I've already found the solution," said Lina. "There's something else I discovered when I was over there." Smiling, she fished something out of her bag. It was her phone.

Curious, the others looked at the image on the phone, which was of the _selfie_ Lina had taken of her doppleganger and herself in the past. They all gasped.

"You took this when you were in the past?" asked Cal.

"And brought it back with you?" added Gary.

"Yes! How great is that!" Lina was excited.

"Mmm, so the past can be recorded," said Yang, mulling that over with approval.

"Yeah," said Lina. "At least with equipment you take with you, I assume."

"I hope you're right," said Gary. "Once word gets out about this, people will be wanting some proof of it."

"What makes you think word will get out about this?" said Lina.

"What do you mean?" said Gary, confused. "Of course it will. It has to!"

"Uh-uh, it'll get covered up, Gary," said Cal, surprised at his friend's naivete. "And regardless of the rights and wrongs of this, maybe it should. At least for the moment. I mean, being the fascist Big Brother isn't my style, but we are talking time travel and the inferred existence of aliens. It's big stuff - let alone the whole existence of the Gates themselves. How will the public react? We've gotta consider that. I'm guessing that's why Yang and Lina kept this from everyone for so long." He turned to them. "Right?"

Yang nodded. "We've told Feynman now about the time glyphs."

"Couldn't really hide them after what he saw today," said Lina.

"How did he take it?" asked Gary.

"About as calmly as you did," said Lina, smiling.

"He's passing this up the chain of command as we speak," said Yang. "I'm not sure what that means for us, but I think this will mean big changes. Now the administration will know we have a time machine on our hands, I don't know..."

"You're right," said Gary. "The shit will hit the fan."

Standing up, Yang prepared to leave. "Well, it will bring the government in on this, and the takeover will be complete. And I just...I just want more time to study this."

They all made ready to go. Yang paused, and added, "Oh, there's one more thing. Lina: you've always assumed these Gates were made by aliens, on the basis that we don't have the technology."

"That's right," said Lina. "Why, what of it?"

"Well, there's another possibility that I've thought of. What if those who made them are humans like us from some future when we have the technology?"
CHAPTER NINE

Exactly one day after informing Eli Weinstein and the government's administration of the Gate's time travel capabilities, Stephen Wharton received a communique from Weinstein to expect an immediate government presence at the Tesla Institute to oversee the Gate Project. Said presence arrived the next day in the form of a young woman named Samantha Flores and her entourage of tough-looking security men.

Wharton, when he first set eyes on Samantha, could not help but smile. Weinstein's choice of this young woman to be the government's eyes and ears at the Institute was a nice touch. She was twenty-seven years old, small and blonde, with high cheekbones and luscious, full lips. The dark-rimmed glasses she also wore gave off the adorable impression that they were props to make the dumb blonde girl look smart. She was dressed in an elegant tailored business suit complete with blue Manolos, and she possessed enough personal authority to ensure her "security guys", who she bossed around amusingly, kept a discreet distance from the Gate and Professor Feynman's teams.

She was introduced as merely the government's liaison. But she was far more than that. Graduating from M.I.T. with degrees in Science, Technology and Society, she was also a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Intelligence.

"So, that's the government's representative," said Lina in the control room, as Wharton showed Samantha the Gate.

"If she's a portent of our doom, than she's sure an attractive one!" said Gary, looking appreciatively into the Gate room.

"Yeah, she's pretty cute – for a spy," said Lina, showing the same interest.

As with almost everyone who saw it, the Gate astounded Samantha when she witnessed it in operation.

"That's incredible! I've seen the footage of it in action before, but not up close like this. It's – it's incredible!" She shook with geeky excitement. "What's the mechanism? Is it a wormhole formation, or something else?"

"We've been going on the entanglement theory," said Wharton, looking benignly at the Gate, "but we haven't had time or resources to test it out thoroughly."

She walked forward with wide eyes toward the Gate. Without taking her attention from it, she asked, "When can I go through?"

"Now, if you like," said Wharton. "It's perfectly safe. We have people in there at the moment, including Professor Feynman, doing an archeological survey; but I don't think they'll mind a visitor. The more the merrier."

"Really? Right now?" She seemed genuinely excited.

"Really, Samantha. Shall we?" Wharton gentlemanly offered his arm and she put her hand through it.

"Call me Sam. Let's!" She laughed.

Despite her good looks, Wharton noted with amusement, there was a slight awkwardness about her that was appealing, as though she had no idea how attractive she was. They walked casually toward the Gate's event horizon like a father and daughter out for a stroll on the promenade...

On the other side of the Gate, in the New York chamber, Yang Lee sat a patient vigil on sentry duty. Professor Feynman had, of course, sourced his sentry officers from his Gate teams, and it was Yang's turn at the New York chamber. It was often a lonely vigil, but Yang had brought some music and reading material with him for when he was otherwise unoccupied. He felt quite at ease in the warm cocoon that was the New York chamber. He found that the benches Cal and Gary had discovered were indeed quite comfortable as beds, and he had even slept on one. In doing so, he had also discovered that, by lying on the bench, the chamber's automatic lighting system would suddenly dim the room for easier repose.

At the moment, he was hosting Professor Feynman and the Archeology department. He sat unobtrusively by the Gate while, nearby, Gus Manfredi and Feynman tested the Gate ankhs Manfredi had found at the Joshua Tree chamber. Meanwhile, Manfredi's assistants, Richard and Cristina, scanned the walls with a GPR scanner looking for the assumed alcove, where they hoped to find more of the palm-sized ankhs...

Manfredi was excited, having the chance to finally inspect an intact Gate chamber. Professor Feynman had forgiven him his lapse in conduct in withholding the Joshua Tree ankhs. For his own part, Gus had appreciated Feynman's leniency in not initiating disciplinary measures toward him over what was essentially an unprofessional breach of protocol and security measures. It was a measure of both men's characters that they were able to put aside their differences and work together, as they were doing now.

"This is strange; nothing seems to be happening," said Manfredi as he thumbed various combinations of his ankh. The four glyphs of the ankh were glowing brightly in his hands.

"Maybe it's not the way to get to the surface from here after all," said Feynman, trying his own ankh, also to no avail. "What do you think should happen?"

"I was thinking a door might open that would take us to the surface - something like that." He looked around the chamber, but no such openings appeared.

"Mmm, we're missing something..."

The Gate suddenly came to life, emitting its pulse and creating its bright event horizon.

"Someone's coming through," said Yang.

They all stopped what they were doing to greet the visitors.

Director Wharton and Sam Flores stepped through the Gate, still linked arm in arm.

"Oh, that was incredible!" said Sam as she stepped out of the event horizon. When she adjusted her eyes to the chamber's muted illumination and realized the others were standing there, waiting to greet her, she said, "Hi."

Wharton made the introductions all round.

"Very pleased to meet you, Ms Flores," said Gus. "Welcome to the New York chamber!"

After further pleasantries, Richard and Cristina went back to their survey, while Manfredi and Wharton remained with Sam as Feynman gave her the tour of the chamber. Sam was full of questions about the chamber, and the other three tried to answer them as best they could.

"You obviously have air in here, but where's it coming from?" she asked.

"We think there may be a conduit that links the chamber to the surface and pumps in fresh air," offered Feynman.

"Very nice," said Sam.

"And here are the two wall glyphs, one of which engages the automatic light and temperature sensors," continued Feynman.

"Dispersed through the tiles by the same power source as the Gate?"

"Yes, geothermal energy."

"Very elegant."

Wharton and Manfredi looked at each other bemused by her way of speaking.

"What does the other glyph do?" Sam asked.

"We still don't know yet," said Feynman, scratching his head.

"Hello!" Sam yelled into the chamber. "It's interesting, I thought it would be more echoey." She looked up and around the chamber. "I'm guessing those tiles help absorb the sound?"

"That's right," said Feynman.

"And what's this?"

Sam was looking down at the round plate on the floor that Gary had found earlier.

"We don't know," said Feynman.

"Is it safe to step on?" asked Sam.

"Yes. It doesn't seem to do anything though."

She stood on the plate, bouncing up and down a little as if she was expecting it to springboard her up to the ceiling.

"Hey, we've found something!" It was Cristina.

Everyone, including Yang, gathered by Cristina and Richard to see what it was.

"What is it?" asked Feynman.

"See," Richard indicated the scanner screen. "It looks like there's an alcove behind this part of the wall."

"Right here?" Feynman asked, inspecting the wall there.

"Yes, right there," said Richard.

Feynman looked closely at the tiles and noticed one of them had a distinctly different pattern. He ran his hands over it and felt it give. It was moveable. He slowly removed the tile. He peered inside the opening.

"It looks like we've found another of your alcoves, Manfredi," said Feynman, excited.

Feynman brought out a handful of the ankhs. They had been arranged in two neat piles inside the alcove.

"What are they?" asked Sam.

"We think they're devices that get us to the surface from these chambers," said Feynman. "My guess is there will be more such devices in the other chambers around the world."

While they gathered around him, Sam went to the opening and brought out the rest of the ankhs. She carefully checked that it was now empty.

"I've got twelve here, Professor. How many do you have?" asked Sam.

He counted them. "I have eight."

"Can we look at them?" asked Yang.

Feynman handed some of them out. They looked at the ankhs with interest.

"They're glowing!" said Yang. "And look at the symbols!" He could see four symbols glowing from within the ankh on one side. They were the same type of glyphs that were on the Gate, arranged in a T pattern, three on the ends and one in the middle. He suddenly thought of the mysterious plate near the wall glyphs and the conversation he'd overheard between Feynman and Manfredi.

"I've got an idea!" he yelled.

He ran over to the plate and stood on it. The ankh in his hand began to glow brighter.

"Yes!" he shouted.

The others came over to him and looked with fascination at the glowing ankh.

"Oh, it must be the door controller!" said Cristina. "You have to stand on the plate to engage it." She looked at Gus.

"That's right!" Gus realized he'd completely forgot about the plate. He should have tried it with the ankh when he first entered the chamber. He almost cursed himself.

"The what?" asked Sam.

"It must open a door that leads up to the surface," added Cristina.

Yang looked down at the ankh and tried the right-side glyph. He looked around and still nothing happened. No mysterious door appeared - nothing. He was disappointed. He moved his thumb onto the central glyph and -

Disappeared!

To everyone else in the chamber, it appeared that Yang briefly became the glowing shimmer of the Gate's event horizon, then he was gone, followed by an audible 'pop' and a displacement of warm air.
CHAPTER TEN

Yang let out a gasp of air and found he was now standing on firm ground next to a tree in a hilly, wooded area. It appeared to be late afternoon. He felt dizzy, and rubbed his eyes, at a momentary loss for how he'd arrived there. There had been a cool tingling in his feet that quickly spread through his entire body, then a sudden upward movement, followed by a displacement of air. Even now he could feel the dispersal of energy. The sensation was like the earth had swallowed him up then spat him out on this hillside. He was still holding the ankh.

"Hello!" he yelled to no one in particular. He looked around at the countryside: except for a fire tower in the distance, the hill seemed deserted. There was really only one thing for it: he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his wife.

"Hello wife, it's me."

" _Hello husband,"_ he heard his wife's thin voice on the other end. _"Let me guess: you're working back late again."_

"Uh, no, I should be there at the usual time."

" _Oh good. Could you bring home some extra lite milk and more of those rice crackers Kimmy seems to love?"_

"Uh, sure. Is everything all right there? I mean, nothing strange going on?"

" _No, why should there be? Where are you ringing from? It's a bad line. Look, I've gotta go. Don't forget the milk and crackers. Love you. Bye!"_

Yang looked at the phone in one hand, then at the ankh in his other hand, a bemused look on his face. He slowly put the phone back in his pocket. Taking up the ankh again, he tried using the left-side button this time. Steeling himself for something to happen, he quickly hit the middle button and disappeared again in a swirl of event horizon.

He involuntarily gasped again as he reappeared on another hillside; but it was not so wooded this time. He could see a ramshackle house far down below, and some people in a yard. By the position of the sun here he guessed he was on the other side of the mountain now.

He knew he had to go back and let the others know what he'd discovered, but he paused to savor the moment. He felt a faint breeze on his cheek, smelt the fragrance of nearby starflower and mountain aster. He looked up into the clear sky and sensed the universe expanding all around him. Life held infinite possibilities, and everything, including the past and the future, turned on this magic moment, this Now. He smiled an ecstatic smile. Standing atop this mountain, he had never felt so alive.

The words of an ancient Sanskrit poem came to him then and he recited it in his mind...

Look to this day

For it is life, the very life of life

For yesterday is already a dream, and tomorrow is only a vision

But today, well lived, makes every yesterday

A dream of contentment, and every tomorrow a vision of hope

Reluctantly turning from that immaculate vision, he looked at the ankh again and went over in his mind the sequence of glyphs that had brought him here. The right and middle glyph took him to one side of the mountain, then the left and middle glyph to the other side of the mountain. His thumb hovered over the middle glyph, which he now recognized as the same symbol as the one on the Gate's own blue entry button.

"Entry button." He grunted, satisfied.

The ankh clearly operated in tandem with the Gate chamber, though its capabilities were limited. It could only transmit a person to relatively short distances - perhaps because it lacked a stable departure or destination point. He wondered how far he could walk away from it before that connection would be severed. He also wondered how it managed to deposit him on firm ground, away from obstacles like trees.

It was time to go back 'down'. Yang steeled himself again for the trip. He touched the lower glyph and then the entry glyph, and he was gone.

His sudden appearance back in the New York chamber was met with cries of surprise and delight.

"He's back!" yelled Cristina, who saw him first.

The others gathered around the plate where Yang, with another quite audible 'pop' and dislocation of air, had been deposited after his journey. He seemed not to notice them: he was looking up at the ceiling in wonder.

"Where'd you go?" asked Sam.

He slowly focused on his surroundings and looked at her. "What?"

"Where'd you go?" she asked again.

"Ah, above, on the mountainside."

"Are you all right?" asked Richard.

"I think so," said Yang.

"We were worried," said Cristina. "Thought the aliens might've taken you or something!" She laughed nervously.

"Are you sure you were on the mountain above us?" asked Feynman.

"It looked like it. I haven't seen the Catskills before, but I assume that's where I was. I went to both sides."

"What? How'd you do that?" asked Sam.

"Well, have a look at it," he showed her his ankh, indicating the glyphs. "The left one takes you to one side of the mountain, and the right one takes you to the other."

"And the bottom one brings you back down?" she surmised.

"Correct. But you have to touch the middle glyph, the entry button, after you've chosen your direction."

"And that's it? Then you, uh, _shift_?" asked Wharton, who had been following Yang's explanation.

"It would seem so," said Yang.

"Incredible!" said Sam.

"What was it like...?" asked Richard.

While the others gathered around and fired questions at Yang, Sam and Professor Feynman and Wharton had a quiet discussion away from them.

"Professors," said Sam, suddenly serious, "we should now go immediately to all the other Gate rooms and collect the rest of these ankhs."

"What – all of them? Do you think they could be misused?"

"It's possible. It's better to be safe than sorry."

"Very well, if you think it's necessary."

"I do. And I'd like to take Richard and Cristina and their tracking device with me. And you, Professor Feynman, to help operate the Gates for me."

"Very well," said Feynman reluctantly.

"I think you should also cease any further work on the Gates, at least for now. In fact, I insist."

"You insist?" Feynman looked dubious.

"Look, I can have my security guys close this facility down with a phone call. Do I have to do that, or will you do it yourself?" Her demeanor had changed completely: gone was the geeky awkwardness, now she was all business.

"I suppose we have no choice," said Wharton, crestfallen.

"Good." She looked at Wharton and suddenly felt sorry for him. "But this is excellent, sir. Your people have finally uncovered the secrets of these Gates and how to use them. You are to be congratulated. Well done! But my people will take it from here."

With that, she commandeered Feynman and Manfredi's crew.

END OF PART TWO

PART THREE:

THE PROGRAM

CHAPTER ONE

Following a tradition that began with Ronald Reagan, former President Burton Orwell left one special item on the desk of the Oval Office when he finally departed from the White House. It was a carefully crafted letter addressed to the incoming President, Damien Tillburn. It contained what Orwell hoped would be some sage advice on how to run a country and how to deal with all the craziness that went with it. He had added a few whimsical touches to leaven the pomposity, including a suggestion to 'always keep toilet paper handy – you never know when you might have to go'. Most of all, he intended it as a friendly salutation from one President to another from across the party line, offering the hand of friendship and best wishes on the coming term of office.

There was also a brief postscript: the mysterious pronouncement to 'Give them to the world'. Of all the unfinished business Orwell had left behind, it was the existence of the Gates that weighed most on his mind, and he hoped his successor would take up that challenge responsibly.

It was perhaps typical of Damien Tillburn's style of governing that, upon discovering the letter on what was now _his_ Oval Office desk, he chose not to read it. Instead, he handed it over to his secretary, Myra Cuthbertson, with instructions for her to keep it until his own Presidency was over. Thereupon, he would finally open it and, with the pure light of hindsight gained from his own experience, he would read it.

There was much to do during the change over, and certain details, certain matters of protocol were almost overlooked. It was a full three days into Tillburn's new administration before an advisor at the Pentagon – the same General Wingfield from the Department of Research and Development – broached the subject of the Gates. The tardiness of the information did not sit well with Tillburn, who was known for his short temper, and whose language in private was not the same as that which he reserved for the public.

"What the fuck is going on, Arthur?" asked Tillburn, seated regally in his plush President's chair, before his stately genuine English Oak President's desk.

He was as bald as Orwell had been hirsute. This had been seen as a distinct disadvantage by some of his advisors. They had worried that the extreme baldness, along with Tillburn's muscular frame, would conjure untrustworthy 'Lex Luthor' associations in the electorate. Other, wiser heads reminded them not to underestimate the 'Vin Diesel factor'. His other distinguishing feature – his crooked nose – was portrayed by imaginative publicists as the result of some early dabbling in amateur pugilism. It all leant a common though stern touch to Tillburn's aura, which went down well with middle America. In a different setting he might have been a High School gym teacher, or Arnold Schwarzenegger. At the very least, he looked like he could get the job done.

"What other secrets are you R and D boys hiding? Are we talking little green men from Roswell, the Ark of the Covenant?"

His tone was annoyed, but secretly he was delighted with Wingfield's detailed report on the Gates. A big fan of Indiana Jones and arcane conspiracies, he had wondered if gaining the Presidency would bring with it this secret knowledge. To have it confirmed that the government harbored such mysteries made him happier than he could say.

"Well, not exactly, sir," Wingfield fibbed, just a little. Taken aback somewhat by the President's tone, his smile was a tad less self-satisfied than usual. "I just thought this matter should be brought to your attention as soon as possible. We are, uh...waiting for a response from you on how to proceed."

"And how should I proceed?" Tillburn looked at Wingfield slyly. He knew full well that the General was here not only to brief him about the Gates, but also to gauge his attitude to them.

"Sir?" Wingfield asked with studied confusion.

Tillburn smiled. The General was impressive. "What did my predecessor do? I assume he knew about this?"

"Yes." Wingfield hesitated. "He...uh, prevaricated."

"Hmm," Tillburn mused. He picked up a framed photo of a favorite grandchild from his desk, played with it, then put it back down. He turned to Wingfield and said, "You mentioned something about Orwell's old science advisor, Eli Weinstein, being the liaison for the team out at Tesla?"

"That's right."

"What's your opinion of the man?"

Wingfield looked reluctant for a moment, which was all Tillburn needed to know. He let him speak anyway.

"His knowledge of the Gate Program is first rate, but..."

"Yes, but...?"

"But the man's a loose cannon, sir. He gave Wharton and his team far too much leeway with their work – didn't even instigate a Washington presence down there until after the time travel capabilities came to light – and influenced Orwell unduly, in my opinion."

"I see. What do you think we should do with these...Gates?"

Wingfield hesitated again. Then he smiled his self-satisfied smile and spoke boldly. "Well, first of all, we should seize them for the military, sir. It's the only way to control the message they represent."

"And what message would that be, General Wingfield?"

"That they are here. Or, at least, they have been here." He spoke with emotion now. Now he was the man of God. Now he was fighting the sacrilege that he believed the Gates represented. "We could be over there to take that Gate off of Feynman's hands in a jiffy. We could occupy the other Gate chambers from there. Say the word, sir!"

Tillburn was slightly appalled by some of the General's conclusions. He understood what was meant by 'they', but he wasn't convinced that _they_ existed. In any case, he would not be prompted into action by this presumptuous pen pusher. Still, he needed to know more about the Gates and the people involved. His preferred decision-making style was autocratic, but he saw the wisdom in consultation when it was needed. He knew the psychologists had, more or less, proven the efficacy of 'two heads are better than one', even though he still chafed at the idea. He was clearly going to need some more advice here.

"Feynman – who's he?"

The next day, Eli Weinstein was summoned to the Oval Office. President Tillburn had taken at least some of the intervening time since his meeting with General Wingfield (he, of course, had many other duties) to familiarize himself with Eli's most recent report on developments at the Tesla Institute and the Gate it harbored. He preferred to do his own research, when he could, rather than let some flunky do it for him and relay it to him in point form. Some of the more technical information required a steep learning curve, but Tillburn was up to the job. The more he read, the more fascinated he became with the Gates and all their capabilities, and the thought of them fairly squeezed out other considerations on his mind - such as running the country.

He had thought about getting some of his own people over to the Tesla Institute to report on the Gate, but bringing Eli on board seemed a more expedient measure now. Reading the report, Tillburn could see that Eli knew his stuff. Even though he had been a part of Orwell's regime, he already knew the layout at Tesla and was well versed with the personnel involved. If he proved useful, Tillburn was thinking of using him as his point man on the project.

"Take a seat," said Tillburn, indicating the chair in front of his desk as Mrs Cuthbertson showed Eli into the room.

As he took his seat, Eli noticed his own report about Tesla and the Gates on the desk in front of the President. He wondered what conclusions Tillburn had drawn from it.

After a pause, in which Tillburn took the report and tamped it down on the desk, he regarded Eli with steely, expectant eyes. "It seems from this report of yours, Mr Weinstein, about these Gates, as they've been called, your main concern is security. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir," said Eli. "It's clear to me, despite the efforts of everyone at Tesla, that the secrets of the Timegates have not been contained.

"Well, shit, what's the good-" Tillburn stopped himself. He did not want to present his worst side to this newcomer – or, at least not yet. He took a deep, impatient breath, then continued in more even tones. "I believe one of these Gates is in China, and another is situated beneath Iran. And you're saying that soon, if not already, our enemies will know about them?"

Eli hesitated, then continued. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, sir, it's inevitable. But also, they don't need to be our enemies. The main question is, what will you do about it?"

Tillburn was impressed and placated by Eli's good manners. But his words..."That's not good enough, Mr Weinstein!" he barked. He knew a smarmy, pre-prepared response when he heard one.

Eli was outwardly unfazed by the outburst; but secretly, he wished he were somewhere else.

President Tillburn rubbed the back of his bald head and continued. "We have enormous resources at our disposal. All we need is the will to mobilize them. We managed to get results from Oppenheimer back in Los Alamos."

Eli only just managed to stop himself from looking at the President in disbelief at this comment. He was beginning to be worried. He could see that Tillburn's hawkish reputation was well earned. "Yes, but that was during the Second World War, and Oppenheimer was charged with developing the Atomic bomb. This technology is not a weapon, or cannot be used as a weapon. I believe its best use is peaceful, as science and discovery."

"Of course." Tillburn tamped the papers down again on his desk and looked at Eli stonily.

"If I may ask, sir?" said Eli.

"Yes, what?" Tillburn looked at him expectantly.

"But what about the other countries that contain Gates within their borders, sir?"

"What about them?"

Eli blinked. He wondered if Tillburn was playing games with him or if he was genuinely short-sighted.

"Uh, will they be notified? I only ask because I suspect that you will be notified by them soon enough."

Tillburn paused for a moment, considering his decision. He imagined the howls of disagreement this decision would set off from the Generals and other advisors he had not consulted. The thought of _that_ made him smile - inwardly at least. Outwardly, Tillburn gave Eli a cold stare, but replied warmly enough. "In due time, Eli, in due time."

"Understood, sir." Eli nodded his head in satisfaction.

Tillburn gave him a curt nod, and Eli took the hint and stood up, ready to leave. "Thank you, Mr President."

"Keep me apprised," Tillburn said finally.

Eli departed, leaving President Tillburn to ponder his next move. It had been a short interview - indeed, Weinstein had looked confused when he found he was being dismissed so quickly. But Tillburn felt satisfied with the information he'd been given. It was all he had needed - and he felt sure that Weinstein would prove himself useful in the days ahead.

He again picked up the framed photo of his favorite grandchild and leaned back in his chair, gazing at the photo. Her name was Esmeralda – 'Esme' for short. A cheeky, playful little thing whose smile always lifted his heart. He often found himself gazing at her picture and thinking about her. Her very existence centered him, gave him a perfect sense of reality. She was the future, she was The People, the reason he did what he did. Or at least in his best moments.
CHAPTER TWO

TIME TRAVEL A REALITY!

\- Newspaper article headline by Ted Bronson, from The New York Times, New York.

Eli Weinstein appeared on television reading from a carefully worded statement. It was designed to present a coherent cover story for the origins and development of the Gate Project. He had discussed the matter extensively with President Tillburn and others, and all had come to the conclusion that an official announcement would be far better than an unofficial expose and the cries of cover up that it would represent. Eli seemed relaxed and spoke confidently, as if surprised at all the fuss. He was flanked by a number of foreign ministers, conveniently presenting a united front on the issue at hand.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Today it is our privilege to announce the existence of a special project that has been in development for the last five years. That project's name is Timegate, and it features, among other innovations, a breakthrough in technology that allows for the possibility of a type of time travel into the past. Yes, that's correct, I just said time travel.

"Now, before I go on to explain that a little, I'd like to say first that the Project has enjoyed an international co-operation from the start, including the participation of the governments of France, Australia, Brazil, Egypt, Russia, China and the United States of America.

"Yes, we have operated the Project covertly since its inception – but for a number of very sound reasons, not least of which has been the need for national – and international – security. So, why reveal the project now? Simply put, we now have need to consolidate further international co-operation and participation in the project.

"And, really folks, it is just time you knew. We don't make this announcement lightly, we do it to allow the world a chance to come to terms with this incredible new scientific breakthrough that represents a paradigm shift of enormous proportions..."

The announcement caused a sensation. The world mass media had a field day, and the public went along for the ride. Follow-up reports of fraud and misinformation added to the media melee. Although some sections of the media (particularly on the internet) cried conspiracy, the general consensus with much of the public and the media was to accept the cover story the government had concocted and to believe that ingenious scientists had discovered the miracle of time travel. So too, the fiction of only "seven Gates in seven countries" was maintained.

When word eventually got out from a mysterious source that one of the Gates resided within the Tesla Institute, members of the press and the public descended upon the campus. Some camped outside the Institute's Scherff Center, and many reporters sought out staff as they left the gates, demanding quotes. At this point the flow of information, little as it had been, was shut down completely, and the White House ordered a blanket ban on issuing information about the Gate Project to the public.

At this time, the other Gate countries that had not been featured in the original reports were quietly co-opted into the Project, their silent participation diplomatically secured. Collectively, they were known by Project personnel as 'the silent countries', and they consisted of: Canada, South Africa, Congo, Mongolia, Iran, India, Sweden, Great Britain, Indonesia, Japan, Honduras, New Zealand and Spain (which shared its Gate with France). In all, there were eighteen Gate countries, with Russia and Africa containing three Gates apiece within their borders, and the United States containing two Gates.

Meanwhile, Professor Feynman's team at the Tesla Institute, now working under the direction of Samantha Flores, was dealing with the mechanics of time travel through the Gates themselves. They now knew, for instance, that travel into the past via the Gates was a peculiarly fixed affair. During one experiment, Lina Thigpen and Gary Mullens arrived in the past and then turned off the Gate at their end. Then, turning it back on, they found that the Gate automatically pointed them back to the present. Attempts to travel further into the past proved futile. It seemed the Gates were in some way tethered to the present timeline.

During this experiment, Yang Lee, who was monitoring Lina and Gary's activities, discovered that he could not lock back onto their timelines from their present position. Therefore, Lina and Gary had to engage the Gates from their end before the connection to the present could be re-established. A team of codebreakers and mathematicians, including Yang, investigated all possible combinations of the Gate glyphs to achieve the lock, but nothing could be done. Professor Feynman then, belatedly, handed the problem of the Gate glyphs over to a group of top linguists at the Institute.

By this time, other teams from other Gates had begun their own experiments. A team at the London Gate were the first to confirm that the sixth time glyph, the largest single jump possible, represented a jump of exactly one millennium into the past. Upon engaging it and entering into that timeline, they had found themselves near a small village where the people spoke a mixture of Danish and old English, and the countryside was swathed in green farmland. Further investigation, including some questioning of startled villagers, confirmed for them that they had arrived in the Eleventh Century.

The London team was instructed to remain in this time for approximately a month, conducting further field tests and research. It was on this mission that the phenomenon called the _dilation effect_ was first recorded. Before the month was out, all four members of the team duly found themselves to be suffering from pronounced bouts of amnesia. The team leader, cognitive psychologist Stefan Morrisey, called an early end to the mission and the dazed and somewhat time-lagged team returned to the present for a barrage of tests.

Further tests showed that the dilation effect apparently exerted a progressively stronger influence the further one went back in time. It was a set-back for the Program. It meant long-term expeditions into the past – especially the 'deep past' - would require constant replacement of teams to avoid members succumbing to the effect.
CHAPTER THREE

Kathy Rodriguez was resolved to stay out of the new Gate Project - or Program, as it was now being called. The excuse she gave Gerard Feynman, when he offered her a position in it, was that she simply wanted time away to prepare for her baby's birth. There was some truth to that, but it wasn't the whole truth. She was afraid of the Timegates. She was afraid that they would fuel her obsession with John to such a degree that she would lose her hold on reality. She knew she would need to be here, in her proper timeline, for her baby. In fact, more accurately, she was frightened of her own responses to the Timegates. Most of all, she needed to let go of John.

The thought of spending the ensuing months idly waiting for her baby to be born, however, didn't appeal to her either. What to do?

The surprising solution came when she was in town in Riverside browsing through a thrift shop looking for 'baby things'. It was in an old converted church, run by a Baptist organisation. They had named it _The Mustard Tree_. It was unusual in that it had a working cafe attached to it, staffed by volunteers. Kathy thought it was a great idea, as did the other customers. She bought a takeaway coffee from the cafe to drink as she roamed the aisles. It occurred to her that coffee and pregnancy probably didn't mix. Then she thought of all the other vices she would have to deny herself for a while. It was a good thing she didn't smoke! Watching the young Hispanic girl making the coffee at the machine, she was reminded of her time as a waitress in a cafe back in L.A. She couldn't say she exactly missed it, but she had always enjoyed working the coffee machine, when she got the chance. With the drink in hand, she happily bought a few items, including some clothes and a couple of books, and took them up to the counter. While the shop assistant rang up the items Kathy noticed a sign behind her that read 'VOLUNTEERS WANTED'.

She thought to herself, _Why not?_

A week later, after her application had been approved, she found herself working as a volunteer in _The Mustard Tree_ cafe.

She was shown the ropes by the cafe supervisor, Belinda Miller. Belinda was a sprightly blonde of about fifty, who to Kathy seemed like a whirlwind of energy. An active member of the Baptist Church and a mother of three, she was big on yoga and macrobiotic food, and there wasn't an ounce of fat on her. She was as sleek and toned as a greyhound. She had years of experience in hospitality and she had personally set up the cafe and organised its routine like a finely tuned instrument. Kathy was amazed at her activity: efficiently churning out delicious foccacias, cookies (all made on the premises) and coffee at an alarming speed, and imparting sage advice at an equal rate. Her barista skills were impeccable, and her knowledge of and familiarity with the old _Espaziale_ two-station machine the cafe used bordered on the obscenely intimate. She had much to teach Kathy about how to make the perfect espresso, and Kathy paid close attention to her new mentor.

For her own part, Belinda was impressed with Kathy's waitressing. "You've got some skills, girl!" she said, watching as Kathy returned from the tables, her arms fully laden with cups and plates.

"Thanks," said Kathy, carefully placing the items in a container next to the large industrial washing machine. "I learned them in L.A."

"Ah, that job you put down on your application. So that wasn't a phoney?"

"No, no phoney."

"Good. If it was, I'd have docked your pay!" Belinda joked.

Together they proceeded to load up the machine. Kathy glanced over at the counter and said, "Uh-oh, customer."

Belinda looked at the large, bearded and bespectacled man by the counter. "No, that's Ken, he's one of the church chaplains. He's here for the community table."

"Hi," said Ken, smiling at them. He then put his right hand up to his forehead and flashed what looked like an L for loser sign to Belinda. She replied in kind, and Ken then walked over to the tables at the back of the cafe.

"Wha-what was that?" asked Kathy, bemused by the gesture.

"Oh that's just Ken's way of asking for a coffee," said Belinda, laughing. "It's supposed to be a C for coffee, but I always turn it into an L."

She went over to the counter cupboard and took out a small receipt book. "This is the Staff Tab book for members who run up a tab on the cafe. Ken's one of our best customers." She showed Kathy Ken's recent tab listing. It was long and included coffees and soft drinks, focaccias and a long line of BELTs, which were apparently one of his favourites. "You have to remember to write the entries in here when they order something."

"Okay," said Kathy, chuckling at the size of Ken's tab bill. It certainly went some way to explaining his large frame. She watched as he lumbered about joining several tables together in readiness for the community meal. He wore a Star Wars t-shirt, and his pants would easily fit two men inside them. Kathy looked at him, then looked at Belinda and smiled. Together, they were two extremes of the human form. "He sure orders a lot."

"Yes, well they're not all for him," said Belinda mysteriously.

A little later, when the community meal was in full swing, Kathy was busy wiping down tables nearby. She watched with curiosity as the participants conducted the meal. There were thirteen people sitting around the three tables that had been joined together. Some of them were staff members, while others were either homeless people or simply in need of a free meal. Ken sat near the middle leading the group in a prayer of Grace.

Kathy was not particularly religious, but she was up on her Bible and caught the significance, if unintentional, of the thirteen people at the table. They were like twelve ragtag disciples, with Ken in the middle leading the 'supper' – a typical Christian chaplain with delusions of Jesus, she figured. There was bread on the tables, which all were sharing, but no sacramental wine. Instead, it was quiche, root beer and ketchup for this particular fellowship.

Afterwards, Kathy had the chance to have her own lunch at the staff table next to the cafe. It had a sign saying 'This table is reserved for staff'. Someone (probably Belinda, thought Kathy) had written next to the 'reserved' part – 'needs to get out more'. Some biscuits were provided, along with a bowl of unripe kiwi fruit that someone was trying to get rid of. Some member of staff had left a cup behind. It had a sheep on the side, with the words 'Bless ewe' over it. It was all incredibly corny, but Kathy didn't mind. They seemed like good, kindhearted people.

As she ate her meal she considered how everyone had been so friendly and helpful – and not one had tried to convert her, which was a relief. Kathy had cousins who were deeply religious, and whenever she saw them, they never failed to drop unsubtle hints about the perilous state of her soul. Being run by a church organization, she had worried that some at _The Mustard Tree_ would talk religion to her, but that hadn't been the case at all. In fact, everyone seemed very laidback about it. Certainly, Belinda had accepted Kathy as an interested volunteer who simply wanted to contribute to the community and nothing more. Then again...it was still early days.

Ken the chaplain, who had finished his community group duties, presently joined her. The big man wiped his forehead with a paper napkin and sighed, as though it had been a particularly heavy session. He took some tablets from his pocket and gulped them down with a glass of water he'd brought with him.

"Not feeling well?" asked Kathy, watching him drink the water.

"I'm good. Just have to take these for my...diabetes." His voice was gentle and light.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Been working hard?"

"Oh, very!" he joked. "That community group, they're such a bunch of troublemakers!"

"I'll bet!" Kathy smiled. She looked at his Star Wars t-shirt and noticed it was actually The Empire Strikes Back, the second film. She loved that film. "I like your t-shirt."

"Thanks!" He sounded surprised and genuinely pleased by the compliment.

Realising they were fellow Star Wars nerds, they happily passed the time talking about the George Lucas Scifi oeuvre. Both agreed the original three films were best, and the later ones were...disappointing, with particular scorn reserved for that annoying computer-generated creation, Jar Jar Binks.

"Poor Jar, Jar," lamented Kathy, "no one loves him. But he's redeemed somewhat by the Clone Wars, don't you think?"

"Definitely," said Ken with enthusiasm. "Those Clone Wars episodes are awesome."

Kathy laughed, surprised by Ken's pop culture knowledge. He seemed like an unusual chaplain. He was a man with the common touch. Maybe that was part of the job description. She watched as he took out another tablet and swallowed it with the last of his water. She began to feel concern for his health.

"You still taking those tablets, Ken?" This was Belinda, who suddenly joined them at the table. She sounded skeptical. "What are they for this time – your blood pressure, your vitamin D?"

"Neither..." He looked guiltily toward Kathy. "Uh, diabetes."

"But you haven't got diabetes!"

"I could have," he said defensively. "My doc said it's all the soft drink I had when I was younger."

"Yeah, right."

"Can I help it if there's things wrong with me?" Feeling a bit flustered, he got up and went to the serving counter to attend his duties.

Belinda looked wearily at Kathy and said, "Hypochondriac."

Kathy smiled back uncertainly. She was more embarrassed for Ken than anything.

"I couldn't help noticing," said Belinda casually, changing the subject, "on your application you wrote that you've been doing work with the Tesla Institute in San Bernadino. I've been meaning to ask you about that, if it's okay."

"Yes?"

It was true: Kathy had mentioned her work with Tesla on her application – she didn't see any reason to lie about it.

"They have one of those Timegates, don't they? I read it in the papers. Do you know anything about what's going on with them? Have you heard anything? Are they really time machines?"

Her questions were lightly asked, but Kathy could see the feverish gleam in Belinda's eyes and had an inkling of what it was that interested her.

"I'm not really allowed to talk to the public about them," she began hesitantly, "but yes, they are time machines, that's no lie."

At this Belinda's eyes grew wide. Her tone was no longer casual. "Do you know if..." Her voice trailed off, unsure how to ask her question.

"If they've gone back to the time of Jesus?" said Kathy.

"Yes."

"As far as I know, they haven't. Not yet. Why, are you worried what they might find – or not find?"

For a moment she saw doubt in Belinda's eyes; but only for a moment. She quickly smiled and replied optimistically, "Oh I'm sure they'll find that He lives. I'm just thinking how wonderful it would be to see Him!"

Suddenly a faraway look came into her eyes. It was a dreamy, fanatical look.
CHAPTER FOUR

Jerusalem, AD 33

Whenever John Hannebury looked back upon Evram's account of the true life of Jesus of Nazareth he always recalled it as a series of edited highlights, like a film montage, for that was largely how Evram told it. Sometimes there were even passages when the sound faded out altogether (or was drowned out by the booming soundtrack music), leaving only a tantalising glimpse of things he might have said. In any case, Evram was unusually effusive, and his eloquent account of the true life of Jesus of Nazareth began with a warning.

"Shohn, I will tell you what you wish to know; but I must warn you, being told what is called the truth is not the same as knowing the truth, and some truths are better not known. I will leave it for you to decide if what I have to say was worth saying. And I would instruct you to go out and seek it for yourself. The works of all biographers are a poor imitation of the reality."

John appeared chastened and properly humbled at this. But it did not stop the greedy, expectant look in his eyes as he waited patiently for Evram to continue.

"Very well. You ask me about that part of the Bible and Yeshua's life that is true. To do that I must also speak of that part that is not true. And then I might speak as well of those parts that are not even mentioned in the Bible but which might also be relevant. For example, did you know that as a boy Yeshua was overtaken by a malady that caused him to shake and to foam at the mouth for almost two weeks?"

"Well, no, the Bible's pretty scant on information about Yeshua's childhood. Go on." John leaned forward, all ears.

Evram continued. "Although the symptoms were close to epilepsy they stopped occurring after a time. Afterwards Yeshua always insisted that he had seen visions of angels and heard voices during his delirium.

"As a youth he was prone to taking long journeys alone into the hills of Nazareth to be with his 'visions'. He showed very little interest in following his father's vocation (which was not just as a carpenter, but as a potter and craftsman of metals). Instead, he read and studied constantly, especially the Greeks and the Jewish and Zaroastrian scholars.

"For a time he apprenticed with a healer, who taught him much useful lore of herbs and curatives. But many of his teachings were based on superstition and ignorance, and in some cases trickery, and Yeshua became disillusioned with him.

"As he grew into manhood he became very interested in philosophical matters, and he journeyed for a time into Egypt, where his parents Mary and Joseph had taken him to live in his childhood. There, in Alexandria and Leontopolis, he met many teachers and philosophers from many places in the world. There he was first exposed to Buddhist and Taoist thought from teachers who travelled in those lands."

"He what?" interrupted John, astounded by what he was hearing. "He learned about Buddhism and Taoism?"

"Aiy, that is what I said," Evram replied calmly, although there was a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Oh man, that's fantastic! Explains a lot of things." John rubbed his head as though the information was too much for him. "It's almost too much, too soon."

"Do you wish me to stop?"

"No! But maybe, could you tell me about, you know, the beginning?"

"Do you mean his conception and birth?"

"Yes."

"Then I must speak of some things that were not true," said Evram.

"So, you mean his conception, it was not...?"

"It was not immaculate, nay."

"Oh!"

"Sadly," continued Evram, "it was the result of his mother Mary being raped by a young Roman soldier. The soldier had apparently incurred the wrath of his Captain by being too soft on the people of Galilee, and so the Captain had ordered he rape the poor woman, chosen at random, as a lesson learned on pain of crucifixion."

"Did – did you see it?" asked John.

"Aiy, I will never forget it." Evram paused, remembering the event. "It was done in public, before all. I was not close enough to hear him say it, but it is believed he said to Mary, 'Please forgive me', before he did his awful deed."

John realized that Evram had some sympathy for the soldier. "At least the father of Jesus seemed to have been a sensitive man," he offered.

"Aiy, there is at least that consolation. And there is the birth of Jesus – Yeshua – as well."

"Yes, the birth," said John.

Evram smiled slightly, beginning to enjoy his role as mythbuster. "The birth did not happen in a manger in Bethlehem but at the family home in nearby Emmaus, where Joseph lived in those days. There were no visitations by three wise men or Magi, although three of Yeshua's step-brothers were present with their families, and they were properly adoring of their new step-brother. No new stars lit up the heavens, although the planet Venus was shining brightly at that time."

"Evram, how do you account for the discrepancy in the Bible?" said John, interrupting the narrative again.

"Some of it can be explained by errors in the oral accounts that were passed down, and some by...let us call them over-zealous scribes hoping to make Yeshua's life accord with their own beliefs and the Old Testament prophecies. The rest is either speculation or wilful trickery to further the desires of those who came after. The one called Paul of Tarsus was...well let us say he had great imagination."

"And you know all this? You saw it happen?"

"I and others, aiy. For example, the incident with the five fishes and two loaves, do you know it?"

"Yes, Jesus somehow feeds the five thousand with them."

Evram looked apologetic as he confessed, "In truth there were only about two thousand. And many brought food themselves, although it was Yeshua who called upon them to share what they had with those who had naught. Nay, the five fishes and two loaves were a parable of the spiritual nourishment Yeshua offered the people if they followed his teachings.

"Some of the parables came through as they were, and others like the five fishes became confused as fact. It is in these simple ways the truth was diverted."

Evram was silent for a time, allowing John a moment of quiet reflection of what he had heard. He replenished their cups of wine. John looked at the shadows of firelight dancing on the walls and wondered if he was dreaming. It was getting late and they should have retired, but there was still so much more to learn.

John put down his cup and fixed his eyes firmly on Evram. "The sermon on the mount, what can you tell me of that?"

Evram smiled, recollecting the event. "It was more a festival than merely a sermon. The field below was prepared with tables of delicacies, wine and sweet meats, and musicians from Nubia were present to entertain the people. There were some fine drummers. They inspired much dancing, especially with the less respectable women.

"In the midst of it all there was Yeshua, walking among the people, making blessings, offering words of kindness and comfort to the poor and sick, dancing with the women. There was a large crowd of perhaps four thousand there to hear his words that day."

"Did he really say those things?"

"Yes, of course. 'The meek shall inherit the earth', and 'blessed are the poor', he really did say those words, and others. Although sometimes when he was discouraged at the greed and folly of the world, he would say instead, 'Blessed should be the poor'. And one time I heard him say outright in disgust, 'Blessed are the rich!' But the sermon amazed the people who were there and charged them with a new spirit, and it grew and the news was spread like seed.

"He learned some of this as well from Yochanan the Baptizer, with whom he had much in common. They were both healers and teachers possessed of open hearts and great compassion, and both personable in their manner."

"How does the account in the Bible of the baptism differ from what really happened?" asked John

"It differs very little, if at all, my friend," said Evram, looking with disappointment at his empty wine cup. He yawned loudly. "At the baptism by the river of Jordan there was indeed a moment of great light, yet it was only the sun appearing from behind dark clouds. And a dove did appear in the sky above Yeshua. I know not about the voice of God coming from the heavens at that moment, for I did not hear it. Nor did any other witnesses. Yet only Yochanan and Yeshua together seemed to have heard the voices, and they were both in accord with what was said, which was in essence that God was well pleased with Yeshua. It was strange and marvellous, and we still cannot account for it."

"Is it possible then he really was the Son of God, as he claimed to be? Was there a resurrection?" John knew he was jumping ahead in the story to the finish, but he could see that Evram was tired and would not talk much more tonight. Yet there was so much more to know.

"That is the main question in all of this, is it not?"

"Aiy, yes. Will you tell me?"

Evram sighed. "Yeshua will come here to Jerusalem. Perhaps you will prefer to see the truth for yourself?"

"He's coming here? Is it that time already?"

"Aiy, some months from now it will be Passover. But he has visited this city before, many times, he and his disciples. But this will be the last time."

John swayed where he sat. He felt light-headed, unsure if it was the wine or the words that caused it. _The Passion Week was coming soon!_ "Yes, I will be happy to wait. Thank you for telling me this, Evram. I will never forget it."

"You are welcome, Shohn." Evram made a move to get up, but was stopped by John.

"Just one other thing...?"

"Yes?" He settled in his seat again.

"I'm grateful of course, but why did you tell me all of this?"

"Ah, when we first met, I was not sure of you, Shohn. You seemed a companionable fellow on the journey here, but I did not know if you were the right man for the work we have ahead of us. Yet your account of your visit to the Temple convinced me and all the brothers that you are the man we seek to complete our mission here."

"You mean the mission to fulfil what Yeshua set out to do?"

"Aiy. Will you join us, will you help us?"

"I will, if I can. What do you need me to do? Does it have to do with what Mari told me about you all having to leave soon?"

"Let alone for now, Shohn," said Evram with a dismissive wave of the hand. He was standing now. "I grow weary. We will begin tomorrow."
CHAPTER FIVE

2017

Ursula Bailouni had not expected to get the Directorship for the Timegate Program. She was almost certain it would go to Eli Weinstein, or Jake Wetherall, the hot shot science guru and entrepreneur at Kaysten Enterprises. In short, she thought it would go to a man.

It was a reasonable assumption, considering the staff makeup of the new Tillburn administration, which was heavily skewed towards men. Luckily, the position had not been dependent on the vote of any one government. All eighteen of the Gate countries had been allowed to vote, and the majority of the representatives had endorsed her over the other candidates.

A woman of French/Lebanese ancestry, Ursula was also a Rhodes Scholar with a background in History and Sociology. The fact that she had been the Director of Smithsonian Institution Archives for the last four years was also in her favor. Added to this, she was personally a formidable woman who knew how to stand up to the powers and vested interests that had often stood in her way. She was a keen student of politicians and bureaucrats, and knew well how to play their games against them. It was this quality that had given her the edge in the competition and convinced those making the decisions that she was the person who could harness the complex requirements of the Timegate Program and make them work. In short, she could get the job done.

Like most people, she had first heard of the Gates when she saw Eli Weinstein announce their existence on television. She had followed the story assiduously and with an ever-increasing sense of wonderment as the revelations about the Gates came to light. Time travel: it was the Holy Grail of every scientist, every history professor in the world! In the days after the announcements she wandered the halls of the Institution in a daze, looking upon the exhibits, the precious remnants of arcane civilizations, and realized one day she might see them for real.

The Smithsonian, of course, was one of the first institutions the government contacted for advice and input in implementing the Program. Ursula had liaised with the people involved, including Eli Weinstein, who at the early stage was the Program's head administrator. From there, it had not been difficult for her to gain the candidacy for the Directorship position.

Even after she gained the position and installed herself in her new offices just a mile away from the White House, she remained slightly dazed. She had the feeling she was still in a dream that she would eventually have to wake up from. The scope of the Program was enormous, much larger than Eli's initial announcement had indicated. Her budget to run the thing was the size of a small country's economy, and her powers were almost unlimited.

Most incredible to Bailouni was the realization that the governments of the eighteen countries (but particularly the US government) had endorsed a science and research-based use for the Timegates over the military interests she was sure must have coveted them. It seemed utterly preposterous, but there it was.

But the military, she soon discovered, had not surrendered its battle for the Gates - not at all. From the first, the Generals at the Pentagon and elsewhere were clamoring for representation within the Program. It was Ursula's first great challenge.

Her solution was to have the potential candidates for time travel to be drawn from both academia and the various arms of the military and intelligence communities. Upon completion of their training, these individuals would be placed into squads of four and sent into the field as an advanced guard. These squads would be called Exploration Teams – a term Ursula had read about in a report by Samantha Flores, who had instigated the scheme at the Tesla Institute. The make up of these exploration teams would be, as Ursula stated boldly to a representation of Generals who had confronted her on the issue, "Two scientists, two soldiers". It was not the mandate they had hoped for, but the Generals had returned to their various posts somewhat placated.

She also faced a similar problem with respect to certain private industries and big business interests that lobbied to have the Timegates privatized so that they could reap the enormous profits they could generate from them. Ursula had actually shivered at the thought. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of the Timegates. To her relief, most of the governments being lobbied held firm and rejected all offers.

Next, she set up an organizational committee called the Gate Advisory Panel that consisted mostly of government science advisors and academics from each of the Gate countries, with herself as head administrator. Its task was to oversee the adjudication of research missions, and then to collate and publish the results.

In theory, this meant receiving and reviewing research proposals from the various prestigious universities and institutions that had been favored with access to the Program and the Timegates. These submissions could consist of anything from a request by a Faculty of Political Science at Moscow University to investigate the Russian Revolution, to a proposal from Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities to investigate the building of Kufu's Pyramid. Approved submissions would then require some training for its participants in the rigors of Gate travel; and after mission objectives had been met, there would be a detailed analysis of the results leading to some type of peer review in a Panel-approved publication.

In practice, Ursula knew the process would be far more complicated and there were still many details she needed to work out. To this end, she planned to write a paper she called _A Proposal for Time Travel Research Protocols_ that would, she hoped, address these issues.

In the meantime, there were other important issues to address, such as that of security. Eli Weinstein, under the President's advisement, had issued a statement to the press that a Program of time travel exploration was in fact under way. So far, however, the news of Ursula's appointment to the Directorship and the existence of the Gate Advisory Panel and its activities had been kept from the general public. In fact, she had been ordered by President Tillburn himself to operate the Timegate Program under the strictest levels of security possible. Nothing was to get out to the media or the public – not the training program, the Gate technology, the existence of the other sixteen Gates not mentioned by the government, or even the names of the institutions involved in the Program. The government's cover story was to remain intact.

All this, Ursula thought, was a grave mistake: not least because it would require enormous resources to police, considering the amount of personnel involved. But she accepted the requirement with grace, and appointed a very surprised Eli Weinstein as the head of the Program's Security Section. He was clearly one of the most experienced people working on the project and had been there almost from the start. On a personal level she found him to be an overly combative – and frankly, annoying – individual; but she knew she would need him to help with the running of the Program, and even considered him her most trusted lieutenant.

There was one other major problem that she and her administration faced, and it was the question of the Program's ultimate legitimacy. Even though most of the Gate countries had participated in the recent vote to select a Director, there had been holdouts – most notably, Russia and China. They had agreed, with the others, to the principle of a centrally organized body to co-ordinate and administrate the time travel capacities of the Gates, but they were reluctant participants and so far had not agreed to ratify the Program.

Ursula had requested President Tillburn to send some of his best diplomats to the countries in question; and after negotiations, they had returned with a raft of requests from the Chinese and Russian governments. Reading through them, she could see that the requests mostly came down to security concerns, including a perceived need for what they called 'greater oversight'. The wording was cautious and the meaning not always clear, but reading between the lines, Ursula could see that they were deeply worried about the secrets that time travel would probably reveal about the past – in particular, their past.

She knew they had a point; and it was clearly not something that applied only to Russia or China, but to the whole world. If one of the wonderful things about time travel was the opportunity to uncover the secrets of history, the downside was that it could uncover everyone's dirty laundry. Time travel opened a can of very grubby worms that would be difficult to close.

Ursula took these troubling thoughts with her when she finally gained some leave time to join her husband, Douglas, at their home in Westphalia. It was the first break she'd had since commencing the job, and she needed it.

The first day home saw her in the front garden, bent down on one knee weeding the lawn beside her one apple tree. Inside the two-story brick front colonial behind her, Douglas, a part-time jazz musician (but full-time art curator with a local gallery), was drumming up a storm in practice for an upcoming gig. Ursula brushed away a few stray strands of her still-glossy black hair with the back of her soiled garden gloves and continued digging with her dainty garden trowel. Her face was brown, her dark, expressive eyes and full lips betraying her Arabic ancestry.

She loved her garden, and enjoyed tending to the bounty that nature provided. She was not so keen on the weeding, but she was fascinated by the variety of bugs that the activity uncovered. An inveterate compiler and cataloguer, she would sometimes take the more exotic insects and arachnids inside and try to identify them in one of the many encyclopaedias she had at her disposal. This occupation would often appall Douglas, who was especially not fond of spiders.

As she sorted through the dirt, her thoughts inevitably returned to the problem posed by the two breakaway Gate countries, China and Russia. How to placate their fears – really, everyone's fears – of revelation of past sins and their possible retribution? Her dark, penetrating eyes spied a couple of worms uncovered by the trowel and she placed them in a container she had beside her. She would keep them for Douglas, who was a keen fisherman.

She started thinking about some of the early research proposals she had received from the various universities and institutions affiliated with the Program. They were quite eye opening. There were proposals to investigate the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, and requests to track down various Nazi war criminals, among others.

The legal implications of time travel were daunting. Ursula wondered if perhaps the Gate Advisory Panel's selection process should include a requirement that there be no witch-hunts. Or could some loophole she hadn't thought of be found in the alternate timelines and exploited? Was that even desirable?

She pondered the issue well into the afternoon, until she finally looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was getting low. When she thought she'd hit on a solution, Douglas called her in for dinner.
CHAPTER SIX

"This here is your basic form of long range transport in the past, especially before the Twentieth Century. Get to know it, learn how to care for it, and most of all, learn how to ride it."

Sam Flores was addressing the new training program recruits. All twelve of them were gathered around her in a field not far from the Tesla Institute sports arena. She was mounted on a horse.

Lina Thigpen, who was one of the recruits, looked up at her, dressed in her tight riding outfit, crop and cap, and sighed. Flores seemed to manage to look good in anything.

The training program had been a breeze for Lina so far. There had been weapons training (some guns, but mainly use of non-lethal hand tazers and stun guns), self defence classes and physical training - all of which she had aced. She was in great shape. Her fellow trainee Yang had also done well. Gus Manfredi, however, had struggled.

"Maybe I'm too old for this!" he had groaned as they ran laps around the Institute's sports arena.

"Stop complaining, old man," Yang had said next to him. "Be thankful we only do seven weeks of this. They do twenty in the real program at Quantico!"

The friendly reminder had not comforted him.

The horse riding training proved less of a challenge for Gus, who was quite an experienced horseman. The one who found it difficult was Lina. Being a Compton girl, she'd hardly ever seen a horse, let alone been on one. When she finally got up onto her horse, a large white mare, she felt the same familiar fear of being way too high off the ground. She definitely didn't want to fall off. She tried to lead the horse around the track laid out for the recruits, but the mare kept taking her off course. Lina tried to control it, but the horse had apparently decided it was boss.

"No, not that way, you're sitting all wrong," said Flores, coming up behind her on her own mount. "And you're holding the reins wrong. Your horse can tell when you're uncertain." Sam leaned over and showed Lina how to grip the reins. Their hands touched briefly.

Lina held her breath and felt a thrilling tingle go through her body.

After getting her mount in some control, Lina moved her horse slowly along the track, and Sam seemed content to remain with her, to check her progress.

"I don't know why," said Sam, "but I thought you'd be a natural on a horse."

"Me?" said Lina, incredulous. "No way! I'm a Compton girl. It's always been cars and concrete with me. I ain't really what you'd call an outdoors girl, know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I guess so!" Sam laughed. "But you know, urban life – 'the concrete jungle' – is it really that different to living in nature and the wilderness? It's not that hard to adapt."

Lina had the feeling that Sam was trying to recruit her for something – perhaps a poster child for the Great Outdoors. The notion seemed ridiculous.

"I guess I'll have to if I'm gonna be in this new Program," said Lina.

"It will certainly be a new experience," said Sam, starting to move away. "I'm glad you've joined. See ya."

Lina tried to read Sam's behaviour as she moved away, but it was inscrutable. Usually quick to pick up on those vibes, she wondered now about her sexuality. She realized that Sam hadn't given her a clue, one way or another, as to her preferences. In all her dealings with her she had played her cards close.

She had tried not to let it happen, but Lina felt she was falling for her in a big way. She wondered if maybe Sam was the Great Blonde Beauty of her dreams now. She had thought that about Marianne Schuba, but that hadn't worked out. There was something about Sam that made Lina think of an ideal place, a country where she felt she belonged and was happy there. A place she could share with someone special, like Sam.

Should she pursue her? That was the question.

She thought again of the alternate timelines that the Timegates presented. There were so many possibilities stretching out towards a seeming infinity. She had glimpsed them and seen the promise of perfection in them. But it was a false promise. There was only the fixed imperfect reality of this one timeline she was living in now – the 'true' reality, as she saw it. There was only one shot here, no regrets, no second chances. She'd better get it right.

Still saddle sore from the workout Flores had given her, Lina joined her friends in one of their academic classes that afternoon. It was titled 'the Sociology of Time Travel'.

The lecturer was a slightly overweight, middle-aged white man who introduced himself as Mr Jackson, but asked the students to call him 'Wally'. Lina took a dislike to him almost immediately: possibly because of his brusque manner.

"You will be going into the past, and that means you will be encountering a lot of strange habits and customs that you're not used to. Being able to blend in with those customs is going to be crucial to you and the success of your missions. You must avoid conflict at all cost, and that may mean putting up with some terrible behaviour from the natives you encounter.

"Let me give you all a demonstration of what I mean. I notice a number of you recruits are of the _African American_ persuasion."

He paused, letting the five black recruits, who included Lina, feel the effect of being singled out this way. He had been careful to emphasise the racial term, giving it an almost insolent slant.

"Now let's say you have a mission during the American Civil War. That's the years 1859 to 1864, for those of you who flunked history. In that period, if you're black then you're either a slave or at the most a person who is on the lowest rung of the social ladder. I mean, I'm exaggerating here a little bit, you understand. There were some reasonably distinguished, well-respected black people back then: mostly men like Frederick Douglas, but they were few. So, that being the case, how do you act when you're around white people back then?

"Let's do a quick role play on that. How about you, sir." Wally singled out one of the black recruits, a tough-looking F.B.I. agent, who got up and joined him up front.

"What's your name, boy?" asked Wally, already into the role and deliberately using the derogative term for effect.

For a moment, the recruit looked like he was going to hit Wally, but he relaxed and said, "My name's Tyler." He stood erect and looked Wally straight in the eye, as one equal to another.

Wally stared him down. "Your name's 'Tyler'? Why're you lookin' at me that way, boy? I don't like it. Are you tryin' to sass me, _boy_?"

"Uh, no," said Tyler, beginning to look uncomfortable and looking to the other recruits for support. He looked down at his feet and said, "I'm sorry, Wally."

"' _Wally'_!" he yelled. "You don't call me by my first name, boy. You address me as Mr Jackson!"

"Sorry, _Mr Jackson_ ," repeated Tyler.

"Mr Jackson, _sir_!" Wally's face was actually going red with anger now.

"Mr Jackson, _sir_ ," repeated Tyler again. He was also getting into the role now, bending over, bobbing his head, looking nervous.

"My God," said Wally, "I've never seen such an uppity _nigger_ in my entire life! I'll have you whupped if you talk that way to me again, boy. D'ya hear?"

"I hear, sir. Massa," said Tyler respectfully, averting his gaze.

"Performance over," said Wally, turning to shake Tyler's hand and reassure him. "I'm sorry. Hope there's no bad feelings. You were great, by the way!"

"No, it's okay," said Tyler, returning to his seat. "I get it."

"You must remember," continued Wally, "as a great writer once said, 'the past is a foreign country: they do things differently there'. Wherever – or rather, _whenever_ – you go you must adjust your modern sensibilities to the times you're in. If you're in the American Wild West, there'll be none of that revisionist western crap there. It won't be _Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman_."

"Dr who?" asked one of the recruits.

"Never mind," continued Wally, brushing off the question. "If it offends your sensibilities, well too bad, you've just gotta suck it up and play the role, like Tyler did just now. If you can't hack it, then you don't belong on missions, pure and simple. And this goes for other races too. If you're a Chinaman," he looked briefly at Yang, "best mind your p's and q's. If you're a Jew, well, best not to say you are, generally! The important thing is to avoid conflict, to avoid making your difference known. Try to be invisible. It could save your life."

In the audience, Lina and the others were shocked. Outside of a couple of movies, she had never heard a white man talk that way to a black man before. The performance had been so humiliating and degrading. But she knew that Wally had a point, however distasteful it was. If she were going to be in this Program, she would have to adapt to some very strange situations.

She wasn't sure if she could do it. The thought of having to give in to the racism of the past depressed the hell out of her. A part of her rebelled against it. She thought to herself, defiantly _, No one's treatin' this black girl like trash...Motherfuckers!_

CHAPTER SEVEN

Time travel is not for the timid...Nor is it to be squandered on personal agendas or areas of investigation that have little bearing on the advancement of science and world knowledge. It is not to be used as a tool for genealogical research, for example, or as a plaything for the rich. It is not presently open to the public, in any case...

... _All research proposals must have clear and demonstrable objectives that meet the Panel's criterion of appropriate research avenues for time travel. They must contain detailed notice of all requirements, including budget estimations, support material, aims, executive summaries, personnel listings, and possible duration, including follow up procedures. Applications should first be made in writing to the relevant university committees, then followed up with a detailed presentation before they can be sent on to the Panel for external peer review and final ratification. The Panel reserves the right to grant priority to those applications it feels merit special attention due to their greater historical importance and/or urgency. It also reserves the right to deny applications on any reasonable grounds. Rejected proposals may be appealed but cannot be resubmitted until a substantial amount of time has passed._

All mission personnel will agree to abide by the Panel's code of conduct and undergo the Authority's training and preparation program before any missions are attempted. They will faithfully follow their mission objectives specified without deviation, and they will follow any instructions issued to them by assigned mission controllers. They will attempt to leave as small a 'footprint' on the timelines they enter as is reasonably possible. They will accept responsibility for their actions and will agree to indemnify the Panel and the Gate Authority should misfortune befall them during missions into the past. All mission personnel will give up any shift ankhs, costumes, currency, recording equipment and sundry items assigned to them on demand at their mission's completion...

\- excerpts from 'A Proposal for Time Travel Protocols', by Ursula Bailouni, Director of the Gate Advisory Panel.

Ursula Bailouni and Eli Weinstein were waiting in the New York Gate chamber for the first of the foreign Gate Advisory Panel members to arrive. They were seated on one of the benches that had been kindly provided by the chambers' creators. Weinstein looked dapper in his blue three-piece suite. Bailouni was resplendent in a neat beige power suit. Both looked like talent show judges awaiting auditions. Two Gate sentries stood nearby on either side of the Gate. They were plain-clothed and looked friendly enough, but both were armed with revolvers inside their jackets.

"First conference of the Gate Advisory Panel," said Weinstein apropos of nothing.

"Yes," said Ursula tonelessly. "Your point?"

"Ah, nothing. Expecting a fight?"

"Are you kidding? Always."

There was a pause. Weinstein seemed deep in thought.

"Couldn't we have come up with something better than the Gate Advisory Panel? You know – the GAP? Sounds like that clothing store."

"Oh, do be quiet if you're not going to be sensible, Eli!" Ursula hissed.

"I was just asking. Actually, I was wondering about something."

"Yes?" She looked sternly at him, expectant.

"I read the _Proposal_ you wrote. It's good, very thorough. I must say you really seem to have taken up the challenge and thrown yourself in there. I was just wondering about that clause you've included about keeping a small 'footprint' on the timelines. That was very interesting."

"Don't you agree with it?"

"Yeah, I suppose I do. But does it matter ultimately if things get changed in the past, since they won't impact on our own timeline? The nature of this time travel being alternate realities and all, you know? It would suggest a constructivist approach."

"Not necessarily," said Ursula, looking at her watch. It was nearly time. "It's not our brief to alter timelines and study what might have happened if things went differently. Any changes we make to the past will contaminate the research, and that would be disastrous. We're interested in a positivist, scientific approach that can help us fill the gaps in our knowledge of history. That's our Prime Directive – and that's what the GAP stands for, if you like."

"Okay, so the past that is unknown can be safely put in the hands of the Historians? The past that is known must be put under lock and key?"

She smiled at his turn of phrase, but nodded her head in agreement. "That's it. At least for the moment."

"So we should try those altered realities somewhere down the track?"

"I don't see why not, eventually. As long as it's done properly and scientifically. It would give the Practice-led theorists a shot at the research."

The Gate suddenly lit up and pulsed, and the event horizon appeared in all its glowing splendour.

"Ah, they're here!' said Weinstein. He stood up, as did Ursula, preparing to welcome their guests.

The processing station for the New York chamber was still to be completed, so Bailouni and Weinstein ferried their guests, once they had all shifted to the surface, to the nearby Monticello Court House. There they were properly processed by immigration clerks and officially allowed to enter the country. Gate travel was very much in its early stages and the bugs were clearly still being worked out. However, no one complained of jet lag, airline food or lost luggage.

Eventually, after many introductions, official photos taken and snacks offered, all thirty-six representatives from the eighteen Gate countries were seated at tables arranged in a circular pattern in a very large conference room within the Court House. The entire building had been rented out for the purposes of this inaugural meeting, and government security agents were stationed at every entrance. Paper, pens and glasses of water were provided for every representative. It had been agreed previously that English would be the preferred lingua franca of the G.A.P. meetings, with a headphone-based simultaneous interpretation system provided for non-English speaking representatives, similar to that provided by the United Nations. At least one member of each Gate country was required to be fluent in English.

Ursula Bailouni called the meeting to order and directed attention to the schedules she'd drawn up and had placed in front of every representative. She looked out at a circle of faces, all in their assigned seating arrangements with their country designations clearly labelled in front of them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the inaugural meeting of the Gate Advisory Panel. The purpose of this meeting is broadly twofold: first to review and deliberate upon this first round of mission proposals, and secondly to discuss issues of concern relating to the business of running the Gate program. With this in mind I'd like to begin by acknowledging the difficulties and challenges before us as we embark upon this unique enterprise of ours.

"Time travel into the past and to any point in the globe affords enormous opportunities to explore our history as a species, but it also contains enormous risks, particularly in regard to regional, political and religious sensitivities. We must tread carefully. I said in my _Proposal_ (which I hope you've all read!) that 'time travel is not for the timid'. I believe this is true, but by the same token it is not for the reckless, either.

"We are charged not only with the task of uncovering the history of humanity, we are also charged with the task of safeguarding it. Whether we like it or not, we are now the 'Gatekeepers' of history. In this we have to represent humanity and decide how best to uncover its secrets with sensitivity and prudence.

"We all know, every one of us sitting here, of certain mission proposals that will be made that will, if carried out, inevitably prove to be extremely sensitive for what they reveal or don't reveal. The Timegates can finally provide us with the truth of these and many other matters. The question is, how far are we prepared to take it?"

She paused, letting her words sink in, and allowing for time for the translators to do their work. "Are there any questions so far?"

One of the representatives from Canada, Ruth Armitage, indicated she wanted to say something. She was middle aged, of solid build, and wore a pearl necklace to go with her white dress.

"Yes, Ms Armitage?"

"Madame Director, we appreciate the need for sensitivity about the outcomes of some of the missions to come, but how long are we expected to keep the results of our explorations away from the public? Obviously, it makes it very difficult to publish any results we obtain, sensitive or not, unless they're presented as speculation."

"I appreciate your concerns," Ursula went on smoothly, "but that decision is not mine, it lies with each of our governments. What I can say is this situation won't last forever, and I'm sure all of you will have the opportunity to share your work with your peers and the general public in time. Meanwhile, discoveries from the Gate Program will be circulated in our official GAP Digest."

One of the representatives from Iran indicated a question. He was a young man, thin, casually dressed, and with a beard that was cropped short.

Ursula recognized him as Ahmed Akabar. "Yes, representative Akabar?"

"Madame Director, we assume the 'sensitive missions' you refer to are the 'Jesus mission' and perhaps the 'Mohammed' and 'Moses' missions as well?"

"Ah, yes, they were some I had in mind," Bailouni replied.

She was keenly aware of the importance of the Iranian representatives. Besides the Gate in Egypt, theirs was the only other country within the Middle East that contained a Gate. In fact, due to their country's continued tense relations with the US and Israel, it had taken some considerable diplomatic wrangling to get them a position on the Panel. As far as Ursula was concerned, they were crucial. She had every intention of getting to know them as well as she could, which was why she made it her business to know their names well ahead of time.

"Very good," the Iranian representative continued. "We, of Iran, would like to say that we would very much like to see these important religious leaders and their lives known, no matter what is discovered about them. Our question, Madame Director, is who will be given the privilege of investigating these very important missions?"

A murmur of agreement went up amongst some of the other representatives at this question.

It was a typical question from an academic, thought Ursula. They always wanted the prestige of new discoveries, of being the first in their field to achieve something. She couldn't blame them, she understood their desire and competitiveness. But the representative might as well have been asking NASA in 1969 who would get to be the first man to step onto the moon.

"Well, as you know, our exploration teams are presently leading a co-ordinated effort all around the globe to gather general background information about the past. If we keep to the schedule of jumps staggered by decades for the first century, then moving to sweeps of fifty year blocks from there on, most will be on schedule to arrive at the relevant time zones within a year or so, our time. As the area you are referring to is within the domain of the Middle East, it will fall to the Iran and Egypt Gates and their teams to be the first to investigate."

At this the two representatives for Iran and the two for Egypt nodded their heads in acknowledgement and looked at each other with satisfaction.

"But as I say," continued Ursula, curtailing Egypt and Iran's expectations, "this will only be to gather security intelligence and general background sociology and anthropology of the times, which is the sole purpose of the exploration teams. I doubt whether those teams will have any direct contact with the main participants. That will come later with more in depth missions featuring personnel who will be properly qualified and trained for the job. Just who those people will be, frankly, I don't know at this moment. The most I could say is they would likely be accompanied by Mission Controllers from those Gates and would need to be proficient in either ancient Arabic, Latin, Hebrew or Aramaic."

"Thank you, Madame Director," said Akabar, grateful for her detailed response.

"Now, before we go on to the business of discussing the merits of Mission plans and the finer points of my _Proposal_ , you might see on the schedule we have a short presentation to make to you that I think you will all find interesting."

Ursula nodded to Weinstein, who had the courthouse chamber lights dimmed and cued up a film to be shown on its digital projector system. "If you could all turn to face the screen, we will begin."

What followed was a professionally edited collage of film footage taken by some of the various exploration teams. Titled 'The Twentieth Century in Review', it was a greatest hits package in eye-opening high definition of events that had either never been seen before or only previously in blurry black and white or faded colour. It featured, among other things, the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, VP day celebrations in Melbourne, Australia, hashish smokers sitting at a café in Constantinople, a young Miles Davis in a dingy jazz club in Paris, Hitler and the Nuremburg rallies, the dead face of Lenin lying in state in the Red Square, a mass of sampans and junks in Hong Kong harbour, The Beatles raving it up at the Star Club in Hamburg, young women jumping from the fiery ninth floor of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in New York...

As the film played on, the representatives gasped and gaped in awe as they lost themselves momentarily in a past that was both familiar and strange to them. When it finished, with the GAP copyright logo flashing on the screen, and the lights came back up, there were excited cries of appreciation, and even some tears.

Ursula stood up and addressed her audience once more. "If you thought that was impressive, wait until you see the nineteenth century reel we're preparing for the next meeting!"

She paused here briefly for some scattered laughter from the representatives, then added: "Ladies and gentlemen that was only a small taste of what the Gate missions have to offer. We hope it acts as a reminder to you of the potential and the importance of our work and why we are here.

"Now it's time to move this meeting forward and begin the presentation of the first round of Mission Proposals planned for the coming inaugural month of the Program. The agreed criteria for this round involves investigations that go back no further than the twentieth century – a necessary restriction as our exploration teams have only penetrated into the mid nineteenth century so far.

"Precisely because the twentieth century is so familiar to us, and many of its actors are still with us, we will need to proceed carefully. We may find the truths that are uncovered from the dim distant past will be more palatable to us by virtue of their remoteness than those found in recent memory. Investigating the twentieth century poses these and many other challenges. So without further ado, I'd like to introduce our first proposal for consideration. Eli?"

Eli Weinstein took over from Ursula. It was his job to convene the mission proposals.

As expected, now that the World Court had declared its non-jurisdiction in matters of alternate timelines (a solution Ursula had devised and pushed for), the first proposal was the ever-popular investigation of the assassination of John F Kennedy in 1963. It had been hotly contested, but in the end it was the Political Science department of Harvard University, Boston, that won out. Their submission had been most impressive: clear, objective, with every variable anticipated, from multiple camera angles to a follow up investigation of that shadowy figure in the event, Jack Ruby. It also carried with it the participation of CIA, Israeli Mossad and British MI5 agents, all with qualifications that were impeccable. All the representatives ratified the proposal almost immediately.

The next proposal proved to be a little more difficult to pass than the Kennedy proposal. It was a submission for an investigation into the Russian Revolution of 1917, no more, no less. Originally presented by faculty at Moscow State University, it called for ten members to conduct a one-year participant observation placement in the field uncovering the origins, progress and aftermath of the Revolution for that time period.

Although priority was being given to the Moscow proposal because it was the host country, a couple of representatives pointed out that there had been five other similar submissions from five other countries on the subject; and it being such a large event, why not share? Eli then suggested that a compromise should be made, whereby all participants join together in the investigation and co-ordinate their efforts. This then caused a furore of argument among the interested parties, with each accusing the others of demarcating the most interesting and fruitful aspects of the investigation for themselves. At this point, Ursula stepped in and insisted that all the participants go away and work out their issues with each other and return with a unified proposal when the next meeting was convened.

"It's all right, the Revolution can wait another month, comrades," she told them. She then took a large breath and called for a half-hour recess.

"You were right about that fight," said Eli, sidling up to Ursula in the reception room when it was all over.

"Yes, it won't be the only one," she said, sipping a glass of white wine provided by the event caterers.

"I liked your opening speech: 'Gatekeepers of history'. Very catchy."

"Thanks. Your opinion is noted."
CHAPTER EIGHT

Field trips into the past are an essential component of the training program. They not only provide a hands-on experience for recruits, testing their aptitude for the job and the amount of training they have retained, they are also a test of their psychological performance in the face of the reality and dislocation of time travel.

\- from Notes on Exploration Team Training, by Ursula Bailouni.

After five weeks of training that included Gate operation skills, physical training and case exercises, drama classes and classes in temporal ethics, sociology and law, Lina, Yang and Gus's training team were deemed ready to face the rigors of field trips to the past.

The new squad was sent out in groups of four. Each had been given their assignments the day before their 'rotation' into the field. Lina, Yang and Gus were joined by the F.B.I. agent Tyler, in what was officially designated 'Charlie' Team. Their first assignment, to record a large anti-Vietnam rally in New York City in 1967, was expected to be no more than an orientation exercise designed to get their feet wet.

Before going through the Gate, each member was issued a standard 'time pack' that consisted of a Gate ankh, stun gun, fake driver's licence, one hundred dollars of 'mission money' (in authentic 1960s denominations taken from the Treasury's vaults), fibre optic lapel camera and a small two-way wireless radio plug and microphone.

"Whoever these counterfeiters are, I like their work," said Lina, looking resplendent in a large afro hairpiece and checking out her fake driver's licence as they were waiting their turn at the Tesla Gate. The licence was dated 1966 and looked very authentic. The photo however...

"Ha, your photo looks stupid!" said Yang, teasing. He was dressed in a loud floral shirt with a peace pendant around his neck.

"You look stupid!" she retorted as she went through the Gate back into the year 1967.

Yang pretended to look offended and adjusted his pendant and hair as he joined her through the Gate.

The four members of Charlie Team lined up by the New York chamber's shift plate. Their Supervisor, thick-necked Neil Wrightson of the original New York One team, who had a regulation marine crew cut, gave them a final briefing.

"All right Charlie Team, remember your training: keep safe, avoid confrontation, leave a small footprint. Think to your Emergency Evac Plan, if things go wrong. This should be a simple orientation exercise, people. I want this done by the book!"

The assignment's Base Co-ordinator, a woman from the training staff, stayed behind in the chamber to monitor their progress, while one by one, the team ascended to the surface. Like Yang had done originally, they all came out on a secluded part of the Catskills Mountains. It had been noted earlier that all the Timegates were buried within mountain ranges. Their comparative isolation in terms of population was assumed to be the reason for their placement, though this could not be confirmed. Either way, it required the training team to hike to a nearby road and then to call for a taxi to take them to New York City.

When they eventually made it to their destination, the members of Charlie Team performed their duties well, calmly filming and interviewing some of the 400,000 plus protesters marching from Central Park to the UN building. They were quite a diverse crowd walking the route that sunny day. There were students and hippies, mothers, teachers, journalists, lawyers, returned veterans, and even clergymen. Many were holding flowers, and some held placards with slogans like 'GET THE HELL OUT OF VIETNAM'. Peace signs were everywhere...

"I feel like a glorified sociologist," groaned Yang Lee as he marched with Giuseppe Manfredi. "Or maybe a census taker." He was tired of talking to people all day, noting their fairly predictable attitudes to the Vietnam War and generally getting a feel for the times.

"Well, that's the job," said Gus, walking along beside him. He was wearing an outlandish kaftan, which suited his large, bearded frame. "It's what the training was all about. We're here to study the culture and the people. It's basic anthropology, really. Don't you like it?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm finding it a bit dull. I think I'd rather be back studying the Gates."

"Oh." Manfredi was surprised. He couldn't have felt more different about the job. Although an archeologist, it wasn't just the artefacts he uncovered that interested him, it was always about what they revealed to him about the people and the society they lived in that most inspired him. His memories of the 1960s were hazy, as he'd been only a small boy back then; but to actually be _back_ there, to feel the good vibes in the people marching along with him now was a joy to him. He felt very...mellow.

"I suppose it will get more interesting when we get to go back further, like maybe the Civil War," said Yang.

"Maybe you'd like to see some conflict between the police and the protesters?"

"Well, it might liven things up!" said Yang.

"Oh, there's our destination now," said Gus.

They were coming up to the UN building, where the crowd would be addressed by Martin Luther King and Doctor Benjamin Spock, among others...

Walking ahead of Yang and Gus, Lina and Agent Tyler looked like a handsome and progressive young negro couple. To her chagrin, Lina realized she would probably often get paired with Tyler due to their skin color. He seemed nice enough, but she didn't enjoy the prospect of having to pretend he was her 'honey'. She hated having to play a role. And the afro wig was beginning to itch.

"I swear, I don't know how the 'sisters' put up with these things!" She scratched.

"They probably feel better when it's your own hair," said Tyler. "Relax. You look good."

"Thanks."

At least he wasn't a sexist pig, she thought. Not like some of those bozos she had talked to on the march. She had been surprised at the black men she had talked to, how so many of them talked about their women with disdain or even outright disrespect, calling them 'my bitch' or 'my ho' right in front of her. The few that had tried calling her the same got put in their place quick smart. Politically they seemed pretty hip: just not personally. It made her a little angry.

They were near the UN building now and they both noticed an altercation happening up ahead. The police were trying to cordon off the area to prevent the protesters from getting closer to the building to hear the speeches. Some scuffles were starting along the line between the police and the protesters. Lina saw a cop threatening a young woman with his truncheon. She appeared to be trying to give him a flower she was holding, but he seemed to be taking offence at this. He grabbed the flower and crushed it in her face.

At this, Lina unthinkingly sprang forward and began berating the policeman. "Hey motherfucker, get your hands off her!"

"C'mon Lina, it's all right," said Tyler, coming up to take her by the arm.

Lina pulled her arm away from Tyler and continued her tirade against the policeman. "You wouldn't be so tough without your big stick, would you, motherfucker?"

At this point the policeman had had enough and grabbed Lina, telling her she was under arrest.

Watching all this, Agent Tyler feared Lina was about to haul off and hit the policeman. Or perhaps get out her stun gun and use it on him. He started thinking about the Emergency Evac Plan when he saw Supervisor Wrightson come forward to intercede between Lina and the policeman. He flashed his fake F.B.I. badge and eventually cajoled the officer into letting her go.

Afterwards, during the debriefing at the Institute, Wrightson took Lina and her temper to task. "That was very stupid, Lina, you've gotta be better than that. You put yourself in a bad situation. You couldn't even use your stun gun."

"I wasn't going to use my stun gun," said Lina, bothered by the fuss.

"Just as well. If you had, there would've been twenty cops on you in a minute. We would definitely have had an EEP situation."

"Okay, I get it...sir. Thanks for getting me out of there."

"You're welcome. All right everyone," said Wrightson, dismissing the squad, "go and get changed and start writing your reports. And you, Miss Thigpen-"

Lina stopped and looked back at him.

"-I'm expecting an especially detailed one from you."

"Oh shit!" said Lina, tearing off her afro wig as she headed for the change rooms with Yang and Gus.

"Looks like they put your psych eval to good use," said Gus.

"You think that was planned, putting me in that situation?" Lina turned to him, surprised.

"Wouldn't put it past them. Orientation is designed to put the trainees into situations that test their responses."

"Maybe someone is counting on that hot temper of yours to get you kicked off the program," offered Yang to Lina, half-serious. "You need to _cool it, babay_!" He flashed her a peace sign with two fingers and headed for the men's change room. "Catch ya later."

Lina was tempted to throw the afro wig after him, but she held onto it. She played with the curls instead, deep in thought.

"It's not real, you know."

Lina looked up, surprised to see that Gus was still there, smiling at her with genuine fondness. "What – what's not real?"

"The past, _querida_. You know, all those people, even Martin Luther King. It's all an alternate reality. It's not our reality. In some ways it's not real. Fix on that. It helps. Okay?"

"Uh, okay Gus," said Lina. She smiled at him.

"Groovy," he said, walking into the change room.
CHAPTER NINE

EXCERPTS FROM THE GAP DIGEST

Issue #1

U.S. Edition

Editorial

The Twentieth Century in Review

Welcome to this inaugural issue of the GAP Digest.

We are joined here to present an overview of our activities investigating the past using that newly discovered holy grail of science: time travel. Who could have known even a year ago that we would be standing at this threshold, gazing into the vast landscapes of our own history? It has all happened so quickly, we have barely had time to catch our breath. Yet, here we are...

Our first investigations must necessarily focus on that century, recently passed, that we know as the twentieth. From the present perspective we could say we know it quite well already. It is the first century to have been documented by the moving camera and by audio recording equipment, not to mention television and a host of other media and print formats, including – late in the day – the internet. We could look at the two World Wars it contained, the economic depression of the thirties, the oil crisis of 1973, the Cold War and the Space Race, and say, 'that was our century'. We could pinpoint some of the central acts of the twentieth century, such as the murder of Kiesler Wilhelm, the atom bombs unleashed upon Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the Apollo moon landings, and so on. We might even nominate the United States as, arguably, the country that truly dominated world affairs in the century.

And yet, it is not enough. Despite the best efforts of historians and archeologists and their kind, there is still so much we do not know, there are still so many questions – profound and otherwise - unanswered. What really happened at Tunguska, or Roswell? How did events really unfold on board the Titanic? Where are the remains of Amelia Earhart, or Tsarina Anastasia? Who killed John F. Kennedy (if it was not only Lee Harvey Oswald)? What is that chord that John Lennon plays at the start of A Hard Day's Night?

What does it mean to truly know our past? Can it really be done thoroughly, and if so, what will be gained by all this accumulated knowledge? Will we become better, more enlightened human beings? Or, our curiosity satisfied, will we simply move on to other sensations? Hopefully, in the pages that follow, some of the answers are waiting...

Special Section: WW2

A unique plan to comprehensively film the D-Day landings of 1944 has been proposed by several Generals and tactical officers from West Point Military Academy. The plan, if approved, will involve the secret placement of small remote-operated cameras along all the beachfronts involved in the campaign, as well as the deployment of small, camera-mounted drone helicopters in and around the field of battle. It is hoped that the cameras, many of which will be placed weeks prior to the landings, will capture important tactical footage of what happened, especially at the near-disastrous Omaha Beach site where so many soldiers were killed...

Pearl Harbor: did the British know?

Sports, Arts, Entertainment

1930s Yankees filmed at Yankee Stadium...Lost F Scott Fitzgerald novel recovered...John Fogerty's Hoodoo unearthed...

Lost Caravaggio Uncovered

A team of researchers and gallery curators from the Uffizi have uncovered the whereabouts of a lost masterpiece by the Renaissance artist Caravaggio. The stunning painting Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence was stolen in 1969 from a church in Sicily, Italy. The theft was assumed to be the work of the Sicilian mafia. Later reports had it ending up in storage in a farmhouse where it was destroyed by animals.

By making discreet enquiries and consecutive jumps using the Pyrenees Timegate, The Uffizi team were able to track down the still-intact painting to a private collector living in Naples, where it has resided until the present time. Upon completion of the investigation the team were able to recover the stolen painting from the collector, who was surprisingly co-operative.

The grateful owners of the Sicilian church where it once resided have donated the painting to the Uffizi. It is estimated to be worth approximately (US) 20 million dollars.

The Tesla Mission

A team of physicists led by Professor Gerard Feynman of the Tesla Institute, San Bernadino, have recovered important documents belonging to the Croatian inventor and scientist, Nikola Tesla – the Institute's namesake.

The mission to New York in 1943 (the year and place of the scientist's death) was finally approved by the Panel after a drawn out battle with factions within the FBI who were opposed to its sensitive nature. It is believed the recovered documents, thought to have been confiscated by government officials at the time, contained vital clues to Tesla's experiments with 'cosmic energy', which he believed he had finally harnessed for 'the driving of the world's machinery'.

The team are presently inspecting the documents...

In Brief

Anthropology and Archeology

New Guinea tribes, Amazon tribes. Ishi.

Mission Results Withheld

Unfortunately, the results of several missions, including the 'JFK Mission', can not be announced at this time. The US government has expressed some concerns with the data uncovered and has requested further time to consider their implications. The Panel accepts its decision, but we hope to make the information available within these pages at some later date...

The Titanic...The Dust Bowl...The Stock Market Crash...

The Roswell Incident

A group of both skeptics and 'believers' from Berkeley University, California, have returned from 1947 New Mexico with startling news.

Speaking for the believer camp, Brent Foxton made the following announcement:

"It is with regret that we inform the world that the so-called 'Roswell incident' was in fact a hoax..."

The International Scene

(From the British edition)

John and Paul meet. That chord that starts A Hard Days Night

(Egypt/Iran edition)

Israel's establishment...Secrets of the Iran/Iraq war...

(Australian edition)

Harold Holt In Hiding

Prime Minister Harold Holt was thought to have drowned during a lone swimming expedition off the beach at Portsea, Victoria, in 1968. His disappearance was said to be a national tragedy and a mystery, and his body was never recovered.

There had been rumours at the time that he had staged the disappearance in order to avoid serious charges being prepared by police. Mission researchers from the Political Science department of Swinburne University, Melbourne, have proved these rumours to be true. Surveillance footage set up by the researchers has shown that, on the morning of December 18, Holt was whisked away to a merchant sailing ship in the Port of Melbourne and silently left the country...

The last Tasmanian Tiger...Dame Nellie Melba scandal...

(The Russian edition)

The Russian Revolution, Part One...Tungushka 30 June 1908...

Recent Panel Approvals

Mieles Films Regained

Film maker Martin Scorsese and members of his production team have been given approval by the Panel to recover the entire works of French silent film maker Georges Melies. The proposal calls for Scorsese and his team to travel to France, 1922, equipped with high definition film recording equipment. Once there, the director hopes to meet and persuade Mieles to allow all of his films, many of which have been lost to time, to be re-recorded for posterity. Failing that possibility, a second option will be to simply search out the many copies of Mieles' films in distribution at that time and re-film them. Mieles is most famous for his 1902 film A Trip To The Moon, one of over 200 works that survived and that was recently the subject of a painstaking restoration effort.

More recovery efforts are being planned, with early lost works by DW Griffith next in line. Scorsese also has plans for other applications of the Timegates.

"I'm hoping we'll get permission eventually to go back and make our own films in the past," the director enthused. "Time travel through the Gates is a terrific opportunity to add authentic production value to the film making process."

Rejected Submissions

The following mission suggestions have been rejected by the Panel...

A submission by three Oxford professors to return to the 1960s to recover so-called 'lost episodes' of the television series Doctor Who has been rejected by the Panel on the grounds of 'triviality'. The professors, Jim Hickey (dept of Sociology), Walter Colico (Semiotics), and Sebastian Johnson (Medieval Literature), who styled themselves as 'the three Timelords', have appealed the decision.

To General Ryan, West Point Academy, New York

...Although the D-Day proposal has merit, we must respectfully decline it at present. The Panel feels that the details of the military operations of that day were well documented and are well known to the Academy, and that in any case the proposal could, if it went ahead, cause distress to relatives who may have lost loved ones on the field of battle. At the very least, the Panel requires further documentation before it can proceed any further with your proposal. Please feel free to resubmit, with additions and amendments at a later date.

\- Unpublished Memo from the GAP Director, Ursula Bailouni
CHAPTER TEN

Interviewer: Mr Wells, if you could get your hands on a real time machine, where would you go and what would you do?

Mr Wells: I would go back to 1891 and persuade my younger self not to make the mistake of marrying my first wife.

\- Excerpt of interview with H.G. Wells, by the British Gate team, in 1922.

Ursula Bailouni was spending what was left of a fine afternoon at home with her husband. It was the first time they had been together in quite a while. Her responsibilities and commitment had all been for the Gate Program lately. So it was nice to retire to the relative peace and quiet of her home in Westphalia, even if it was still hard to keep her thoughts from her job.

She was in the garden, as usual, pruning some branches of her one apple tree. As she wielded the shears her thoughts wandered, as they often did, to the Gate Program. She had not long ago convened the most recent round of GAP proposals, which had included a couple of high profile submissions involving investigations into the 9-11 attacks in New York and the death of actress Marilyn Monroe in 1961. They were interesting submissions, but unfortunately she had had to veto them almost immediately on the grounds of their 'political sensitivity'. Eli had warned her earlier that they were two of the political 'hot potatoes' that, if investigated, would incur the wrath of the Administration. They were just another example of her need to compromise with it - just as she'd had to withdraw the JFK investigation report from the first GAP Digest. It had been a pity, too, because the Kennedy mission had yielded some exciting results.

It would seem the conspiracy theorists were right about one thing: Lee Harvey Oswald did not fire the third bullet. Where they were wrong was in the identity of the man who did fire the shot. It was secret service agent, George Hickey, riding in the car behind the President who had accidentally fired the fatal shot. The secret service had tried to keep that information quiet, and in doing so had contributed to the conspiracy theory that they had acted deliberately.

Then there was the footage that had leaked out on the internet, including an interview with the writer H.G. Wells in 1922 that had been filmed by members of one of the British Gate teams. Covert operations immediately launched a campaign of misinformation declaring the footage fraudulent and suggesting a look-alike actor had been employed. Ursula wondered if it had been enough. It had certainly got the conspiracy theorists chattering on the net. The leaked footage was traced back to a film editor; and what to do with him was one of the dilemmas Ursula and her team faced at the moment.

The latest crisis was the recruits from the Gate teams in Germany and South Africa who had gone AWOL while on orientation assignment. The South African, who had taken the opportunity to visit her long dead grandfather, had returned of her own accord. The German, who was apparently trying to track down and kill a young Adolf Hitler in 1912, had not yet been recovered. It was thought he still had his ankh, but following his movements (which could be tracked by the recently discovered Gate screen navigation display) was frustrated by the display's imprecision. The last she had heard, the ground crew hunting him were closing in and hoping to capture him before he could carry out his mission of assassination. His name was Hermann Katz.

"Found any more specimens for the bug collection?" It was Douglas. He was resplendent in a white shirt and black vest, with his long grey hair messily teased up in his best 'I don't give a damn' look.

"Not unless there are some in these apples. Which is a distinct possibility."

Douglas walked up to her and gave her a peck on the cheek. "The gig's in an hour, love. I hope you're getting dressed up for it." He paused. "You are coming?"

The combo he played for as drummer had a semi-regular engagement at a local club, and tonight they were playing. It was not often that Ursula was around to catch his performance, so tonight was going to be a bit special.

Ursula put down her basket and took off her gloves. She turned to look at him and smiled. She had to look up – he was tall. "Wild horses couldn't, etcetera, etcetera." She reached up and ran her hands through his hair, presented her lips, and they kissed...

She was his second wife. The first one had been a disaster. They had been too young, too immature for the commitment, was how he rationalised it. So far Ursula seemed a much steadier prospect, even if she was often away due to her work. He had grumbled about her absences, but was secretly proud of his wife's important and mysterious new appointment. What little she had told him of her job had piqued his curiosity, but he knew better than to ply her with annoying questions about it – questions that she could not answer.

Later, at the club, which was a retro beatnick hangout called _the Hungry Brain_ , he caught her eye in the crowd while drumming up a storm. She looked beautiful in a black dress, her hair attractively framing her face. He could see her tapping her feet to his steady beat as she sat at her table. He was thrilled to have her there, making that connection with him...

Ursula was almost as big a jazz fan as her husband. The fact of his being a jazz musician had been a major factor in attracting her to him. His combo the Blue Onions were a hot band. Tonight they were playing a selection of some of the greats – Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Douglas's favourite, Charles Mingus – and doing them proud. She watched as Willie, their trumpeter, wailed through a Miles Davis solo; but her eyes kept returning to Douglas, watching what he was doing with them drums.

It struck her as fitting that she was in love with a drummer, a timekeeper, considering her job. Rhythm was a mode of time, and her job was all to do with time.

She felt the sudden vibrations of her phone on the table. She groaned – why hadn't she turned it off? She looked at it to see who was calling. It was Eli. With a sigh she picked up the phone and walked to the back of the club. She flashed an apologetic smile at Douglas, but he was focussing on his drums, not watching her. She went through to the foyer.

"Yes Eli, what's up?"

" _Hi Ursula."_ Eli's voice came through in a burst of static that quickly dissipated _. "The Germany Gate team have just found that guy Katz who was trying to kill Hitler."_

"Oh, good..." She waited for his response, but there was silence. "Well, did he succeed?"

"... _No,"_ Eli's voice finally cut through the silence. _"They caught him just in time."_

Ursula breathed a sigh of relief.

" _Any later,"_ continued Eli, _"and he either would have done the job, or been killed by the police, or taken away for questioning. An EEP would have been useless by that point."_

"All right, that's well done by the German team. This could have been a bad one. We were lucky, this time."

" _Yeah, so was Adolph!"_

Ursula laughed slightly. "I guess you're right! Is there anything else to report?"

" _No, that's it. The German team have taken Katz into custody and are processing him as we speak. Do you want to get involved with that?"_

"I think I'll have to, Eli. It's a part of my job." Ursula groaned inward. It would mean cutting short her time with Douglas.

" _Well, better you than me. I'm off for Australia tomorrow – via the Gate."_

"Seeing the rellies?"

" _Yep, the ones on my mom's side. They're planning a big 'barby' for me."_

"Good for you. Say hi to the kangaroos for me."

Eli laughed. _"Will do!"_

When she got off the phone Ursula felt less than jovial. The only good news was they were able to bring the guy in without further damage; but it had been close. She knew she would have to rethink the way they ran the Program.

When recruits joined the Program their psychological and personal profiles were closely examined. Their interests, hobbies, political affiliations, even obsessions (where detected) were taken into account. Expert genealogists were also employed to study their family trees and trace their genetic links down the decades and centuries. It all helped the Program co-ordinators and their supervisors to anticipate and track recruit movements should an AWOL event occur, or prevent it from happening in the first place.

The Gate profiling program was as tough and stringent as it was for the F.B.I. and other top government agencies. So how were these people getting through the cracks? What was it about the prospect of time travel that alters the psychological or ethical controls in some individuals? Was it the fact of the alternate timelines, the seeming elimination of true cause and effect?

It was an absurd situation, thought Ursula. She would have to throw Katz out of the Program. Just for wanting to kill _that_ man. Under different circumstances she would like to give him a medal and congratulate him on a job well done. But these weren't different circumstances. The would-be assassin's actions were just an interesting experiment. If he'd succeeded he would have achieved at best a pointless, hollow victory in that other timeline. In this timeline, in this history, Hitler had done his evil work and nothing could change that.

There was also another principal involved. The Program couldn't have murderers, or potential murderers, working for it. Even if the murders occurred in an alternate timeline, and even if those actions therefore carried no judicial weight in this timeline, they were still acts of violence, they had consequences, especially psychological ones.

Ursula decided there was no way around it: she would have to tighten the security protocols further. There was only one way she knew to do that effectively, but she hated to have to do it.

She went back into the club and resumed her table. The band was still playing, and Douglas was looking disconsolately into the crowd as he continued to drum.

His expression brightened up when he saw Ursula. She indicated her phone to explain her absence. He smiled, but the resigned look on his face almost crushed her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

EXPLORATION MISSION #9, NEW YORK ONE

Today we witnessed the tragic Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire of 1911. I had already seen the very moving footage of the fire from the Ken Burns documentary, but nothing prepared me for the reality of it. We arrived early, before the fire had broken out, and filmed everything, or as much as we could. We spoke to some of the girls before they went in to work and asked them about the conditions and their thoughts about working there, and their dreams for the future. Many of them would be dead before the day was out. It was heartbreaking. I so much wanted to warn them about what was going to happen, but the Prime Directive stopped me.

I managed to get an interview with Max Blanck, one of the Factory owners, by posing as a reporter for the New York Times. He appeared unconcerned about safety procedures, and constantly repeated that they were not needed. He seemed upset by my questions and, accusing me of being a Labor agitator, abruptly cut the interview short [refer to footage for the full interview].

We got everything, including all those poor men and women, the factory workers, jumping to their deaths from the ninth floor of the building...

\- excerpt from mission report, New York One, by Sandra Halls

Team Charlie's next field assignment was to New York City, March, 1911. The team had one day to interview and report on labor conditions within factories in the city's industrial area. Particular focus was to be placed on the Triangle Shirtwaist factory, which had a particularly poor reputation for safety and standards for workers. The team members were given the assignment only minutes before they went through the Gate. The trip was intended to test the team's ability to improvise on the fly and to work within a deadline.

At least that was the official reason given.

Samantha Flores, who was to be the team's Supervisor this time out, had carefully selected this time and destination. Dressed in a smart waistcoat and stylish hat, she stood at the corner of Greene Street and Washington Place and looked up at the building, particularly the eighth, ninth and tenth floors that made up the Triangle factory workplace. She knew all about the factory fire to come and the many girls (and some men) who would suffocate inside or jump to their deaths. The workers on the ninth floor bore the brunt of the tragedy. They were the last to be warned, and were locked out of one of the main exit stairways due to a foreman who had locked it to prevent pilfering and unauthorised breaks. Sam's own team, Tesla One, had been one of the first in the Program to witness the event.

It was what was called among the trainers a 'Kobayashi Maru' assignment – named after the Star _Trek Wrath of Khan_ scenario. It was a test of the recruits' emotional responses to the horrors to be encountered in the past. If they could not stand up to this, then how would they cope with witnessing the many other catastrophes waiting for them further down the line? How would they deal with plague or famine victims, or the devastation and cruelty visited upon the country's native Indians? How would they respond to the injuries and obscenity of war?

Witnessing this particular incident had already caused three potential recruits to reconsider continuing their training. Two of them had been hardened F.B.I. agents. For their first field trip they had witnessed the terrorism of September 11, and it had not affected them. Yet they could not deal with the tragedy of the Triangle Shirtwaist factory fire and its aftermath. Somehow, it had been too real for them. Perhaps it was a question of the known against the unknown.

" _Triangle Shirtwaist factory_ : I get the feeling I've heard of this before." Gus Manfredi looked up at the ten-storey building on Washington Place.

"Me too," said Lina Thigpen, reflexively going for her mobile phone then realising it would be useless to her here - and in any case, she didn't have it. "Damn, they didn't give us time to look it up."

"That was the point of giving us the assignment just before we left, I guess," said Yang Lee.

"I think I know what happens here. Yes." Agent Tyler looked up at the building, trying to remember something he once saw on a television program. "Oh my god!" he said, excited, as the memory took hold.

"What is it?" asked Gus.

"Tyler, you're with me," instructed Flores.

She took him aside and told him in no uncertain terms to reveal nothing of what he knew. It was always the risk she took in giving this assignment, that there would be someone who had heard about it. Past recruits were sworn to secrecy.

The members of Charlie Team soon set to work. Posing as a staff writer with the _New York Times_ , and having a nicely forged press pass to prove it, Gus took Lina with him to interview one of the Triangle factory's owners, Max Blanck. Meanwhile, Agent Tyler and Yang talked to people on the streets and tramped about looking for work in the various factories in the neighbourhood, all the while scoping out what they could of the conditions inside.

Inside the owner's small and shabby office on the ninth floor, Gus and Lina were met by a courteous though harassed Max Blanck, whose children were in attendance at the factory this day, running around and causing mischief. He was a large, greasy-haired man with a loud voice.

"Welcome folks, let me give you the tour!" he said in his best entrepreneurial style. Having expected them, due to Gus having phoned ahead to arrange the interview, he seemed eager to please.

He led them to a door near the stairway and took out a clutch of keys. He opened the locked door and both Gus and Lina were surprised to find themselves in the busy confines of the factory floor itself.

"What's with the locking the doors, man?" whispered Lina to Gus. "Are we in a sweatshop in China or something?"

Max showed them around the factory, where they met and talked to some of the girls cutting cloth and working the machines. With the boss around they were no doubt on their best behaviour, but Gus and Lina both sensed a camaraderie and friendliness amongst the women and girls that was quite pleasant. It was a Saturday and many of them were in high spirits at the prospect of going out that night with sweethearts and family. They had names like Yetta and Tillie and Kate and Rose.

Back in the small and shabby office, Gus began his interview with Blanck. He was careful to be polite and to make sure his questions about the factory's labour conditions and safety policies were countered by sweet promises to promote the factory and its wares in his newspaper. But Blanck, it turned out, was a suspicious and paranoid man. The courtesy and friendliness soon disappeared.

"I don't like what you're insinuating. I keep a respectable establishment here," he barked at Gus. "My girls work hard and I treat them well."

He looked over at Lina and said, "Anyway, what's with the _darkie_ , why have you got her working for you?" It was the first time he had acknowledged Lina's presence.

Gus looked at Lina, who was conscientiously pretending to write down the interview in shorthand in her writing pad (it was being filmed instead). "She's a good stenographer," he said.

"Yeah, I'll bet that's not all she's good at!" Blanck leered at her.

Lina, looking prim and proper in her muslin blouse and white cap, pretended ignorance, but seethed within.

Out on the street Samantha Flores was beginning to get worried. It was getting on towards four-thirty and she needed to call the team in. The fire would break out at approximately four-forty and she didn't want her people still inside the building when that happened.

She spoke into her transmitter: "Gus, it's time to get out of there. I want you down here on the street in five minutes."

Up on the ninth floor Gus heard the instructions in his earpiece. "Okay," he said, and stood up.

He turned to Lina and motioned for her to leave. "Well that's about it. We'd better go."

Turning back to Max he said, "Thanks for the interview. It should appear in Monday's paper." He didn't mean it.

Blanck gave Gus a frosty look. "Very well. Thank you," he said after them. He didn't mean it either.

On their way down, as they walked past the eighth floor, they heard a commotion inside the factory room. People began yelling and screaming, and suddenly the exit door was flung open wide. A foreman ran out, followed by many of the factory workers. Heavy, thick smoke came out with them.

Gus and Lina looked at each other, confused. Then Gus said, "Triangle factory. I remember what happened now."

"What, what happened, Gus?"

"The fire, it starts on this floor. Then it moves to the ninth. A lot of people die. Come on, we have to go!" He grabbed her hand and led her down the stairway, along with the many other frantic workers.

He heard Sam's voice in his ear: _"Gus, talk to me. What's happening? Why aren't you out yet?"_

"We're on our way."

They continued downward then stopped to help a girl, who had fallen over in the rush and was in danger of being trampled. Instead of continuing down with them, Lina stood still, deep in thought, lost in the unreality of the moment. Panicked people were still rushing past them.

"Lina?" said Gus, worried.

After a moment Lina looked up at Gus. "You said this isn't real."

"That's right," said Gus, remembering what he had said to her. "It isn't, not really. It's not our reality. Let it go, Lina."

He held out his hand to her, but she was already looking up at the floors above them, thinking. She headed back up the stairs.

"Lina, the Prime Directive!" He yelled at her. Then looking annoyed and frustrated, he joined her.

They came to the door on the ninth floor. It was still locked. The smoke was everywhere, it was getting hard to breathe. They could hear the screams coming from inside. The girls they had met in there could not get out. The other exits were also either locked or blocked off by fire.

Just as Lina was looking for something to bash down the heavy door with, Max Blanck suddenly appeared at the stairwell. He was heading for the top floor.

"Hey Max, come here and open this door!" yelled Lina.

"Are you crazy? Run for your lives!" He kept going up the stairs.

"Motherf...!" Lina let rip with her favourite cuss word, but it was smothered by the sound of sirens below. She ran after Max, followed by Gus.

They caught him on the stairs near the landing on the tenth. Both Lina and Gus grabbed at him, trying to get at his keys.

"Let go of me!" protested Max. He pushed Gus, who almost fell over the stair rail.

That was enough for Lina. She hauled off and punched him a good one in the nose. He went down heavily. She scrambled in his pockets and found his keys.

"You've got a stun gun, you know," said Gus.

Shaking her bruised hand, Lina said, "Ah it's not the same."

...On the streets the sirens were wailing and onlookers were gathering. A horse-drawn fire engine pulled up and the firemen went to work with their hoses. Smoke and fire were streaming out of the eighth, ninth and tenth floors.

Sam Flores was more than worried now. Normally at this point in the event she would find some excuse to take a quiet walk up the street away from the action, leaving her recruits to deal with what came next. It was a small cowardice, she knew, but she usually needed some respite from the worst of this event. She didn't need to see or hear those poor men and women dropping from the skies more times than was necessary. It was already burned into her memory. She would never be able to block it out.

But this time was different. This was one she was going to be forced to watch in its entirety. She had seen Yang and Tyler on the street nearby. But where were Gus and Lina? They had stopped responding to her hails since that last report when he said they were coming down.

She wondered _could this be the assignment when I lose some of my people?_

The last of the workers who would get out had fled the building. She knew there was nothing left now but to wait for the dying, the men and women appearing at the windows and jumping to their deaths. Some of them when they jumped were eerily quiet, while others screamed all the way down. Some of them, having hesitated too long and been licked by the pursuing flames, came down all on fire, like living torches. The worst one was always the man seen kissing a young woman by the window before they both jumped to their deaths.

The firemen continued applying their hoses to the flames. Some gathered below the building with life nets, but they would not be enough. The nets would tear from the impact of the falling bodies.

Sam realized something was wrong. It wasn't going the way it was supposed to go. There should have been falling bodies by now. The open windows up there should have been crammed with desperate people about to jump or fall. Perhaps something was right instead.

Her thoughts were confirmed when, all of a sudden, more workers, more of the girls, came pouring out of the factory doors. They looked like dirty angels, blackened and coughing from smoke inhalation, but alive. They ran into the street, some laughing, some crying, some hysterical, raising their hands up to the sky and thanking God. An exultant cheer went up from the crowd at the miraculous deliverance. Sam realized they were the workers from the ninth floor. Somehow they had escaped. Someone had done something to alter this timeline.

She realized who that someone was when she saw Lina, joined by Gus, finally coming out of the factory. They were the last to come out. Like the girls, they were blackened and coughing, but they appeared to be mostly alive.

Whatever anger Sam felt for them quickly gave way to relief at the sight of them. The entire situation was absurd and wonderful. She felt a sense of liberation, of a heavy burden lifting from her. It was the weight of sad memory. She saw Lina and Gus coming towards her, and she smiled – even laughed – despite herself. She also wanted to cry, but that wouldn't do in front of the recruits. She hadn't felt this happy in a long time...

Back at the Institute, it was time for the debriefing. It had been a tiring day, and all four members of Charlie Team had showered and changed their clothes before filing back into the debriefing room to hear Sam's summation of the assignment.

Sam stood in front of them, now wearing her official blue F.B.I. powersuit. She had had time to gather her composure after the drama of the fire and her face now held a look of stern resolve. She paced in front of them as she spoke.

"I suppose I don't need to tell you, as far as the Prime Directive goes, you failed spectacularly. One hundred and forty-six of those garment workers were supposed to die in that fire, and your actions, particularly you Lina and Gus, prevented that from happening."

She stopped in front of Gus and Lina, studying their faces. They appeared impassive, but she could detect a glint of pride or perhaps defiance, especially in Lina's eyes.

She went on. "Well that's great, you saved some lives. Woo hoo! But did it ever occur to you that those lives were not lost in vain? We know in the original timeline, the one that we are living in, the Triangle factory tragedy led to a number of important reforms and legislation for improved factory safety standards, and helped spur the growth of worker's unions. Who knows what has changed there now, in that new timeline you created? Will that legislation be enacted anyway, or will it take yet another tragedy for the people responsible to see the light? You prevented one tragedy, maybe only to cause another down the line.

"If you people are going to become exploration team leaders or Mission Controllers you will have to accept that bad things will happen in the past, and you must let them happen. I won't deny that seeing those girls run out of that building alive, rather than falling to their deaths like I'd seen them do a number of times, was a very pleasant experience, even cathartic. But we're not here to fix the past. The past doesn't need fixing, it just needs understanding."

For the first time during the talk Sam smiled. It was time to emphasise the positive.

"On a brighter note, it wasn't a complete disaster. You all carried out your tasks more or less competently. If our little Kobayashi Maru scenario is about anything – if you don't know what it means, look it up – it's about seeing how resourceful you are in the face of death, or the possibility of death. Because believe me, you're gonna see a lot of it in the past. And on that score, I-I think you all did...quite well."

She shot a quick look at Lina on this last point, and Lina noticed her face seemed to soften. While it wasn't a ringing endorsement of her performance on the assignment, it was enough. Lina was happy, and surprised to find she wanted Sam's approval.
CHAPTER TWELVE

_The Mustard Tree_ included offices next door where the Baptist Church administration worked to help provide various outreach services for the needy in the community. Apart from the community meals, they provided counselling services and a food bank and delivery service. The cafe also helped out with its 'suspended coffee' system – whereby kindly members of the public gave charitable donations to allow 'free' coffees for the needy. Kathy wasn't sure if all the people who came into the cafe for these coffees were especially 'needy' (there appeared to be some scamming of the system), and she wasn't sure if free coffee was really what they needed, but she agreed with it in principle.

Perhaps because of this emphasis on community service _The Mustard Tree_ had a steady stream of (for want of a better term) 'welfare types': people who were homeless, or poor, or strung out on drugs. There were hard-looking, stick-thin couples covered in tattoos and studs that came to the cafe and rudely insisted on their right to free food and drink. There were also frantic mothers pleading for extra milk for their babies. While others spent money on trinkets and went outside to smoke, leaving their children to run riot in the store. Society had many names for them, some good, some bad, including Lifestylers, Leisurists, Bludgers and even Existenzers. The most popular term presently being passed around was Basincomers - after the recent attempts to have legislation passed that guaranteed all a basic minimum income, regardless of employment status. Kathy tried not to judge them, but sometimes she failed.

Some of the homeless men were particularly pathetic. They had dirty clothes and wild unkempt hair and beards. They smelt of sweat and rubbish bins, and looked through, not at, Kathy with their haunted thousand yard stares as they handed over their free coffee coupons.

Most of these people knew Ken and would often seek him out. Kathy would see him sitting with them at the cafe tables, talking quietly with them, listening patiently and providing free food and drinks when he thought they needed it. She couldn't help noticing that he sometimes had these offerings quietly paid for from his own tab – something that explained for her why it was always so big. Despite his quirky personal habits, Kathy could see that he took his position as chaplain seriously and was dedicated to serving the less fortunate members of the community. Sometimes, when he was with a person who was especially in pain, he would lead that person in prayer. Watching these poignant displays, Kathy was moved by how Ken, his head bowed in prayer, really believed. She was quietly humbled by him and regretted her earlier thoughts of him having 'delusions of Jesus'. She came to respect him greatly.

It seemed to her that the church here was doing a good job. Kathy couldn't comprehend virgin births or resurrections, and she saw the organised church as a bastion of corruption, hypocrisy and greed instigated by those two shady historical characters – Paul of Tarsus and Emperor Constantine. What was going on here in _The Mustard Tree_ , however, this was good, this was what she imagined Jesus's ministry was all about. In its own small way this was working for social justice. She realized at least that some good had come from the Bible. It made her think upon the vagaries of so-called human nature, whether people's capacity for love and compassion was equal to their capacity for greed and self interest.

During a slow afternoon in the cafe, while she was folding napkins at the counter, she put the question to Belinda.

"That old chestnut?" She joined Kathy at the counter with a drying towel in her hands. "I'd say they're about half and half – you know, the old 'there's good and evil in all of us' thing." She continued drying a pot she'd taken out of the dishwasher.

"But that's not the impression most people have, is it?" said Kathy. She watched as a man walked past wearing a black t-shirt and a black baseball cap. With his long hair he looked exactly like the character Wayne from the film _Wayne's World_. "Most people think human nature is based on greed, don't they?"

"I'm afraid you're right." Belinda moved back to the counter. She was working on a large plate now. "But they're so wrong. It's just a lie encouraged by...well, you know, the usual suspects. It just suits their interests. 'Human beings must justify their own existence!'"

"Yeah, I know." Kathy continued folding the napkins. She enjoyed doing it – it was therapeutic 'busy work'. "But it's so stupid. I mean, duh, if people are so damn greedy why do they bother becoming parents, putting in all that sacrifice to raise their children?"

"And why do fire-fighters and rescue teams risk their lives every day to save people and their property?" enjoined Belinda. "Are they just doing it for the money? Preachin' to the choir here, girl."

They both watched as a large woman walked by pushing a shopping trolley. She was a regular who came in every week and filled the trolley up with junk they all assumed she would later try to sell on Ebay.

"But it's like I said," Belinda added, "- we live in a world where those baser tendencies are just encouraged to come to the fore. It doesn't have to be like that. I believe things will change for the better one day. Like that basic income legislation we tried to get through. It didn't make it this time, but there will be other times."

"Optimist, hey?" said Kathy, still folding napkins. It was more a rhetorical question. Belinda was nothing if not full of positive vibes. It was one of the things she liked about her.

"Always!" confirmed Belinda, still drying dishes.

Kathy smiled as 'Wayne' came back past the counter. He was carrying a bag of golf clubs and looked very happy with his newfound booty. She was very tempted to yell his catchphrase 'Party on, dude!' - but she didn't.

In the weeks that followed, Kathy continued doing her shifts at _The Mustard Tree_. She did two a week, with an occasional Saturday. Sometimes, for a change, she worked in the sorting room out back. She enjoyed going through the many books donated by the public, and she enjoyed stacking them on the shelves in their rightful places. One of the advantages of the job was that she got first pick at the many interesting books that passed through her hands. There were Nabokovs and McMurtrys and fine old hardbacks of Virginia Woolf. Of course, there was a stack of Dan Browns and trashy romance books to wade through as well. She thought it strange how so many paperback books were now in that large format. Was it a ploy by the book industry to bump up their prices, or did they just enjoy using up wood pulp?

The people in the sorting room were mostly elderly. There was much friendly banter amongst them, with gossip and corny jokes flying thick and fast. One lady, Trixie, was always talking about the different boyfriends she had and how one in particular, Fred, was always asking her to marry him. Every week without fail she would regale her friends in the sorting room with another update on the saga, and they would add some salty comments. Kathy couldn't help smiling at all this: sometimes they were like scatty teenagers.

Then there was Jerry, the sole male in the group, who always had a quip for everyone. Kathy was mostly amused by the things that he said. He did tend to run on, however, as if he was afraid of silence, or was simply asserting his masculinity. He would sometimes say to her, "You're quiet, Kathy," as though it were a bad thing.

Indeed, she was quiet during this time. She was thinking of her future and quietly inspecting her feelings. Her brief time working at _The Mustard Tree_ had given her a new perspective. The examples of Belinda and Ken inspired her to try for something more meaningful with her life. There was also the coming baby to think about, and life without John. Although her parents would be supportive, she wondered if it would be enough. Also, there was the Gate Program and Professor Feynman's offer of a place in the training program.

One day she was sorting books in the back room when she came upon a box of old clothes. Someone had put them in her station by mistake, probably because the box contained a couple of books as well. Looking through the clothes, she found that one of the items was a man's blue checkered shirt. The pattern was just similar enough to remind her of a favorite shirt John had worn. She gently held the shirt up close to her face and thought she caught the heady man-smell of him.

She remembered a time when he had worn that shirt. They had stopped at a gas station on their way to Sequoia National Park. He had gone inside to talk to the man. She suddenly found herself alone for the first time in ages.

They had been inseparable in that first flush of love and lust, unable to get enough of each of other. So it felt strange being away from him, if only for a moment. She felt the sun on her skin and the wind blowing from across the field, where she could see a farm in the distance. She had wanted to run into the field and go to the farm and wonder about the people who lived there, to be herself for just a moment. It was like an escape from him, from John, from the obsession that had taken hold of both of them. It didn't mean she didn't love him or she didn't want to come back to him. There was just something in her that needed that _wildness_. What was it that John Muir had once wrote? – _'Wildness is a necessity'._

Her face registered a range of emotions as she put the shirt back in the box. If she were an actress it would have been a wonderful performance, perhaps worthy of a Penelope Cruz, or a Latina Ellen Page...But she wasn't acting.

First, something inside her broke and she felt a deep, helpless grief. She wanted John. She felt the ache of his loss worse than ever before; but it was a strange, liberating ache. Tears were cathartic – she had always known that – and this was yet another example of it. A part of her was letting go, moving on. It would no longer hurt so much.

Moving on meant taking up Feynman's offer and going into the Program. She saw the sense of it now. She saw that the Gates could never be a panacea for all the pain, all the memories she had experienced in this timeline, and knowing that gave her clarity. The Gates were not necessarily evil, nor were they wholly benign - they merely contained potentialities, interesting potentialities. She knew them for what they were and she was no longer afraid of them - or her responses to them. She saw too that her fate was somehow tied up with them, that she was meant to pursue that potential.

A wry smile of resignation registered on her face.

It was not a deep insight or anything like that. It was not an epiphany. She thought people who were always having epiphanies were pretentious. She wiped away the tears and continued on with work.

"Are you all right, love?" Noticing her difficulty, Trixie had come over to help.

Kathy told Belinda she was leaving the job. Belinda asked why, and without revealing her involvement with the Gate Program, Kathy spoke of the choices before her.

Belinda listened carefully, then said, "Well, you've gotta do what makes you happy. I'll be sorry to see you go, Kathy. I know you're not especially religious, but I hope one day Jesus comes into your life."

"Thank you," said Kathy. It was the first and only time Belinda had really spoken of her beliefs, and she felt the force of her sincerity.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jerusalem, AD 33

John and his companions went quietly throughout the city spreading the words of Yeshua to those who would hear them. They had to be careful. The Romans had heard of this strange new sect of Galilean patriots, and while most were tolerant of other beliefs, there were some who did not approve. Most of all they were a threat to the established order, the priests, the merchants and Pharisees who ruled over the religious and economic life of the city.

Select members of the _Sinici_ , including Evram, spoke in the market places of Yeshua's words and deeds, and of his coming to Jerusalem. They repeated his parables and summarised his Sermon on the Mount. They spoke of 'the Lamb of God' and of his miracles and of the kingdom to come for those who believed. They also fired the people with a vision of Heaven on Earth and spoke of the dignity and equality of all people, all races, Jew and Gentile alike.

Other more covert members, including John, went among the people and sought out the poor and the weak, the outcasts of the synagogues and the destitute, and offered them shelter and food within the many enclaves they had established within the city. They gave them clothing when they needed it and offered them gainful employment in the fields and orchards outside the city gates.

Mari and some of the women tended to those who had been abused at the hands of the soldiers. They also counseled caution to women who needed to pass through the city at night and arranged, when possible, for some of the more intimidating male members of the movement to accompany them on their errands.

John was amazed at the extent of the _Sinici_ 's organisation. They seemed to have set up an entire network of volunteer workers, all filled with a passion for social justice, all fired with a holy spirit to enact change, to bring about the vision of Heaven on Earth for all people. He saw time and again in the sick and the lame, and especially the poor, a new light of hope and possibility in their eyes as he helped and ministered to them with his friends. They were no longer alone, they had worth, they had dignity. It emboldened them. The brutality of life under the Romans was a yolk they would shrug off one day.

"The rich and the powerful, the merchants and the Pharisees already have their Heaven, what need we of them?" spoke Evram during one of his market sermons. His voice rang out true and clear, and passers by leaned in to hear his words, recognizing the authority in his voice. "We who are not rich, who are not strong, we must make our own Heaven, here and now. We are many, together we are strong. Come join us as brothers and sisters!"

Standing in the same marketplace, listening to Evram's words as he often did, John realized they were stirring discontent, creating an underclass of the disaffected. He was reminded of the writings of Karl Marx and his reading about unions and organizations like the Wobblies of the early 1900s in New York. It was all a bit vague and fuzzy to him now, he seemed to have forgotten much of it - but there was clearly a connection with it here. It gave him an idea.

That same evening, back in their rooms in the Lower City, John directly asked Evram, "Are you and your people revolutionaries?"

Evram looked at him and carefully considered his words, as he always did. "Nay, we are not what you call 'revolutionaries', brother Shohn. We are explorers, we are _Driadi_."

"But how do you explain this 'Heaven on Earth' business?" asked John, still dissatisfied. "It's as though you're, I don't know, experimenting with or manipulating people's desires to achieve something – what?"

Evram was silent for a moment. John could sense an internal struggle within him. He half expected Evram to dismiss the conversation, as he often did, but suddenly he went on.

"There is much I have to tell you, Shohn, before the...dilation occurs within you."

"'Dilation', what's that?" John interrupted.

"The forgetting. Never mind." He quickly went on. "Your people of the future are now discovering the _Shakra_ , the Gates. They are learning to use the Gates to fill in the gaps in your knowledge about yourselves.

"When you asked if we were experimenting, you were very close to the way of things. Think of this – the Gates – as a laboratory, a learning aid for experimenting to see which actions present which outcomes, as a way of perfecting our reality. The human race is constantly evolving, it is...a work in progress?" He said it as though he was unsure of the term.

John gasped, reminded of something Kathy had said to him when he last saw her.

"When we truly know our past," continued Evram, "we can embrace our present and our future. We are a fragmented species, not whole. Haunted by our past, afraid of our future. As we should be. We are unbalanced. We are a work in progress." He held out his hands in a helpless gesture.

John's mind was racing at his words. There was so much to take in. Some of it made sense, much of it didn't. He tried to apply Evram's words to the question he had posed him at the beginning, paraphrasing furiously and choosing his words carefully. "So by trying to achieve Yeshua's vision here and now you're experimenting with the evolution of the human race, which is all about achieving Heaven on Earth?"

"Correct," said Evram with the hint of a smile. "You might say we are 'evolutionaries', not 'revolutionaries'." It was the first time John had detected a sense of humor in him.

"Wait a minute, you mentioned something about the people of my future, how they are now discovering the Gates." Another thought had occurred to John. "How do you know that?"

"We are from your future as well, Shohn. We have seen this. And besides, we have _Driadi_ who live among you and who are in contact with us."

"What, you mean spies?" John was startled.

"Most are merely observers," said Evram evenly. "There is one we call 'the Custodian', who watches over the Gates in your time. This person has other...spies who help see to it that the Gates are not misused."

"How could they be misused?" asked John in all innocence.

"The Gates are a great gift, my friend. They are for all, or they are for no one. And they are not to be used carelessly."

John sensed from the reverent way Evram spoke about them that there was much more to the Gates than he had realized. There was one more thing that concerned him.

"Evram, you said something about a 'dilation' before – a forgetting. What did you mean by that?"

Evram looked at him with compassion. "You will soon forget your future, my friend. It is a result of time travel through the Gates. Something is...lost."

"Oh." John realized he was not surprised. He had noticed his memory degrading, aspects of the future becoming blurred, and here was the explanation. But he was concerned. He thought of his son, and he thought of Kathy. The possibility that he could forget them seemed impossible and quite appalling. "But will I get my memory back when I return to my own time?"

"It will return to you, yes, if you do not remain here too long."

"How much is too long?"

"Normally a year is long enough to wipe the memory clear," said Evram calmly, as though it was a common occurrence. "It is one reason why we do not stay long in the same place."

John didn't like the sound of that. How could he get back to his own future if he no longer remembered it? He could become lost in this timeline. "But how come you remember?"

Evram looked thoughtful again, as though he did not wish to continue. After an effort, he went on almost shyly, "We are in...contact with the _Shakra_. It sustains us."

"You mean you can speak to it?"

"It is more a...a communion. Yes."

"What, the Gates are sentient?"

"If by 'sentient' you mean they have their own will, yes."

John was stunned for a moment. He tried to comprehend the implication of this. Were Evram and the _Driadi_ somehow under the influence of these sentient Gates, these _Shakra_ s? How much free will did they have? "Did it tell you to come here?"

Evram looked startled for a moment. Then, as if reading John's mind, he said, "We can think for ourselves, brother. Nay, we chose to come here because Yeshua and this time is one of the greatest... _epicentres_ in our history." The modern word sounded strange coming from Evram, but John grasped its meaning immediately – it was, after all, a geological term. "We were...curious," he added with a smile.

John nodded. "I get that. After all you've seen, what do you think of him now, Evram?"

Evram paused, considering the question. "I think he is a great man, a special man. But there are others like him. Although I have not met him, I hear tell the one called Buddha was kindred to him. And old William Shakespeare, who I have known, ay he was another."

"You knew Shakespeare? Did he – did he write the plays?" John's voice was almost hysterical.

"No more questions, Shohn!" said Evram with some humor. "Time conjures up these – what shall I call them? - _anomalies_ every now and then. Yet history is replete with great men and women whose lives have gone unsung. It is the way of the world."

He walked off to bed and would say no more.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

2017

As a historian, Ursula Bailouni was in her dream job. Despite the government's constant meddling and all the problems with security and red tape, she was lucky, she knew that. History was literally at her fingertips. She was the envy of all History faculties the world over. She looked out the window of her office in the newly built high security conference and customs facility near the Monticello Gate chamber, and sighed. Yet she was not happy, not by a long shot.

The Program was now moving along too quickly for her liking. There were so many more submissions coming through now from the GAP sessions, it was getting complicated – and the meetings were becoming chaotic. The effect was accumulative, and it was going to get harder the further back in time they went. The exploration teams and Mission Controllers would have to be continually retrained to cope with the old eras coming through, the old versions of English and other languages, the old laws and customs, old ways of being.

Meanwhile, new recruits were always coming in. The situation was getting to a point where she might have to assign quotas for missions, which would essentially slow down the Program. It was either that or expand it considerably with more resources and more personnel. But the latter choice was fraught with complications, not least of which was getting the available funding and the security risks that would come with more personnel.

There was a knock at the door of her office and Eli Weinstein entered, interrupting her thoughts.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"No, as long as you're nice."

"Fair enough!"

He sat down with an amused air, remembering the GAP meeting they had just attended. They had convened and argued and passed ever more new mission proposals, both exciting and absurd. The disappearance of Glenn Miller, Ned Kelly and Stringy Bark Creek and the siege at Glenrowan, the identity of Jack the Ripper, the Katyn massacre, the mystery of Jane Austen's death, and Burton and Speke in East Africa.

They were dipping in to the nineteenth century now.

"Well, they were pretty lively today!"

"I suppose so."

He laughed. "Sometimes it feels like feeding time at the History faculty fundraiser barbecue!"

"Yes, with everyone trying their best to carve up history like so much real estate," added Ursula.

"Steak-ing their claim for the juiciest bits," said Eli, who could never resist a bad pun.

"Ow, I asked you to be nice!"

"Sorry." He grabbed a stress ball off the desk and started squeezing it.

"All right." She took the ball from him, then made a face at how sweaty it had already become. "Do you have any ideas about how we're going to manage our funding and expansion problems?" She gazed at him steadily.

"As a matter of fact I do." He gazed back at her just as steadily.

"I'm listening." She sat back in her chair and folded her arms.

He leaned forward, eager to explain. "Well, firstly, we could start by making the GAP Digest available to the public – for a reasonable price. It would have to be a shortened version with the more sensitive stories and information edited out, but I see it being a big money-spinner, and it would help placate the rabble."

Ursula sat stunned for a moment, then collected her thoughts. She smiled at him icily. "I hadn't thought of doing that – making money from the Digests. How very...enterprising of you, Eli."

He didn't know how to take it. As usual he couldn't quite read her, but he suspected sarcasm. He went on a little uncertainly, but soon regained his enthusiasm.

"Well, there's also the possibility of making recordings available of all the famous sports events and concerts that are being filmed – that's a bit of a no-brainer. I've just seen the '54 World Series between the Giants and the Indians. Wow!" Eli smiled, completely enthused. He was a big Giants fan. "...And no doubt there's the internet as well..."

"That's all very well, Eli," Ursula interrupted, sitting up, alert and suspicious, "but where's all this coming from, really?" She had listened to his ideas and her bullshit detector was now clearly ringing. "Eli, there's something you're not telling me."

He paused, taken aback. He wondered, _am I that transparent to her?_ "Well, I will, if you give me a chance."

He thought back on the meeting he'd had with President Tillburn the previous night. He'd come here to tell her, but he knew she wouldn't like it. The buttering up he'd just tried had clearly failed and only served to make her more suspicious. He leaned forward in his chair and took a deep breath.

"All right, never mind the public clamour for information, Ursula, that's just a drop in the ocean as far as we're concerned. Listen, some big private lobbies are exerting serious pressure for access to the Gates."

"I know that," said Ursula. "They've been annoying the President and the governments of the other Gate countries since this started. It's mostly Armitage and his cronies. Surely the President isn't paying them attention now?"

"I'm afraid he is." He resisted going for the stress ball again.

"What do you mean?"

"They bring with them enormous resources and money, Ursula. In case you hadn't noticed, the government isn't exactly flush with funds lately. Of course the Gate Program remains a priority, but maybe it's time it began to really pay its way."

"I see." Ursula thought for a moment, not sure if she actually did 'see'. "Is the President just talking to these lobbies or is he planning on playing ball with them?"

"Ah, hard to say." Eli made a grab for the stress ball, but Ursula was too quick, she took it before he could get it. "But I think he's leaning towards playing ball. There is an offer on the table."

"What's the offer?"

"Uh, large bags of cash and other donations for a ride in a time machine."

Ursula shook her head in disbelief. "I hesitate to ask, but what are these 'other donations'?"

"Well, it's still in negotiations, but they're prepared to let the latest taxation increase through unopposed."

"If they get what they want?"

"It seems so."

Ursula tried to collect her thoughts. She felt like she was in a stupor. She didn't like what she was hearing, not one bit. Although science had always spun off its endeavours into commercial avenues, this was something different. As far as she was concerned the Gates were not a commercial enterprise, their domain was purely scientific and investigative. Opening them up for a bunch of cashed-up cowboys, to do with them God knows what, was not something she wanted to think about. Somehow it made her feel...dirty. But ultimately, she didn't have a choice. It was not her call. She was only the Director. She didn't hold the purse strings.

"Think about it," said Eli, breaking into her thoughts. "With the revenue from the sale of the Digests and films and TV, and these private tours for the bigwigs – 'the Timegate Experience' - we could really expand the Program."

Ursula finally looked at him, and smiled at the easy logic of his statement. She wondered if perhaps he had planned it this way all along.

"You make it sound like an amusement park ride. For a man who is part-Aboriginal you're very entrepreneurial, Eli - maybe even materialistic. What would your, uh, tribe say about that?"

"We don't call them tribes, we refer to them as our 'mob'. And I think they'd say I had learnt the white fella's ways very well." He gave a wry grin. "But then again, I'm also part-Jew. Mostly, I just think of myself as a cheerleader for science."

After he had left she sat thinking over the conversation and the entire Gate situation.

Eli's idea of spinning data from the Gate missions into profits for the Program via public interest was a surprisingly good one. The expansion of the Program that would result would really help them keep it running smoothly and on track. They had even discussed the inevitable revealing of the other Gates as a by-product of this expansion - 'new' Gates being built at 'new' locations.

Still, she chafed at the idea of 'the Timegate Experience', as Eli called it, as if the Gates were public assets that could be sold off to the highest bidder. It seemed unnecessary when she considered the funds that would accrue from the sale of the Gate missions data. Tillburn, however, was apparently very keen on the idea. No doubt it would help his administration.

Ursula decided she would not oppose it. By now she was well resigned to compromising with the Administration. But she was the Director, it was her Program, she would be the one responsible for implementing Tillburn's plan. Skilled in the ways of bureaucracy, she intended to put up as many roadblocks as she could and make it very difficult for these cowboys to enter the Gates.

There were still so many more issues she had to deal with, including the new security measures she was bringing in for the exploration teams. She knew they would not be popular. Also, she wondered how the world would respond when news got out, as it surely would, that the Gates were possibly built by extraterrestrials.

These past few months in the job had been extraordinary. Getting to work on the Gate Program as Director was an enormous privilege and she couldn't imagine doing anything else. It had also been frustrating and maddening at times. She sometimes wondered how she managed to keep her sanity. Sometimes, she could feel her control of it all slipping away.

She looked down at her hands and realized she still had the stress ball she had taken from Eli. She had been squeezing it all this time.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Three of the original Tesla research team had made it through their training and were now all fully-fledged members of the Gate Exploration Team Program. Lina remained with the Tesla Gate team. She was placed with Tesla Six, but she had also requested further training for a possible Mission Controller position. It was a lot more responsibility but she felt she could handle it. The training had taught her self-discipline, and now she wanted to develop her leadership skills. Besides, she had always enjoyed bossing others around. An exultant Gus Manfredi was accepted to the Egypt Gate team. Yang had requested reassignment to the Gate's continuing research project. He was convinced the Gates held more secrets and he wanted a chance at cracking them. Of course he was not the only one: as predicted by Cal Bradbury, 'Timegate Physics' was becoming a very important and popular new area of science research around the world. Kathy, who was a constant presence at the Tesla Gate facility, had asked for and been given permission to participate in a limited version of the training program that was confined mostly to the theory classes. It was decided, in her condition, Gate travel was not a good option for her. She hoped eventually, once her baby had been born, to participate fully in the Program.

It was Kathy who organized an informal going away party for Manfredi. It was held at _The Egg of Columbus_ , a popular on-campus bar. Both Gary Mullens and Cal Bradbury were also in attendance.

"So, doing the Middle East, hey?" said Cal joining Gus at the bar to order another round. "That's big time."

"Yes. In more ways than one!" Gus laughed.

"How do you feel?" Cal patted his back. "You might get to see Jesus!"

"I'll settle for Mohammed, if it's possible. Or one of the Pharaohs."

Gary joined them and added, in his best Yoda (of Star Wars) accent, _"But wait, there is another. Mmmm, yes."_

"Huh?" said Cal. "Who are you blabbering about? Princess Leia?"

"No, idiot! I'm talkin' about Buddha!"

"Oh!"

When the drinks came, Gus and Gary helped Cal take them to the table where Lina, Kathy and Yang waited. As they settled around the table Cal raised his glass high and proposed a toast. "To Gus. The original ankh thief!"

Gus groaned. "Will I ever live that down?"

"The question is, will you ever live up to it again?" said Gary, also giving him a pat on the back.

They spent much of the evening happily sharing news about the Gate program and their plans, and getting steadily more inebriated – all except Kathy, who was strictly on water.

Perhaps because she was the only one not drinking and not fully in the training program, Kathy felt a little bit disconnected from the group that night. She listened in to their anecdotes about training and field trips that sounded so interesting, and felt a little envious.

Noticing the lost look on her face, Lina said to Kathy, "I like your jacket."

"Oh, thanks." Kathy tried to wrap the denim jacket around her, realising the pregnancy was making it more difficult. She was starting to show.

"I hear you're looking to become a Mission Controller soon," said Kathy.

"Yep. Gonna be a time cop."

"What made you decide to do that?"

"I know, it looks strange: me a time cop. I'm more the type they'd be chasing me!" She laughed. "But I just want a shot at the Program. I figure I can do good if I stay in the Program. I've just gotta learn to control my temper!...And time travel - well, it's the biggest experiment of them all, ain't it?"

She raised her glass and drank. She looked momentarily at Kathy's stomach, where the baby was starting to show.

"I could never do what you're doing," she admitted.

"What, have a baby?"

"Yes, I couldn't do it. Scares the shit out of me."

"It scares the shit out of me, too!" said Kathy. She laughed.

Lina looked long and hard at Kathy, then she looked at the others and proposed a new toast. "Hey everyone. To Kathy, and the coming baby!"

The toast was received enthusiastically by everyone.

"When is it due?" asked Cal.

"About the end of May," said Kathy.

At that moment, Samantha Flores came up to congratulate Gus on his new assignment. She was wearing a red dress and looked like she was out on a date. She looked stunning.

"I hope the placement works out really well for you," said Sam, turning to Gus.

"Thanks Sam, I appreciate that," said Gus.

She turned to the others and said, "And I guess I'll see some of you back in the Gate room. Enjoy your party." She walked back to her date, who appeared to be a handsome guy standing by the bar.

"Hey, look who she's with!" said Gary.

They all looked over at the bar and saw that Sam was now talking to, and being very flirtatious with, an attractive Goth-looking brunette _female._ The handsome guy was nowhere to be seen.

"That's interesting," said Cal, speaking for all of them. Although there had been some speculation amongst the training teams, no one really knew Flores' romantic 'status'.

All eyes at the table slowly turned to Lina. At their bemused gaze, she burst out with, "Oh my God, you think I'm interested in that hard bitch?"

Cal and Gary looked at each other knowingly, but remained silent. They looked over at Sam and her cute friend again.

"Yeah, they look really hard, don't they?" said Cal.

Gary said, "They're making me really h...!"

The conversation soon turned back to the Gate Program. Yang, who maintained a close contact with Gerard Feynman, seemed to have all the latest news.

"Hey, did you hear about what happened with that British mission that was investigating the death of Jane Austen?"

"No, what?" asked Lina.

"They say one of their members, a pathologist called Davies, went AWOL while on the job. His team was covering 1817 London and he just disappeared. They tracked down his ankh, but he was nowhere to be found. He must have left it behind, knowing they would find him if he had it on him."

"But that's nuts!" said Gary. "He could never get back without his ankh."

"Precisely," said Yang. "That's obviously what he intended. He was apparently single and lived alone; didn't have many family ties. The Gate Authority in London pulled his files and raided his home after that to try and find clues as to where he went and what he was doing. It turns out Davies may have been working on a cure for Austen."

"Oh-ho!" said Gary.

"Ah, Jonesin' for a little of that ol' Jane Austen ass, was he?" said Lina with a leer.

"Try and take this seriously," said Yang. "The team, including Davies, had been allowed to examine Austen, and had apparently diagnosed Addison's disease."

"Really?" interrupted Cal. "That surprises me."

"It surprised everyone," continued Yang. "They said they had caught it in its early stages, and that was just a month before her death, so Austen must have died before its worst effects could take hold. Which leaves open the possibility that she didn't die of Addison's but something else."

"So what are they doing about this Davies guy who wandered off?" asked Gary.

"They kept a watch around Austen's family home in Chawton for a couple of days, but when he didn't show they decided to leave that timeline. They left his ankh where they found it, with a note telling him to come back. There isn't anywhere else he can go, so they figure he'll show up back in the England chamber eventually."

"Oh," said Cal, deep in thought. "So what did kill her, if it wasn't Addison's?"

"We don't know yet," said Yang. "I believe there's expected to be a follow up mission next month."

"I imagine this incident might have some implications for us and the Program?" offered Gus.

"Yes," said Yang. "It means there'll be even greater screening of candidates to catch problems early on. They don't want any more 'wanderers'. And sorry to tell you, but it also means the Authority will soon be issuing everyone with secure tracking bracelets. I heard it from Feynman."

"What, like the ones they put on criminals to track their movements?" asked Lina.

"That's right."

"Screw that! They're not putting chains on this black girl!"

"Then you won't be in the Program very much longer, Lina," said Yang. "It's coming, whether you like it or not."

There was a pause while everyone reflected on Yang's words.

"It just seems they're keeping a pretty tight leash on us, is all," said Lina finally.

"With good reason," said Yang. "Apparently Davies isn't the first team member to go wandering off."

"Anyway, none of that matters," said Cal, who was determinedly drunk. "What I want to know is, what did Jane Austen look like? Do we have pictures yet? Was she like sister Cassandra's sketch, the simpering simpleton, or more like that interesting Paula Byrne portrait with the strong nose and steely grey eyes...?"

Half an hour later the company was out front of _the Egg_ , preparing to see Gus off. His wife had arranged to pick him up. Most of them were giggly and well in their cups, including Gus.

"What does she see in that ho _, rockin' the black lipstick_?" said Lina in a vaguely Australian accent, still thinking of Sam Flores.

"Come to Egypt with me," said Gus to Lina. "You could be my Nubian slave girl."

"I think I'll pass!" said Lina, laughing.

The wife's car pulled up and Gus managed to get inside after many hugs.

"Say hello to Jesus for us," said Cal.

Gus stuck his head out of the car and replied: "There's still a long time to go before that, my friends. Farewell!"

As they walked off, most of them heading for Kathy's car, Gary paused and said sadly, "Looks like the _Fellowship_ is breaking up."

Cal came up beside him and gave him a slap in the back of the head.

"Ow! Why'd you do that?" said Gary

"Idiot!" Cal put his arm around him and they walked off, arm in arm, like good (especially drunk) buddies do.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The first public editions of the GAP Digest were sold out within days of their issue, and required further reprints. The public thirst for information about the Gates and the missions to the past seemed unquenchable, and the Program administration had difficulty keeping up with the demand. Television programs, internet sites and magazines were dedicated to discussions about its findings, and debates raged over what parts of history should be explored and carved out next. The public demand became so great that Bailouni and her Gate administrators had to create a new commercial division, catering specifically to the public's taste for things from the past, both popular and esoteric. Along with the Program's scholarly and academic investigations, so-called 'commercial missions' were approved and undertaken by teams of professional film-makers (accompanied, of course, by their Mission Controllers). Footage of vintage baseball games (featuring such greats as Joe Dimaggio, Ted Williams and Babe Ruth) and the _Classic Concerts_ series (including the Beatles playing at the _Star Club_ in Hamburg) were particularly popular.

Theoretically, all the famous (and not so famous) concerts, artistic and sporting events of the world and time were available to all via the Timegates. The phenomenon was duplicated all around the world. Rugby fans were able to enjoy the Springboks of 1952, the French thrilled to the vocal histrionics of Edith Piaf, and Russians were entranced by the grace and athleticism of Alexander Nijinsky. Even in Egypt a disappointed Gus Manfredi, who had not yet been assigned an exploration team, was forced to accompany a group to Saudi Arabia to film a horse race from 1983 that featured a famous gelding once a favourite of the King. Original footage of these and many others were all made commercially available on high definition dvd and Bluray by the respective Gate authorities.

This new openness brought on by the availability of the Digests and the products of the commercial missions helped the Program raise much-needed revenue and to expand its operations considerably. But it also helped forestall the crisis that had been looming between the public sphere and the Program ever since the discovery of the Gates. Public unrest and an almost fanatical desire for information, fueled by the more irresponsible media outlets, had grown so bad that, in some countries, martial law had been invoked. The promise of time travel sparked a fever in certain sections of the public that threatened the status quo. Thus, releasing information about the Program and the time missions acted as a kind of relief valve that did much to help quell this mass fever. When President Tillburn revealed in a press conference speech the imminent opening of several 'new' Gate sites around the world, (of course their exact locations were withheld), the public response was positively euphoric.

Within the Program, Bailouni and her administrators took advantage of this public goodwill to forge ahead with further restructuring efforts.

Despite protests from some of the participants, the new security measures were implemented and security bracelets were now standard issue for all mission civilians and exploration team members. Due to their position of greater trust and responsibility, Mission Controllers were the only ones granted exemption. It was an allowance Lina Thigpen, who had newly graduated from the MC training corps, was grateful for. She had always declared she would not wear those _chains_ , and now it seemed she would not have to.

After many trials and experiments, the task force of neuroscientists and diagnosticians set up earlier by Ursula eventually zeroed in on the causes of the strange memory loss phenomenon of the dilation effect. The key was in discovering reduced amounts of acetylcholine in Gate travelers, especially ones that had gone on deep time journeys. It was not known why time travel depleted this chemical in travelers, however one particularly outlandish theory suggested that, in defying the laws of entropy, time travel exacted a price - that price being the dilation effect. In other words, Gate travel into the past caused the mind to experience increasingly disordered states equivalent to entropy disorder in a kind of inverse transferral.

Whatever the real reason, once this breakthrough had been made, the bio-chemistry division succeeded in synthesizing a drug that, to some degree, counterracted the depletion. A highly experimental drug that in no way had gone through the usual government and industry screening and approval procedures, it was a compound of aniracetam and acetylcholine and other nootropics called _Ritasin_.

Program Director Ursula Bailouni was at first reluctant to sanction its use, especially after test patients experienced psychotic episodes. Further tests determined this to be the result of dosage strength, and further refinements resulted in the attainment of equilibrium. It was also found that travelers suffering from the effect responded better to treatment if they were introduced to familiar stimuli, especially if they were reintegrated with friends and family.

Subsequent trials upon exploration team members whilst on mission found that use of the drug on subjects who had not completely succumbed to the _effect_ resulted in extending their functionality. Theoretically at least, this allowed for teams to remain in the field for anywhere up to two months before recall became necessary, and greatly extended the scope of missions.

Yet, despite all the security measures and precautions, there had been fatalities in the course of the Program. Two exploration team members from the French Gate in Arrens-Marsous had been shot by National Guards while investigating the Paris Commune of 1871. A further three from the Russian Gate in the Urals had been killed in an avalanche while en route to St Petersberg for the crowning of Tsar Nicolas II in 1894. Also, one unlucky field surveyer had been kicked in the head by an errant horse's hoof during training for a Civil War mission to Gettysberg.

Although unfortunate, as far as the Director was concerned it was a miracle there had not been more losses within the Program. It had grown so large and its organisation had become so complicated that Ursula felt she could barely keep up with its demands (she was furiously delegating and relying especially on her deputy, Eli Weinstein). The Program, and the Gates that it served, had become an uncontrollable Beast with an insatiable appetite. All the lives and resources that maintained its operation were simply so much fuel feeding its belly. It was indeed a living, almost sentient thing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

GATE OPERATIONS REPORT

Thanks to the pioneering work done by Yang Lee and Lina Thigpen of the original Gate team, there is much we know about the Timegates and their operation. We know, for example, that the panels that are found on the side of every Gate control the where and when of one's travels through space and time within the Gates. But with further research we now know they do much more than this.

When a combination of the control panel's main glyphs are depressed a visual display is engaged just above the main glyph sequences. They consist of two spheroid displays, one offering spatial coordinates and the other offering temporal coordinates. They appear to relay tracking data of Gate users by way of the ankhs that are in their possession.

The time coordinate view offers a simple line graph that shows the position in time of any travelers using the Gates in relation to the present. Highlighting individual time points, either by touch or using the panel arrow controls brings up information on the spatial coordinate view. Traveler positions and numbers can be tracked in relation to the Gate Chamber, which is centrally located within the screen. The screen data can be re-scaled from a radius of 1 mile to approximately 2,000 miles, which appears to be the extent of its tracking ability.

All on-screen display text is configured in glyph format, making it difficult to read (the diagram example is translated for convenience). Also, it would seem that the Gate builders had in place a very different time referencing system. Our translators are still working on the text, but it would appear that our present date or year, in Gate builder terms, is somewhere in the tens of thousands. We can only speculate that the starting point - that is, year zero - indicated the original construction or placement time of the Gates within their chambers here on Earth. Or perhaps it refers to the beginning of the builders' own civilization...

... _Obviously, there is still much to learn about the Gate controls and the way the Gates work. Presently, we have not been able to re-establish connections with the past once those connections are severed – they have to be reestablished from the other end. Perhaps this data tracking system can be used to lock back on to our travelers in the past and join them, if needed, in whatever timeline they are exploring?_

excerpt from Gate Operations Report, by Daniel Beamer (with notes by Yang Lee and Lina Thigpen)

Ever since he had first used them, Yang Lee had pondered the problem of locking onto the ankh time signals and their timelines. The ankhs and their users were easily tracked. Their place and timeline showed clearly on the Gate displays. Once the connection between Gates was severed, however, the movements of exploration parties could only be observed, not entered into. Attempts to breach their timelines remotely from outside always resulted in lockout. Yang and his Control team had tried every combination of the glyphs, every known algorithm at their command. They were beginning to think an override didn't exist on the Gates, that perhaps there was something in its defences that prevented it.

Yang was thinking about all of this one day at home while his daughter, Kimmy, and her friend Izzy were playing cubby houses in the loungeroom. He watched as little Kimmy, her short black pigtails sticking up like antennae, barricaded herself inside the house of cushions and blankets. He heard her say, in her squeaky Californian accent, "Can't come in! This is my fort!"

"Oh, can I?" asked Izzy pleadingly from outside. She was another brunette, but with straight hair.

Yang sensed trouble. Kimmy could be stubborn and wilful at times. He'd had many confrontations with her, the latest being her refusal to use the toilet at night. The child still occasionally wet the bed. He had tried bribery – some fruit rollups if she did the right thing - but she had soon learned to exploit the situation and started to need to go to the bathroom all the time, but only if he gave her a rollup. She had won that round, but he was not defeated. He would work on the 'problem' of Kimmy as diligently as any other challenge and solve it.

Izzy pretended to knock on the door.

"Is anyone home?" she asked politely. "Can I come in?"

"I dunno," said Kimmy from inside. "Are you a friend?"

"Yes!" said Izzy firmly.

"All right, come in!"

The 'door' was opened and the little girl crawled through. Presently Yang could hear whispering and giggling from inside the fort.

He turned back to the laptop on his knees and tried to disregard Kimmy and the television, which was showing the film _Forbidden Planet_ , one of his favourites. He scanned the notes he'd been making about the Gate and its controls. He would work out this problem if it killed him.

Are you a friend?

He was knocking on them Gates but they weren't letting him in...

Are you a friend?

It was hard to concentrate with the noise of the girls and the TV. Dr Morbius was now deliriously yelling something about 'monsters from the Id'.

Are you a friend?

_Wh-what was that? Oh, what Kimmy had said to Izzy_. He couldn't get it out of his head now...

Are you a friend?

Am I a friend? How should I know? Who are you?

He followed the question down its rabbit hole and it led him to wondrous places. The white hot nodes of inspiration and insight suddenly exploded in his brain like some nuclear reaction.

"Of course!" He yelled it out, startling the girls in their playing.

It was just a theory, but what a theory! He couldn't wait to test it out.

It was late the next day when Yang got the chance to test his idea on the Tesla Gate. The exploration team Tesla Two had gone through not long before on an assignment to the year 1822, and no more Gate activity was scheduled until morning.

Now all was silent. Apart from a small maintenance crew, he was alone. He was supposed to have his Control team crew with him, but he had not called them in. He had wanted to try this crazy theory out on his own. If it failed, well, no one would be the wiser.

He stepped up to the control display and initiated the event horizon. The Gate hummed then burst into life, its central oval a glowing marbled white, with the eye fixed at the centre.

"Hello beautiful," he whispered to it.

Running his fingers across the smooth display, he felt the same sensation of connection with the Gate as he always did, the warm responsiveness of a living thing, and marvelled that it had not occurred to him before. What stupid scientific chauvinism, what blind prejudice had kept the thought from him? There was of course the eye that was always on display in the event horizon whenever a Gate was initiated. Yang had always been aware of that, but he had always seen it as an affectation of the Gate builders - an attempt to humanize something that was not human.

But he didn't believe that anymore. The Gates were _sentient_ \- they had achieved _singularity_. Or, that at least was his theory.

For many years scientists had speculated on the possibility of artificial intelligence, the idea that a super computer could achieve consciousness. The Gates were examples of such super computers, Yang was sure of it. The problem up to now had simply been how to communicate with them. The control panels on their sides were the basic interface – a crude device for the less sophisticated to interact with them - but the Gates could be far more eloquent than that.

His hands still caressing the control panel, Yang closed his eyes and stretched his mind out to the Gate:

Is anybody home? Can I come in?

He felt a bit silly saying it, but presently he knew something had changed. Beneath his fingers the Gate danced and pulsated, and six new glyphs came to life where the tips touched the surface in a haptic communion, below the time glyphs.

He felt like the Gate was drawing him in, like he was becoming one with its matrix. Images and sensations flowed over him. It was like a waking dream. The special patterns of the new control glyphs appeared before him, behind his eyes. And there was a voice:

Greetings friend. Enter.

He momentarily opened his eyes to make sure the voice had not come from someone else in the control room. It hadn't, there was no one near him. He closed his eyes and spoke again to the Gate:

The ankhs, the other timelines where the connection is severed...How do we establish contact? Can we-?

He stretched his mind out, communicating his intent with a single direct thought where words failed.

The Gate spoke one single word in his mind:

Here.

Then the new control glyphs appeared again to him. Five of the glyphs became highlighted sequentially. For a whimsical moment Yang thought he heard the five-note theme to the film _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_. The sequence ran through a number of times so that he remembered it.

Instinctively Yang began to call up the timeline display for the exploration team that had recently gone through. As expected, it showed them in the year 1822. Recalling the sequence the Gate had given him, he carefully repeated it on the control panel. When he finished the sequence there was a pause when nothing happened. Then suddenly the Gate pulsed, showing that the sequence had engaged.

Yang looked at the timeline display above the control panel and noticed the 1822 co-ordinate was lit up and blinking. It could only mean one thing: there was connection!

Unable to control himself, Yang did a little jig right there in front of the Gate. "Yes!" he yelled.

Some of the maintenance people, attracted by the Gate's sudden pulsing, looked on at him bemusedly.

There was only one thing to do now: go through the Gate and check it out for himself...

Gordon Willis, the Base Co-ordinator for New York Two, was quietly monitoring his team's progress from the New York Chamber when the Gate suddenly burst into life. He started in surprise. As far as he knew, the Gate was unreachable from the other side while they were in the past. For a moment he thought he might be receiving a visitation by the Gates' builders themselves. Visions of a phalanx of aliens coming through that event horizon ran through his brain. When it was only Yang Lee he drew a sigh of relief, but was still puzzled.

"Hi Gordon!" said Yang, clearly in a state of some excitement. "What's the year, are we in the past, is it 1822?"

"Of course it is, Yang. But how did you do that?" asked Gordon, impressed. "I thought we couldn't be locked onto once the connection was cut."

"You couldn't," said Yang. "But now you can. I've just discovered how."

After giving Gordon some sketchy details of his discovery, Yang went back through the Gate to the Tesla Gate room in the present. He longed to tell Stephen Wharton and some of the other staff, but it was still too early to notify anyone of his discovery. Instead, realising that he was suddenly very tired, Yang decided to take a nap on the couch in the control room – something it had often been used for by tired and overworked staff.

First, he went back to the Gate's control panel and, reaching out his hands and his mind, spoke to it.

I'm going to have to shut you down. Is that all right?

And the answer came back to him: _Yes._

As he shut down its systems and the event horizon dissolved, he wondered if the Gate had the ability to turn itself back on. He suspected it did, remembering the first time it had gone on line when it was first installed here.

Still excited, he called his wife, then he lay on the couch thinking. It took a while for his thoughts to settle down. It had been a big day. He had shared a kind of telepathic link with an artificial intelligence. This was going to take some figuring out.

Then Yang fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of lost explorers, of Livingston, Burton and Speke, of jungles and grassy plains and wilderness. He dreamed about Amelia Earhart and her co-pilot lost in the Pacific, and Scott and his men shivering in their tent amidst the snow and ice. He even dreamed of John Hannebury, the Gate's first victim, lost in the earth below.

Then he dreamed of the glyphs and the Gates, as he often did, and another vision of the Gate's control panel came to him. It was as though he was still connected to it and it was still communicating to him. Or was this the residue of the contact he had made with it earlier? Had it somehow tapped his unconsciousness in that moment of connection?

He awoke with a start. Looking at his watch he saw that it was now eight-thirty in the morning. Alyssa Feynman was eyeing him suspiciously from her chair in the control room. Kathy Rodriguez was with her. They were talking quietly.

"...So you've been in to see Farside already this morning?" Alyssa was saying.

"Yes, the old cow still seems to think I'm going to give birth to a freak, but what does she know?"

Noticing Alyssa's distracted gaze, Kathy turned around to look at Yang. "Oh, good morning, Yang," she said pleasantly. "You're awake!"

"Good morning," said Yang absently. "Do you have a pen and some paper I could use?"

As he scribbled onto the paper the sequence the Gate had shown him in the dream Yang looked out the window at the Gate room. It was filling up with the morning crew. It hardly registered with him.

"What's going on, Yang?" asked Alyssa, noticing his agitation.

"I have to use the Gate controls. Now, before I forget!"

He ran out of the control room and went straight to the Gate controls. A technician was hovering over the glyphs, but Yang pushed him aside like a man impatient for a phone call, and went for the controls.

"Hey!" said the technician, annoyed.

"It's here, I know it's here!"

Alyssa and Kathy came up beside him, curious about his behaviour.

Yang called up the Gate display and began going through the paths of all the other Gates around the world. He was looking for something in the displays, some pattern in the readout of the timelines.

"There it is!" he said breathlessly.

He was looking at the timeline for the Egypt Gate. There appeared to be three separate missions going on dating back as far as 1824.

"What is it?" asked Kathy.

"I don't know!" said Yang. He sounded triumphant, as though angels were pursuing him to some greater destiny. "But I think there's some hidden co-ordinates in the Gates and I can get at them."

Consulting his scribbled notes, Yang passed his hand over the glyphs in one mysterious movement and mentally signalled his intentions to the Gate, saying Hi, it's me. Got your message! It offered up the new glyphs, and Yang pressed the sequence it had shown him. He then engaged the entry button.

He looked up at the display and immediately a new co-ordinate presented itself on the timeline there, which adjusted itself to show the co-ordinate. It was a line that went well down below the 1824 mark. Reading the date, Yang was sure he was now looking at a co-ordinate that was sitting at the approximate year of AD 33. It was around the time of Jesus of Nazareth, he knew that much.

Bringing up the Spatial display, there was a blip registering to the north-east of the Egypt Gate. It was clearly somewhere within old Judea, possibly Jerusalem.

"What does it mean?" asked Alyssa, looking intently at the display.

"I think it means someone's hanging out with Jesus," said Yang.

Kathy looked at him and then the screen, and a sudden amazing thought came into her head. Her eyes opened wide.

"Oh my God!"

"What?"

"John!"

THE END OF PART THREE
PART FOUR:

THE LOST ONES
CHAPTER ONE

Ursula Bailouni had called an extraordinary meeting of the GAP. All thirty-six members sat at their designated tables waiting for the Director to appear. There was a general buzz of excitement. All of them had only recently been briefed about the breakthroughs that had been made by Yang Lee at the Tesla Gate, and speculation was rife. The talk quickly died down as Ursula, dressed in a dark green outfit, her black hair immaculately coifed, came into the room and sat down in her Director's chair. Glancing casually at some papers before her, she began to address the Panel.

"You have all received the reports of the new discoveries that have come from the Tesla Gate team headed by Stephen Wharton. It seems fitting that these breakthroughs should originate from that particular team as some of them were the scientists who discovered and first brought these special Gates to our attention. I congratulate them on what they have achieved, especially Professor Yang Lee for his part in the achievement.

"It would seem, thanks to Wharton and his colleagues, we now have a means of connecting remotely to all the ongoing missions operating in the past. The importance of this for the Program cannot be over-stated. It means that exploration teams and missions will no longer be left on their own in the past once the Gate connections are severed. It means that rescue teams can be sent in and directed to exactly where they are needed should disaster occur in those other timelines. It means we have gained a greater measure of control over time travel and the timelines, and it has just become that much safer.

"But more than this, we have uncovered the greatest secret held by the Gates, namely that they are more than just...giant computers that can do incredible things. We have learned that they are, for want of a better word, sentient – we can communicate with them directly.

"Just how this came to be and what it means for our understanding of those who created the Gates must remain to be seen. But I think you'll agree the implications are profound, possibly even disturbing..."

She paused here, ever the theatrical orator. She was about to deliver the bombshell, the piece of information none of them had been privy to up to now - the specific reason why she had called the meeting.

"There is one piece of information from the Tesla team discoveries we have withheld from you, and my apologies, but perhaps we can discuss that now if you like."

Ursula held in a big breath, then proceeded. "A signal has been received from an ankh operating completely off the grid from all our Programs. That is, it doesn't correspond to any of the known missions and exploration teams we have in the field at present."

"Is it possibly a rogue operator who has broken away from their team?" interrupted one of the Panel members from the floor.

"No, Mark," said Ursula identifying Mark Bradley, one of the Canadian members who spoke out. "We have accounted for the whereabouts of all known ankhs, and it's not one of them. Whoever's using it isn't in the Program as far as we know. There are theories of who it might be, but I don't wish to speculate at the moment."

"Uh, if I may, Madame Director?" spoke up another member from the floor. This time it was Ahmed Akabar, one of the Iranian members.

"Yes Ahmed?" Ursula responded.

"You haven't said, where and when is this signal operating from?"

"Ah..." This was the moment when things would get interesting, thought Ursula. "We've pinpointed it somewhere around the year AD 33 on the Egypt Gate. Its user seems to be in the vicinity of Jerusalem."

Ursula waited for the commotion to die down. Nothing was likely to set the Panel off more than news that the timeline of Jesus of Nazareth had been breached.

"All right," she said, almost shouting into the hubbub that had not quite receded, "I know this is sudden news, and maybe we weren't prepared for this to happen so soon, but it has and we need to deal with it. I think we need to make an important decision today, whether to investigate this anomaly now, or to wait till the exploration schedule takes us to the first century approximately fifteen months from now. Can I see a show of hands for those who would like to see us investigate now?"

Ursula paused and looked out at the Panel members. All of them held up their hands. She looked over at Eli Weinstein, who had been conspicuously silent through all of this, and smiled slyly.

"Okay, I guess we can call that unanimous. Now, the next question: who goes?"
CHAPTER TWO

ENTER, ALL WHO ARE WORTHY

\- from hieroglyphs on the archway of the Egypt Gate facility entrance.

The Egypt Gate facility on Mount St Catherine was impressive. Built partly into the mountainside, it was a large rectangular building of metal, glass and stone with an ornate interior courtyard that acted as the landing area for travelers shifting up from the chamber. It was constructed in a style that Gus would describe as 'faux ancient Egyptian'. Detailed hieroglyphs lined the pillars and the archway at its entrance.

Leaving the building with his wife to make their way to their new lodgings in Ismailia, Gus looked back at the entrance and noted its resemblance to the Museum of Cairo. He read the glyphs above the archway and deciphered their meaning. He smiled. The words seemed strangely appropriate.

He had two days of rest and settling in before reporting for duty with his new team at the facility. He spent the time with his wife Andrea touring the sites of Cairo and taking in some shopping and a movie. Andrea, who was an antiques dealer, was keen to see what was available in the bazaars and markets of the city.

She had accompanied her husband on numerous tours of Egypt in the course of his work and knew Cairo well. Gus knew that the prospect of staying at nearby Ismailia for what looked like an indefinite period did not please her greatly. The country was still in an unsettled state since the Uprising, and talk of politics and reform was everywhere in the streets. It added a frisson of excitement and intrigue, but it also made it feel dangerous – especially for a fair-skinned Wisconsin native with wild red hair like herself.

Most of all he knew she would miss her friends back in San Bernadino. Of course she could visit them whenever she wanted. As his wife she had a virtual free pass to travel via the Gates and be back in Berdoo within an hour, but it wasn't the same. The Gates may have annihilated distance, but they still hadn't conquered the problem of psychological distance.

When Gus first arrived at the Egypt Gate facility, he encountered a far more relaxed work environment to what he had been used to at the Tesla Gate. His colleagues, most of whom were men, liked to spend their down time from missions sitting at the tables scattered around the facility courtyard, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and discussing events. Occasionally a team would shift up from the chamber below and be greeted with cries of welcome, or a team going below on mission would be given a bon voyage – although most teams going 'down' tended to leave via the official departures lounge within the building.

Gus sat with his three new friends and colleagues, collectively known as 'Osiris Team', at one such table under the shade of a cooling olive tree in the courtyard. They cheered as, one by one, another team came up from below, each member seeming to flicker in the sunlight momentarily before materialising. They were all wearing 'safari' garb and looked tired and disheveled.

"That will be the return of the Burton and Speke mission," said Ali, a thin man of about thirty-five with watery dark eyes. He was an ethnologist with the American University in Cairo.

"I never understood the need for that mission," said Anara, a member of the Mukhabarat intelligence agency and the Osiris Team's only female member. "Richard Burton and John Hanning Speke made extensive notes about that expedition, so what else more was there for them to find out about?"

"I believe there is still some question about what caused the rift between them and what exactly happened at Lake Tanganyika," said Gus, who had read extensively on Burton and admired him greatly. "Burton's account isn't exactly objective, and Speke was not a good writer. The documentary footage taken of the expedition will make an amazing picture of the Horn of Africa as it was back then. And all the Burton biographers will have a field day with the material they bring back."

Gus leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigarette. He had given up the habit many years ago, but almost everyone here smoked, and he had always enjoyed a cigarette with his coffee. He smiled at his companions and pondered the adventures in time they would experience together.

Of the four of them, he was the oldest, with Captain Sala, of the Egyptian Army, the second oldest at forty-two. Sala, or 'Capitan' as he was wont to be called, was a tough-looking military man of few words. Anara, at twenty-eight, was the youngest. She was small but wiry and reputed to be a black belt in various eastern martial arts. All three, including Ali, shared an ease with each other that came from experiencing numerous missions together.

Gus was aware that he was very much the 'new boy' of the group, replacing their former teammate, Annoula, who had gone on maternity leave. He knew Annoula Bazra, of the Cairo University, from various digs he had been a part of and respected her as an excellent archeologist. It was indeed an honour to be replacing someone so distinguished in the field. He had read her reports from the most recent missions in 1902 and 1852 and gained many insights into the conditions awaiting him and the team. He hoped, in the coming missions, he would conduct himself in the Osiris Team as ably as had Annoula.

"Is the Professor ready for his first assignment with us?" Ali seemed to have read Gus's mind, but it was a friendly inquiry. He smiled with very white teeth.

"I'm raring to go, my friend," said Gus.

It had not taken Gus long to put the others at their ease with him. He was the type of man who had always made friends easily. His ego sat lightly within him. He had already earned the sobriquet 'Professor' simply by the way he looked and conducted himself, than by dint of his actual qualification - though his knowledge of his field was not denied. Ali, although also a professor, deferred the title to him, preferring his own, more humble christian name.

"Of course he's 'raring to go'," said Anara. "He can't wait to feast his eyes on the wonders of the Pharaohs. Can you, Professor?"

"That's right." Smiling, Gus raised the cup of coffee as if to propose a toast, then said, "But most of all, I'm here to serve." He took a sip.

Just then a flicker of light appeared in the courtyard, as Gus noticed one final member of the Burton and Speke expedition shifting into view. It was a woman of about fifty, whose face was well-tanned but clearly of Anglo-Euro appearance. The dark hair fading to grey beneath her pith helmet caught his eye. She looked tired and somewhat grimed from her experiences in the past.

She turned towards the processing room and walked past Gus and his group as she entered the facility. The helmet obscured her face, but for a second he thought he recognized her. The thought came to him - _No, it couldn't be..._

An hour later, and after some scanning of the Gate duty logs, he had confirmed who she was. Her name was listed as Helen Siriani, but he had known her as Helen Scabbia. Many years ago in Italy she had been his first love.

The opportunity to talk to her came only minutes before he was due to go on his first assignment with Osiris Team. He was sitting alone in the Departures Lounge checking his equipment and waiting for his colleagues to arrive.

He was thinking of the team's present chosen epicentres, Cairo and Luxor, the two major dig sites of Egyptian archeology. His first mission would take him and his team to Luxor in 1799. Besides observing the conditions there the team had instructions to seek out the excavation work being done by Napoleon and his troops at the time. It was an exciting prospect. Gus imagined the discoveries they might find. So much of the wealth of ancient Egypt was simply lying there for the taking – and Napoleon and his troops certainly took the lion's share of it. Perhaps, Gus hoped, he might get a chance to meet the man from Corsica. Or even better: some of his heroes from the early days of archeology. Perhaps he would encounter Champollion, one of the decipherers of the Rosetta Stone.

Breaking into these thoughts, Helen suddenly appeared and said, "On your way 'down' I see."

He turned and saw it was Helen. He was momentarily caught off guard. Her voice was perhaps a little deeper than he remembered, more expressive. "Ah, yes. Helen, I – ah, hello." He stood up.

"Hello Gus." She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, and they embraced. "How are you?"

"Good. It's been a long time!"

As they shared reminiscences and caught up, he was able to get a good look at her. She was wearing plain slacks, a yellow shirt and a wide-brimmed hat. Beneath the hat, the black curls he remembered from his youth were fading to gray. The nose was still disproportionately large, but shapely, and the jaw was still nicely rounded. The brown eyes still penetrated his soul. The years had been kind to her. There were lines on her face now, but she wore them well, proud insignias of a life well lived. They had not been there the last time he had seen her. But that was when he was twenty-one.

They had first met in high school in Verona, two inexperienced fourteen-year-olds fumbling in the dark with clothes and lips and fingers. It had been a short fling and then each had gone their separate ways. Then in university they had encountered each other again, in the same Anthropology class, and had resumed their relationship. This time it was deeper, more intense, and at the end of it he was shattered. He soon left for America.

Over the years, although he had not seen her, he had kept in touch with her career. He knew she had spent over ten years as an assistant to various well-known archeologists, including Professor Giles Renault at the prestigious Sorbonne in Paris. From there she had led a number of significant digs, including the discovery of a cache of seventeen statues of the goddess Sekhmet at the temple of Pharaoh Amenhotop III in southern Egypt. Then came a period of teaching in the Egyptology department of the University of Pisa. Following further studies in Theology and African Anthropology she gained a position as a History of Antiquities professor at the University of Milan, specialising in Ancient Mediterranean and African Studies and the Great Religions. It was quite a trajectory – far higher than what he had achieved – and he was slightly envious. But it had been well deserved. Like him, she had applied for and gained admission to the Egypt Gate Program after completing her own exploration team program. She was now a Mission Controller charged with the responsibility of overseeing various research missions into the heart of Africa and the Holy Lands.

"How did the Burton and Speke expedition go?" he asked.

She lowered her head in exasperation. "Oh, don't ask!"

"Why?"

"It was terrible!" She paused, then went on more calmly. "Oh, it was beautiful as well - and an honour to get to know Richard Burton and John Hanning Speke. But it never seems to be a good idea to have a joint expedition – some of the British members argued with the Egyptian members. And Gus, I almost lost one of my people!"

"Really? How?"

"Rhino charged us while we were on the way to Kazeh, and one of the stupidos thought he would stand his ground and shoot it before it got him. He was wrong."

"What happened to him?" Gus was reminded of Flores' lesson about facing death in the past.

"Oh, he got out of the way before much damage was done, but we had to shoot the rhino, or it would have finished him off. That was the worst part of it. Of course, we had to kill game for food. Just gazelles and the occasional wild boar. And lions and the other carnivores we managed to scare off with a round or two. But that rhino – I felt bad. Maybe I should stick to the Holy Lands, where men just kill other men!" She laughed a little nervously.

While they were talking, the rest of Osiris Team had entered the lounge and made ready for the assignment.

"Let's go, Gus!" yelled Ali.

"I'd better go," said Gus, giving Helen another embrace. "Let's catch up later?"

"Absolutely." She smiled at him and his sturdy safari outfit, complete with pith helmet. "The nineteenth century explorer look really suits you!"

"You too!"

He felt overwhelmed. Why had she come to him now during this important moment? The team waited, the journey beckoned. He walked over to his companions and prepared to shift down to the chamber.

He looked at his crew and saw they all had their gamefaces on. Life at the Egyptian Gate might otherwise be relaxed, but when it came down to it, they were all well aware that their domain was the land of the Pharaohs and the cradle of three of the great religions. The task ahead was always a serious and exciting one.

"Who is she?" Asked Anara.

"An old flame."

"Ah!"

He gave Helen one final, intense look, then shifted down.
CHAPTER THREE

California, 1861

Lina Thigpen's first job as a Time Cop, or Mission Controller, was to accompany a group of anthropologists and a linguist back to the year 1861. They planned to carry out – or at least attempt - what would be Stage One of research on one of the west coast First Nation tribes. The tribe was known as the Yahi, first documented by the anthropologist Alfred Kroeber and his team at Berkeley in the early 1900s. The Yahi were well known, at least in academic circles, as being the people who were thought to have been wiped out in the late 1800s, only to have the last member of the tribe show up, hungry and terrified, in the town of Oroville in 1911. This real life version of James Fenmore Cooper's Washawa was called Ishi, and Kroeber and his team befriended him and learned much about the Yahi peoples from him before he died of tuberculosis in 1916. What made them particularly of interest was that they were a tribe who had kept alive many of the practices and culture of stoneage man.

The members of the expedition hoped to follow in Kroeber's footsteps and add to that great knowledge. It was headed up by Professor Karl Grogan, himself a Berkeley anthropologist. His assistant, Dorothy Llewellyn, was an expert linguist who was well versed in the Hokan languages the Yahi dialect was derived from. Eddie Smithson and Walter Trueblood were members of the Pit River and Redding Rancheria tribes respectively. Besides sharing a distant ancestry with Ishi, both were postgraduate students studying under Grogan.

A surprised Lina had got the job as one of the lead expedition's two Mission Controllers on the strength of her very scant and distant anthropology and linguistics background. But another deciding factor had been her skin color - it was thought that her being black might help with the expedition's acceptance by the Yahi peoples they hoped to encounter. She knew the training she'd received from the Institute had toughened her up and prepared her for life in the great outdoors, but still she was apprehensive of the hard trail that lay ahead, and she wondered about her ability to cope with it. The tough marine Neil Wrightson, one of Lina's former instructors, was the expedition's other Mission Controller.

Upon alighting from the Tesla Gate onto the Coachella desert, Walter, who was the team's trail-master, purchased horses and a covered wagon at a nearby depot on the old Bradshaw Trail. After buying more supplies at Bakersfield, which included guns and ammunition, they struck out for northern California, the state capital of Sacramento in particular.

It was a rough, long journey of nearly a week. The country seemed to be filled with men who were either going north to try their luck at the gold fields, or going south to get away from the ill luck they had encountered up north.

On the evening of the third day out they camped by a stream not far from Fresno. They fed and watered their horses and settled down by a fire for the evening meal. Besides the rations they had brought with them, there was to be roasted rabbit, killed by Walter Trueblood with his bow and arrow.

Lina had joined him on the hunt, and marvelled at his ability to speak the language of the animals. With pursed lips and his thumb he was able to mimic the sound of a rabbit in distress. It brought various hares and rabbits within easy reach of his bow, so that he easily dispatched one unfortunate creature. Lina noticed that Walter took the shot from a crouching position, holding the arrow to the bow in a peculiar grip. When she asked about it, he said, "That's the 'Mongolian grip'. We learned it from Ishi!"

Later, not to be outdone, Eddie Smithson started the campfire with a 'firedrill' \- two sticks of buckeye, twirling one onto the other. Within two minutes the fire was going strong. It was, strictly speaking, not necessary as they had brought matches and lighters, but the expedition members, especially the two Indians, were keen to live in the old ways as much as they could. In the past they had made many excursions into the traditional grounds of their forefathers around Mill Creek, Black Rock and Lake Almanor where they honed their skills.

Sitting by the campfire, enjoying the quiet companionship of her colleagues, most of whom were still eating, Dorothy Lewellyn took up her notebook and began writing:

The elemental flame,

A movement towards modernity...

It was the beginnings of a sketch for a poem she had in mind. A tall and gangly woman of thirty-eight, she already had two slim volumes of published verse to her name. But her reputation was founded on her linguistic studies of the Yana peoples and other northern Californian tribes. She gave a brief surreptitious glance over at Eddie, who was tending the fire again, and continued writing.

Sitting next to Wrightson, Lina watched Dorothy as she composed her poem sketches. Her nose was too large and her eyes were too closely set together – a plain woman, really – but Lina had read her poems and thought them beautiful. They were inspired by the language and imagery of the tribes she studied, full of wonderful place names like Wa ganu p'a, and they spoke of lives lived close to the earth with a nature 'that is always true'. They were sometimes guilty of idealising their subject – the noble native bowed down in the face of the white man, who was 'smart but not wise'.

"Well, we've got a long haul ahead of us. I'm turning in."

Neil Wrightson extracted a big arm from around Lina, who had been curled up against him, and yawned. Over the period of being one of her instructors he'd got to know her well, and liked her very much. She was a firecracker. He liked strong women. Lina, for her part, had learned to trust and like him as well. Underneath that tough exterior was a sensitive soul.

Neil gave her a fatherly kiss on the forehead and retired to his bedroll.

Lina sighed and looked up at the starry sky, all ablaze with light from a distant era. It was going to be a long night for her. Guard duty till 2am. The directive had only recently come down from the GAP that all Mission Controllers were to share night time guard duties upon their charges. As if the secure tracking bracelets they now had to wear weren't enough. But this was only for 'civilians' and exploration teams. As a Time Cop, Lina was privileged and trusted to travel the time pathways unencumbered. That was something special indeed.

"Glorious night, isn't it?" Karl Grogan, the expedition leader, joined her.

He was a fifty-four year old man of average height, with a white, well-trimmed beard. He favoured an old pipe, which he smoked incessantly (Lina smelt him before she saw him) and wore a round, wide-brimmed Stetson. He also wore an ornate watch on a gold chain tied to a button on his vest. Most of it was costume for the times, but he looked like he was born to it.

"Yeah," said Lina, still looking at the stars. "It's hard to believe they're the same ones we see in our own time."

"Give or take a hundred years or so."

He sat down and looked at the fading campfire. "You know, if someone were to tell me a year ago that I'd get to be here in 1861 chasing down my dream of life with the original Yahi, I'd say they were crazy." He smiled and looked around at the camp as though he still couldn't believe he was there.

"You're not the only one."

"Who'd say they were crazy?"

"No, chasing down a dream."

Lina looked at the fire, then the stars, which were essentially the same thing, and thought of her own dream. It was a dream of other lives, other places, other times - the Great Unknown. She had started out studying anthropology in High School, urged on by an inspiring teacher - and memories of a bus trip and a racist driver's harsh words about her hometown. But her stubborn city ways and lack of outdoor skills, so necessary to do the job, had made it clear to her that a career in anthropology was probably not for her. She quickly changed her major to physics and never looked back...Yet the dream remained. Ultimately, she knew she was simply yearning for a place to belong, and a lover to share it with. She thought briefly of Samantha Flores, a member of the relief expedition that was expected to join her own group in a month or so.

"I can't wait to see what we'll find," Grogan enthused, still thinking of the expedition. "What will it be like?"

Wrapped up in her own thoughts, Lina turned now to regard him and his words. She wondered the same thing.

After three more days they arrived in Sacramento. Soon it would become the state's new capital, but for now the town was a bustling hive of activity, mostly concerned with mining, gambling, building and transport.

They spent an extra day in the town collecting more supplies and seeking word about the tribes further north. As they went about their tasks the expedition presented an interesting picture to the townsfolk. Two 'natives' dressed and acting like white men, with the oldest one – Walter – affecting a moustache; a middle-aged, pipe smoking dandy; a respectable-looking white woman with her black servant; and a tall and tough-looking frontiersman.

In a saloon called the Palace, one old prospector, an original '49er called Irish, told Grogan and Wrightson about the 'injuns up north'.

"Theys come down out of the hills sometimes an' steals our food. We drives 'em off, and sometimes kills 'em when we can. But let me tell ya, they is savages those mountain injuns. They is not like the valley injuns who are mostly tame. I heard tell of them mountain injuns killing white women and children."

It was a common story. As they spoke to more of the men in the saloons a picture quickly formed of 'wild' hill Indians desperate for food, leading raids into the gold fields. Some said they had never seen any, while others insisted they could even identify individuals by their warpaint markings and nose and ear piercings. But all agreed there weren't near as many as there used to be.

By Grogan's estimates from his previous studies, there were possibly no more than seventy to a hundred Yahi's at this time living in their territory, which was around present day Tehama County. Successive waves of Spanish and then Americans had pushed back their traditional territories, compounded by wars with other tribes like the Wintu, who had all but driven them out of the fertile upper Sacramento valley centuries earlier. The coming of the miners in 1848 and 1849 had sounded their deathknell. The rivers had become damaged, killing off the fish; the deer and antelope had left the area or been killed in large numbers. And many of the miners and Indian hunters were intent on killing off those who still survived.

The extra day afforded the party one last chance at sampling 1860s-style civilization, and the women especially took advantage of it. Dorothy took a private room at Morgan's, one of the town's lower budgeted hotels, and had her 'servant' Lina prepare a luxurious bath. She could have gone to one of the lady's bathhouses scattered around the town, but they were all 'whites only'. Behind the closed doors of Morgan's, she and Lina were able, briefly, to drop the façade of servitude and both enjoy the quiet consolations of soapy suds.

There was only one large brass tub in the room, and they shared it, sitting companionably at either end. It was, in context, a scandalous intimacy, yet both women were insouciant. Their dresses and petticoats were neatly folded over some chairs. Both had eschewed corsets and bustles, deeming them impractical and unnecessary (not to mention uncomfortable!) for this trip.

"I nu mi yaki," said Lina, trying out her Hokan.

"Good, but it's 'I nu ma yaki," corrected Dorothy.

Lina frowned, she was usually good at languages. She'd been learning the Yahi language for three weeks now and still hadn't mastered the interrogative forms. Dorothy, however, was amazed at her progress in such a short time.

"I nu ma yaki...Have you noticed the men here staring at you?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, they're just horny. Most haven't seen a woman in weeks. The ratio of women to men here's something like ten to one."

"You could pick up here." Lina gave her a leer and flicked some water in her face with her toes.

"Yes, I'm sure I could pick up...something." She flicked some water back at her. "God knows what diseases these men carry. No thanks." She blushed.

"'Dorothy Lewellyn', what kind of name is that, anyway?" Lina was in a mood to tease.

"What's wrong with it? It's a perfectly good name, thank you very much."

"It's a spinster's name."

"That's an awful thing to say! I thought we were friends."

"We are," reassured Lina. "Chill honey. I'm just being a nosy bitch."

There was quiet for a moment between them. Lina felt a little sad for her. Homely, essentially shy and single, and sublimating her feelings in poetry. Also probably in love with one of the men on the expedition. She was such a cliché. Lina was amazed that she had even got into the tub with her - though in retrospect, she had been reluctant.

"You don't have a man back home, do you?" Lina persisted.

"No, not at the moment." Dorothy almost sounded defensive.

"Please don't tell me you've got a thing for old Grogan."

Dorothy looked up at her, surprised. "I don't– no, of course not! What makes you think I'm interested in anyone?"

"I know, it's Eddie, isn't it?" said Lina, ignoring the question.

"No!"

Dorothy blushed again, and Lina knew she was right.

"Eddie!" Lina gave her another leer and flicked more water in her face.

They set off early the next day, heading north for the known ancestral homeland of the Yahi, near the foothills of Lassen Peak. The rough trail passed through a number of mining camps along the way. Many of the mines and river beds had been played out, with hydraulic mining being the main method now to extract the precious gold and other minerals still trapped in the earth. This required high pressured hoses to be trained on large tracts of earth to loosen the soil, and tended to strip the land indiscriminately. Trees, vegetation and wild life were surrendered to this process, leaving the rivers swelled with the brown and rusty runoff from the hoses and sluices.

For the first twenty miles the expedition passed through this awful, denuded landscape. Dorothy, sitting next to Walter in the wagon, looked out at the desolation.

The rough, bearded men they passed who worked the hoses or sifted through the refuse with their machines looked weary and care worn. Most would not reap the benefits of their labour, that being the domain of the merchants and speculators who employed and 'owned' them. Dorothy recoiled at the sight of their shabbiness, their barbarity. For a moment she wished she were back in the more civilized future.

Sitting beside her, Walter had similar thoughts, though they tended more towards the destruction of the land and the human toll, especially what it meant for the Indians. He knew what he was seeing was only the beginnings of a project that would be enlarged and perfected by modern methods, modern humanity. He had seen the barren and stripped hillsides and valleys many times in his future, beyond the Timegates. But here was their starting point, here the land was being utterly ravaged and changed by humans for the first time. Here the Mother was weeping.

Coming out of these badlands and into a lush wooded area, the wagon lost one of its wheels. The sudden lurching almost threw Walter and Dorothy out of the wagon. Eddie and Walter applied themselves to the job of putting on the spare wheel, but it was made more difficult by the rain that had fallen steadily for the last hour or so. Grogan and Neil were somewhere ahead scouting the trail.

"Let us help," said Lina, standing by with Dorothy in the rain as they watched the men. There was no reason they couldn't help – they had all learned wagon maintenance in their training. The women moved forward and helped the men affix the spare to the axle, which was propped up with a makeshift piece of hardwood. It was tricky and even dangerous work in the wet conditions. The hardwood was slipping slowly into the mud.

Just as they finally fixed the wheel, Dorothy herself slipped and fell into the mud. Eddie gallantly stepped forward and helped her out, but she was soaked.

"Oh, I'm sorry Ms Lewellyn!" said Eddie, looking genuinely embarrassed and attentive to her tender sensibilities.

"It's all right, Eddie," said Dorothy, wiping herself down, "it's not your fault." She could still feel Eddie's hands on hers.

She stopped, and looked around at everyone. They were all looking at her, wondering how she would respond. The dousing had certainly put paid to the last bit of cleanliness she had felt from the bath in Sacramento, but otherwise she was fine. The situation was ridiculous. She began to laugh.

"Just as well it's raining!" She raised her hands up to the sky and let the rain fall on her still laughing face. The rain was already washing the mud from her dress. Lina and Walter laughed with her, but Eddie just stood there and smiled.

They pushed on further into denser areas and soon came upon the hill country surrounding Lassen Peak. They were encountering mountain streams, gorges and boulder-strewn hills now. Occasionally they would alight upon a lush meadow. The trail here was sometimes nothing more than a series of deer licks, and finding paths for the wagon sometimes proved difficult.

The two Indians reported seeing deer in some of the areas they passed, and once Eddie Smithson believed he saw – or at least heard - a native tracking his movements. He couldn't be sure if it was a Yahi warrior (he might have been of the Wintun or Pit River tribes), but they were definitely getting close to their goal.

This was the point it had been agreed upon that the two Indian members of the party should forge on ahead and try to make a first contact with the Yahi. Both Walter and Eddie donned their native buckskins, and even put small pieces of wood into their pierced ears and noses to help them assume an authentic native 'look'. They set out on foot, with nothing but bows, arrows and quivers, and a small amount of trading items, including knives, some obsidian flakes and a purse of tobacco.

This would be the most difficult and sensitive part of their journey. They were trying to make contact with what was essentially the last of the Stone Age peoples, a people who had known almost nothing but hardship and cruelty from white people. It would be dangerous, and potentially fatal.

Realising this, Dorothy was tempted to make a little scene at their parting, but managed to restrain herself. She hugged Walter and gave Eddie a quick, though less than chaste kiss on the mouth, and bid them good luck. Lina hugged them fiercely and told them to "Kick ass". Karl and Neil then shook both men's hands and bid them adieu.

"We'll be waiting at the bear wallow," said Grogan as the two disappeared.

That night the rest of the expedition made camp in the clearing within what Karl had called the 'bear wallow'. It offered good sight lines from the rocks surrounding it, and enough cover to hide them from most predators, including Indians. From here they would proceed no further until given a signal by Walter or Eddie...

For much of that night Grogan paced around the campsite impatiently, smoking up a storm with his pipe. Not for the first time he wondered at the wisdom of placing his party in such a potentially dangerous position. For all the protection the bear wallow gave them, he knew they were vulnerable where they were. Just two men and two women with very little to defend themselves with. That old prospector Irish had been right: the Yahi had been known to kill white women and children in reprisal for similar treatment meted out to their own. But Grogan counted on their small numbers – especially the presence of the women – to send a signal that they were not a threat.

He tamped his pipe on a log and started to get out some more tobacco from his pouch. Lighting the bowl, he remembered how this was exactly the situation that had almost lost him the expedition.

When his mission proposal had been reviewed by the Gate Advisory Committee, many of the members expressed concerns over a plan that called for a small group to enter potentially hostile Indian territory. The Director, Ursula Bailouni, who was an old friend of Grogan's, had interceded passionately on his behalf. She had emphasised the team's professional credentials, their knowledge of the Yahi language and their experience with native cultures – not to mention the presence of Walter and Eddie. She argued that the number and composition of the team would present the best chance for their peaceful acceptance by the Indians. She also pointed out that there would be many more such first contact situations in the Program, and that experience would be the best way to learn how to deal with them. She conceded, however, there was always the possibility that none of this would save them, but that it was surely a choice Grogan and his team had a right to make...

From her lookout point on a high rock nearby, Lina watched Grogan deliberating and finally asked him, "Why do you keep smoking that pipe, Karl? You know it tells the Indians from miles around here, not to mention all the animals, where we are."

"I'm counting on it," said Karl. "This way they can't be surprised. This way-" he stopped in mid-sentence.

A noise could be heard in the distance. Neil Wrightson, who had been on lookout on the other side of the camp, came running into the clearing and said, "Someone's coming!"

"Is it Walter and Eddie?" asked Dorothy, getting up from her bedroll.

"Don't know. Sounds like more than two."

Suddenly they heard what sounded like a rabbit in distress. It was Walter's signal that they were coming back.

Into the clearing emerged four natives. Two of them were Eddie and Walter. The other two, proceeding warily, were undeniably Yahi warriors. They were relatively small and lithe, and reddish bronze in colour. Both wore fur coverings around their waists, and they carried bows and arrows. Their chests and faces were unpainted, but like Eddie and Walter, there were pieces of wood in their noses and ears.

"Wa nize ah saldu," said Walter to the warriors. In effect – these are our white friends.

One of the warriors saw Lina and indicated her. "I ganu wu saldu." – She is not white.

Lina stepped forward and spoke, hoping her Hokan was accurate. "I gani ni Yahi" – I hope we are friends of the Yahi.

Then Dorothy spoke in Hokan as well. "Will you join us and share food?"

The warrior who had spoken, the one who was most forward, said, "We will."

He looked at Lina, seeming fascinated by her skin. Then he noticed the pipe Grogan was smoking. "Saldu moocha" - You smoke a pipe. He pointed to the pipe and held out the purse of tobacco that had been given to him by Eddie and Walter for trade.

Grogan took the pipe from his mouth and stared at it. A thought occurred to him and he carefully wiped the pipe stem on his coat and held it out to the warrior. "Would you like to try it?" he said in English.

It was the age-old gesture of friendship, of a sharing. The warrior understood immediately. He took the pipe, smelled it, and put it uncertainly in his mouth. He took a long drag on the pipe and blew out a large plume of smoke. He grunted with satisfaction.
CHAPTER FOUR

Cairo, 1799

Gus couldn't have been happier. The mission to 1799 Cairo had been the fulfilment of a lifetime of dreams. Besides getting to play in the largest sandbox a modern archeologist had ever played in, he had actually seen Bonaparte!

It was during the early part of the mission, when the team were still in Cairo, before they went to Luxor – or Thebes, as it was known at this time. Gus and his Osiris Team had been observing a group of French soldiers marching through the streets of Cairo, not far from Ezbekiyah Square, when the little Corsican made an appearance with some of his lieutenants. Napoleon sat astride a large white horse, and he was dressed in full military regalia. The epaulets on his Chasseurs uniform were polished, his sword dangled at his side, and the tricorn hat was perched squarely on his head (this was before he took to wearing the distinctive bicorn). He looked every bit the General. The soldiers who were marching turned and hailed their leader. He said not a word but seemed to nod approvingly and rode past with his officers.

It was not much, but it was something; and Anara, who had the team's only hi-def colour camera, captured video footage of the man - which would later be studied and fussed over by a team of fan-struck historians.

After the excitement at seeing Bonaparte, they made their way by boat to old Thebes, where they observed a number of excavations being carried out in the Valley of the Kings by Napoleon's soldiers and the scholars they brought to Egypt with them.

Compared to modern practises, the French expedition's methodology was crude, and at times downright destructive of the precious antiquities being uncovered. There were many occasions when Gus wanted to rush in and save some piece that was being demolished before his eyes by some clumsy workman. He longed to instruct the French scholars in proper dig site etiquette, but the Prime Directive required that he didn't.

His job on this mission was essentially to gain an overview of the size, scope and methodology of the French team in action. Fully conversant with the Description de l'Egypte, the nineteen volume report of the expedition written by the French at the time, and using it as a reference for what he and Osiris Team saw, he hoped to fill in some of the gaps in their knowledge about what went on.

At this time the French Republic was at war with the British. Nelson's fleet had routed them at Aboukir Bay in 1798, and the army was essentially trapped in Egypt. Navigating the intricacies of French officialdom in Egypt required skill and diplomacy, and a sound knowledge of Egyptian bureaucracy, and these were qualities el Capitan had in abundance. It was he who, in the guise of a highly placed (and corrupt) Egyptian official, had secured for them egress into the Valley of the Kings, where they could roam and observe the dig unmolested.

Anara had the hardest time of it, being a woman. Women were not a common sight in the Valley of the Kings, and she received many strange or threatening looks from the workers and soldiers. She was never far away from her three companions.

Her undercover role was as an Egyptian interpreter (and, it was rumoured, a mistress) for Gus, who for the purposes of this mission was a distinguished Italian archeologist. During the mission prep it was thought that he should darken his hair colouring and skin to make him look more like a swarthy southern Italian, rather than the more nordic-looking northerner that he was. He, of course, spoke fluent Italian and Egyptian, but pretended to be only conversant in the former.

But the mission was coming to an end, and the team spent their last days in Egypt on the long, and occasionally hazardous, trek from Thebes back to the Sinai Peninsula. They first met with their replacements, Hoth team, in Cairo to get them up to speed on the French expedition and to help legitimize their credentials with the bureaucracy there, before heading back to the Gate. The members of Hoth team, in return, advised them of hostile forces massing in the north, and roaming bands of Bedouins they had seen in the Sinai on the journey from Mt St Catherine. Thanks to Napoleon's presence here, Egypt quite often resembled a heavy war zone, and they had to be careful.

El Capitan and Ali then decided to take the precaution of arming themselves with pistols and swords, and they set off into the markets in search of weapons traders. El Capitan quickly purchased a fine Napoleonic army sword from a French trader, but Ali took longer to find the type of pistols he was looking for. It was almost three hours before he rejoined the team at their rendezvous point, and they had begun to worry about him. Anara asked him why he had taken so long, and he had replied he was just being picky about the weapons he chose. El Capitan shook his head and looked at Ali in disgust. He had a fair idea that Ali had been enjoying himself in the fleshpots of Cairo.

The weapons came in handy a few miles into the Sinai when they were joined by a small group of Bedouins, who at first seemed friendly enough, but soon made it clear they wished to either buy or take Anara from them. Ali and el Capitan argued fiercely on Anara's behalf, but it was only when Ali provided a demonstration of his prowess with the pistols, and el Capitan with the blade, that the Bedouins left them alone.

For the last few miles to Mt St Catherine the team noticed the reappearance of the Bedouins on their trail, following them sullenly but determinedly. Urging their camels on, Gus and his companions finally made it to the Gate rendezvous point before their pursuers had a chance to catch up, and descended to the chamber below.

They were all relieved to be back in the safe surrounds of the chamber. But Anara felt humiliated. Through it all she had had to act like the poor defenceless girl that she most certainly was not, relying on the men to protect her; when what she had wanted to do was use her martial arts skills on them Bedouins.

When they returned to the courtyard of the Egypt Gate building for debriefing, the place seemed to be in a strange state of suspension. Instead of being greeted, as they expected, by the usual applause from the gathered observers for their safe return, the courtyard was almost empty. The coffee drinkers and smokers were gone. A wind blew eerily about the pillars, bringing the desert dust even here into the protected courtyard. Awnings flapped above the doors and windows. Those few who were there ran past them, all but ignoring Osiris Team's return.

"Rajid, what's going on?" asked Anaya, grabbing a young man as he ran past.

"Oh, it's you Anaya. You're back?" The man seemed confused. Clearly something was on his mind.

"Where is everyone?" asked Anaya. The others of the team gathered around them.

"Haven't you heard?" Rajid checked himself, realizing they had been away. "Oh, of course, how could you?"

"Heard what?" asked el Capitan.

Rajid turned to him and said, "Some guy with one of the ankhs was found in AD 33 Judea. The Jesus mission, it's on!"

Gus said, nonplussed, "What? Already?"

Further explanations weren't forthcoming until the debriefing. The talk was all about the discoveries made at the Tesla Gate, its artificial intelligence and the mysterious ankh and its owner turning up in AD 33. The most urgent question seemed to be who was going to go. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that there had to be an Egypt team in attendance.

"What's the word from the GAP, sir?" said Ali to the group's commander, Professor Feti Fadou.

"They're still preparing their team, but the Director has assured me that they will be using some of our people."

"Any idea who that might be exactly?" asked el Capitan.

"Well," Fadou took the cigarette from his mouth, revealing a large gap in his front teeth, "there is one name that's come up."

"Who?"

"Our best expert on the Holy Lands, Helen Siriani."

"The Italian woman?" said el Capitan, clearly disgusted.

The next day, Gus was relaxing by the pool outside the hotel that he was staying at with his wife. He had just had a swim. The cool waters felt good, and the exercise loosened the sinews of his muscles that had been wound tight by the rigors of the mission. He couldn't help but think of the latest news about the coming Jesus mission, and the role his old lover Helen Siriani would get to play in it. He envied her, but he knew she deserved the opportunity.

"When are you going to take that dye out of your hair?" asked his wife Andrea, bringing a tray of coffee and biscuits over to his table.

"What's the matter, don't you like it?" Gus patted his new black beard.

"I suppose it makes you look younger, but then it makes me look older by association!"

Gus smiled absently and continued looking into the sun's reflection on the surface of the blue water. He was struck by how much it reminded him of the Gate's event horizon. It was hard to believe that the things were actually sentient – or so Yang had discovered. He would have to think about that some more.

"You could never look old to me." He held her hands and kissed her gently.

"Still thinking about the mission? It went all right, didn't it?"

For a moment Gus thought she had been talking about the upcoming mission to the Holy Lands, but then he remembered he hadn't told her about it – in fact, he couldn't, it was classified.

"It went fine. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. I had a ball. We saw Bonaparte, you know?"

"Yes, so you've told me ten times already!"

Now that the mission was over, the protocols for silence were relaxed somewhat, and Gus had no qualms about telling his wife about what had happened. He had told her everything, which was very much the way of their relationship. He had even told her about Helen Siriani.

"And what about Helen, did you see her today?" She tried to make the question sound innocent.

He had told her long ago about his 'tragic' first love – how could he not? – but Helen's reappearance at the Egypt Gate had been a real surprise to both of them.

"No, and I don't suppose I will for a while. She'll be going on an important mission soon."

"It's an important mission? You want to go."

Gus sighed, looking into the water again. "Hell yes!"

"Well, they're fools not to ask for you!"

He turned to look into her face, and smiled. Her loyalty to him always warmed his heart.

The next day back at the Egypt Gate building, Gus received another surprise visit from Helen. He was working a treadmill in the Centre's gym when she casually took the one next to him.

"Hello!" she said brightly, adjusting the treadmill's controls.

"Hi! I believe congratulations are in order." Gus continued treadmilling, although he found running and talking a strain.

"Thanks." She began jogging slowly, just warming up.

"I didn't think I'd see you for a while."

"We have a few more weeks to go, Gus. Still working out some details."

"Oh?"

He looked over at her and couldn't help noticing how good she looked in her shorts and tight top. She had clearly been looking after herself. There was something dangling from her neck, a chain with a crucifix. He couldn't remember her being particularly religious.

"Just, you know, getting the team together." She changed the setting on the treadmill to go faster. She was almost at Gus's pace now. "There's been a lot of politicking involved in this one, as you'd expect. The Vatican, Israel and the Americans, they all want some input. We're trying to keep the numbers low – it's supposed to be just a reconnaissance trip for starters."

"Do you have any ideas who this person is, the one with the ankh?" Gus took his treadmill down a notch to start the cool down.

"Uh, there is a theory we're working on." She looked over at him, noticing with approval that his beard and hair were still dyed black. "Remember those nineteen ankhs you found in the original Gate chamber at Joshua Tree?"

Gus thought for a moment, then caught her meaning. He almost stumbled. "Oh, it's the missing ankh – there was supposed to be twenty!"

"That's the assumption we're working on. There's one thing more..." She went up a notch and was now running in pace with Gus.

"What's that?"

"Apparently your old Telsa Team did a deep geophysical scan of that chamber where the geologist John Hannebury died, and it didn't show up a body."

"What?" Gus almost stumbled again, then recovered. They were now running in synch. His thoughts were racing ahead.

"You knew him, didn't you?"

"He was a good friend, yes."

She turned the treadmill up to fast and got into stride, breathing fast and having a little difficulty talking now. "We think Hannebury's our man back in AD 33." She looked over at him, an ingenuous smile on her face. "We'd like you on the team, Gus. You know - if it is Hannebury, he's probably deep under the dilation effect. A friendly face and all?"

Gus took his treadmill to a dead stop. He hadn't quite cooled down and he was breathing hard, both from the exertion and the news.

"You want me? I can go?"
CHAPTER FIVE

"Are you sure it'll be okay?"

"Yes, we're certain it will be quite safe. The foetus won't be damaged."

"All right."

Kathy Rodriguez was worried - not for herself but for Marcia the chimp, who was about to be taken through the Tesla Gate. The normally routine event was made unusual, and possibly risky, by the fact that the ape was four months pregnant. The test, which had been devised by Gerard Feynman in consultation with Doctor Robyn Farside, was expected to yield useful information about the Gate's ability to maintain the biological coherence of travelers under special conditions. Earlier tests on the pregnant rabbits Soo Lin and Anna had proved positive, with both creatures producing healthy litters afterwards.

Kathy moved closer and looked into Marcia's eyes. The pregnant chimp looked back at the pregnant woman with something amounting to fear. Kathy smiled at Marcia for reassurance and gave her a hug, which was fondly reciprocated.

"See ya soon, Marcia."

"All right, let's go," said Robyn Farside, immune to this sentimental display. She took Marcia's hand and led her without ceremony into the event horizon.

Kathy looked after them with a wistful, hopeful expression, which Gerard Feynman spotted.

"Don't worry, you'll get your chance soon enough."

Kathy turned to him, unsure of his meaning at first; then she realized what he meant. If Marcia's test worked out, then it would mean, theoretically at least, she too would be able to go through the Gate without harm to her baby.

It had not been a high priority for her at first - she had been content to have the baby before doing any more exploring through the Gates. She had kept up her training in the exploration team program, although it was mostly just the theory classes, due to the pregnancy. But the recent deep scans of the Joshua Tree chamber that had turned up no sign of John's body below, and the discovery of this new ankh signal in AD 33 had given her other ideas. It was all beginning to make sense to her now – the video footage of the shadow in the chamber, the feeling that she'd had for a long time that he was not lost. She didn't know how it could have happened, but if the signal turned out to be John, like a lot of people at the Centre believed, she wanted to be ready, to have a chance to go to him and help bring him back, if need be.

Later, she was in the campus library, lounging on a sofa and flicking through a copy of Jane Austen's Persuasion – her favourite Austen – spread out on her bulging belly. She was looking for the passage about 'resources for solitude', a phrase she had always loved. That was something Anne Elliot, the novel's heroine, possessed: she was self contained - much like the author. That was Kathy's Jane. She supposed she loved the book because, to her, it was about second chances. Anne gets a second chance at romance with the swarthily handsome Captain Wentworth.

As she daydreamed about the novel, her thoughts ran to her own situation, and she smiled. There was some congruence there – not much, but enough to make her hope. Was John still alive and living in the past? Would they, like Anne and Wentworth, get a second chance to be together?

She looked down at her stomach and frowned. Perhaps the pregnancy might put paid to all that. Would John accept her - their - baby?

She thought about John's whimsical description of God back in the Joshua Tree sinkhole, the last time they spoke _. God the interventionist, destroying the dinosaurs so that humanity might have a chance to exist..._ And then he had talked about wanting to meet Jesus, inspired by his speculation about the Timegate before him – which he didn't know was a Timegate at the time. Was it just an inspired guess, or did he know something she didn't know? Either way, if he was back there, she wondered if he had got his wish. She longed to see him again.

When Kathy arrived back at Dr Farside's office there was a surprise waiting for her. Gus Manfredi was in attendance. He smiled at her when she came through the door, and gave her a fatherly hug.

"Gus, I'm so glad to see you!" said Kathy, noting his darkened hair and beard. "How's the Egypt Gate going?"

"Good! And how's the training going here?"

"Good. I was just thinking about you the other day, wondering what you're up to..."

"Uh, Miss Rodriguez," Dr Farside cut in, "could we save the pleasantries for later? We have much to discuss." Farside looked on unimpressed by the happy reunion, much as she'd dismissed the sentimental farewell between Kathy and Marcia the chimp earlier. She was all business.

"Oh, I'm sorry Dr Farside," Kathy stammered. "It's just, I haven't seen Gus – Professor Manfredi – for a little while." She gathered her thoughts, then said, "Um, how did the test with Marcia go?"

"The results are still coming through, but in short, they went well. In fact that's what I wanted to talk to you about – and why Professor Manfredi is here. Come and have a look."

Dr Farside turned to a video monitor that appeared to display an utrasound scan of a womb. The greying image clearly showed a baby not quite at full term. Kathy noticed something strange about the baby, then realized she was looking at a baby chimp – the scan was of Marcia's womb.

"It would seem Marcia's passage through the Gate this morning didn't affect her or her foetus," said Farside, indicating various features of the scan before her. "We'll know more once the baby's born, but it would seem that you could be clear to go." She looked at Kathy and almost smiled – a rare event.

Kathy looked confused. "To go? Where?"

"That's what I'm here to tell you, Kathy," said Gus, coming forward. "If you feel you're up to it, we'd like you on the Jesus mission!"
CHAPTER SIX

Yahi encampment, near Lassen Peak, California, 1861

We are now living amongst the Yahi Indians in a secluded encampment surrounded by an amazing formation of rocks that are mostly red and smooth and very large. They make a natural windbreak and offer good protection from some of the larger animals, including man. They appear to me to be of vulcanic origin. It is beautiful country, very wild, with great ravines and high rock outcrops, and the occasional glade of redwoods and firs.

The community here is very small, just fifty-six men, women and children within this area, which is dotted with storehouses, wowis - or family houses, and watgurwas - or men's houses. The structures are made of branches and mud, and are partly below ground. You normally enter them from holes in the roof above. There are two other related tribes in places further afield, and they are in contact from time to time, but the Yahi here are mostly left alone.

They live a Spartan existence, subsisting on what little food and shelter the area can provide for them. Some of the elders I have spoken to tell me it used to be more plentiful with deer and elk and other game, and the white men were very far away; but this has changed. They are what we would call poor, but the closeness of the community (everything is shared) and their ability to live lightly off the land means they get by surprisingly well.

The main problem here is sickness and disease, mostly brought on by the white men. Smallpox is rife, especially among the children. Eddie and Walter, who both have medical experience, have proven invaluable in treating the children and the others who are afflicted, and have thus helped engender much trust in the Yahi towards us. They work closely in tandem with Hiwa Tubu, the local medicine man, always respectfully deferring to him on matters of traditional remedy, but subtly introducing their own modern diagnoses and cures.

Hiwa, by the way, is one of the few Yahis who has told us his name. They believe very much in the power of names, and that knowing someone's name can confer some control over that person. Thus, they are very careful with who they tell their name to. Introductions are usually conducted through trusted third persons, and since none of us could be trusted at first, there was an understandable reluctance among the Yahi to give too much away.

I must confess I am in my glory here, recording everything that goes on, and making detailed notes, which the others are all helping with. To this end I have instructed them to write down or record their own autoethnographic impressions of life here....

\- excerpt from Grogan's journal

*

Well, I can tell you my main impression is of mud (it's been raining here a lot) and discomfort and little sanitation or shelter. We literally live among snakes and lizards and creepy crawlies, not to mention the larger carnivores such as bears and mountain lion.

Before I start sounding like a complete whiny bitch, let me just say that I'm actually enjoying this. I'm beginning to feel like Mowgli from the Jungle Book. The days are blurring into a dreamlike existence and I'm starting to feel very close to, uh, this wilderness. Or maybe this is the onset of the time dilation effect. It's possible. We have been here for five weeks and are nearly due to be relieved by our replacements. The Ritasin drug we use to keep the effect at bay will soon wear off, so we need to leave soon. Any more dosages could cause the psychotic episodes experienced by earlier users.

I think the Yahi people are beginning to really accept us. A group of warriors, the ones led by Upu, the man who first spoke with us, even allowed me – a woman – to go hunting with them yesterday. It helped that Eddie and Walter spoke on my behalf, telling them what a 'fine warrior woman' I was. Sweet of them, but I really didn't need the condescension. I didn't catch all of their words to Apu and his braves, but I think they also suggested it might be funny to see a woman try to hunt. I suspect it was the Indian tattoos of the hunt and the gathering on my neck that got me the gig more than anything – the warriors were pretty impressed by them. Or maybe they treat me differently coz I'm black. In any case, I was honored.

I can't believe how fast and silent the Indians are on the hunt. I kept up with them most of the time, and managed not to blunder through the undergrowth startling the wildlife, but it wasn't easy. The buck we brought down was a fine 16 pointer. Upu made the first contact – an incredible arrow shot to the throat from 100 feet away – but I wasn't far behind him. I got the kill shot that brought it down. Upu and the other braves congratulated me on the kill and said I did good.

We gathered around the dead deer and Upu intoned some words for honoring the fallen animal. I learned those words.

I ma, pa huku banya.

U wa ta kipi pa.

This must seem pretty savage and cruel to the modern mind - killing Bambi and all \- but believe me, it's not. When you're there it feels quite natural. I think a lot more natural than what goes on in a modern abattoir. Maybe I'll feel remorse later and wake up with visions of that dead buck's sad eyes staring at me, but I don't think so.

Oh yeah, by the way: we are the invading aliens here...

\- excerpt from Lina's video journal

*

The Indians have shown a lot of interest in our cameras. There was a lot of discussion about whether we should reveal them, and possibly contaminate the data being collected, but the Prof eventually decided to allow it. Living in such close quarters it was probably inevitable that they'd notice them anyway, if you ask me.

The children here love being filmed and then watching themselves on the replay. The adults call it magic, and some are okay about being filmed, while others are extremely wary. We are learning to be discreet about filming the older people.

I don't know why but the children seem to have taken to me in a big way. Maybe it's because of the buckskins I wear, or my size. They call me 'Tetna saldu', or 'Big White Bear', and some of the smaller ones try to climb me. Sometimes I have two or three children hanging off of me from various positions. This of course gets filmed, by Eddie or more usually Lina, and the kids have a ball watching the results.

Once they get used to you the children are very friendly and very trusting. It breaks my heart sometimes thinking about them and what the history books say will be their fate. And watching them play reminds me of my own kids and how I miss them.

All in all, this hasn't been such a bad detail though. I've gotten to do some hunting and I don't mind sleeping rough at all - in fact I'm used to it. The civilians in our care are just about the best you could ask for – co-operative, helpful and all of them pulling their weight. Even Miss Lewellyn, who I thought would slow us down, has been a real trooper. The incident with the mountain lion the other day really showed her mettle.

The only one I'm not sure about is Walter. He's been taking some of the younger warriors, the wanasi, out with him on hunts far away from the village. Whenever I ask to come along he makes excuses, like they're performing sacred rituals out there that are not allowed for white men to see, stuff like that. I've gotta tell ya, I'm suspicious. As a time cop it's my job to keep an eye on the civilians, and how can I do that when they go off like that? It may be nothing, I guess, but I just wanna put it on record with this video, I wouldn't be surprised at all if one or maybe both of our Indian guides go native!

Anyway, that's it. Selma darlin', I'm missing you and the kids. Promise I'll be back asap.

\- excerpt from Neil Wrightson's video journal

*

My linguistic investigations have yielded some interesting results. I noticed the Yahi don't seem to have a word for goodbye. The nearest translation is something like 'you stay, I go'. I can only speculate that this is because the Yahi members rarely leave their tribe for long periods. Over the centuries as their numbers have dwindled they have needed to stay close, so true goodbyes are unnecessary. I could, of course, be completely wrong, but I spoke with Grogan about this and he tends to agree with me.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the old 'great divide' theories of literacy from my student days. The idea that literacy inevitably leads to higher forms of thought and that, therefore, pre-literate peoples are somehow inferior. I think the Yahi are proving just how wrong that is.

They have a sophisticated oral language, but no discernible written language - nothing that modern people would call 'literacy'. But they're not stupid or lacking in imagination, far from it. There is a rich oral history of storytelling and enormous practical knowledge.

Speech and writing are different media with differing functions anyway, and while behaviours and modes of expression may vary, the psychological differences are slight, I firmly believe that. Particular practices simply promote particular skills. The written word is a great storage medium for us, being highly mediated and autonomous. We can write something down, forget it, and then come back to it later for reference. But the average Yahi's ability for recall of facts, incidents and stories is astonishing, and all without recourse to the written word. On the continuum of language modes they simply assert the primacy of the oral over the literate.

One of my greatest enjoyments being here is the nightly gatherings in the central wowis, where we listen to the elders relate the tribal legends and stories, and the children sing the traditional songs. Their lives are simple but full. I have been furiously recording all these stories and songs. What a rich treasure I am finding!

The Yahi have found in stories the same thing that we find: ways to celebrate and make sense of the world, and a light to beat back the darkness...

I must say I am often afraid here. That lion that came into the camp, my God, I don't know what would have happened if Upu and Eddie had not come and chased it off! I was shaking like a leaf! But it was nice of Upu to give me that pelt. Though heaven knows what I will do with it! And Eddie, afterwards, well...

Sometimes at night, when Eddie is not with me and I am alone, I fear the wildness around me, and I feel the awful distance between the present and my own time. I feel it reaching out, trying to rob me of my sanity. At times like this I see the truth of Bailouni's speculations about the time dilation effect: that it is indeed a function of entropy.

\- excerpt from Dorothy Lewellyn's journal

*

It is good to be in the time of my forefathers and to walk the paths that they walked. Here it is somehow easier to hear what the owl hears, to know what the crow knows. Every rock, every pool of water and leaf calls to me.

The People are surely my brothers and sisters. I do not want to leave them. I want to stay and help them. But how can I? This security bracelet that binds my arm tells me I cannot stay.

Walter and I help Hiwa Tubu tend to the sick and the infirm. The old medicine man has much learning about the land. He has taught us much about the properties of the flora, and the healing powers of many herbs and grasses. It is great knowledge that has been lost for many generations. But we help with our modern ways, when we can.

A woman was giving birth the other day, and she was in danger of losing the baby. Hiwa Tubu breathed smoke over her belly and uttered an incantation to ward off the evil spirits affecting the woman and the baby. This was good medicine, but he did not have the knowledge to save the baby. So, with his permission, Walter and I helped birth the child, who it turned out had the cord wrapped around her neck. The baby girl seems to be doing well enough now, although she is very small. Births are very important events among the People, as there are so few nowadays.

It is a strange and terrible thing to know the future of your people.

I spoke these words to Dorothy last night, and she was patient and understanding with me, as she always is, but she chided me. "You are the future of the People, my love," she said. "And that isn't such a bad thing."

There is great wisdom and courage in her. When the mountain lion came down to the camp, starving and desperate for food, she stood firm in front of it, protecting the young child that had gone astray and that it was trying to take. It gave Upu and me time to reach it and chase it away. Later, she wondered at his gift of the pelt, but I explained the child belonged to his woman.

"But I didn't do much," she replied, "Is he making fun of me?"

"No, he honours your courage."

"But I was scared stiff, trembling like a leaf," she protested.

"You felt fear," I said, "but you stood your ground. Upu liked that. That is courage."

"If you insist," she said, trying to make light of it.

"I do," I replied. "Is 'Lewellyn' Welsh for lionheart?" I teased her.

She carries the strength of her ancestors with her. She is of fine pioneering stock. I think I first noticed it that time when she fell in the mud while helping to set the wagon wheel right. Her laughter at the rain made my spirits soar, and I think I gave my heart to her at that moment.

\- excerpt from Eddie Smithson's journal
CHAPTER SEVEN

Jerusalem, AD 33

For John Hannebury the dilation, the forgetting, was an appalling experience. In losing his memories he felt like he was losing his mind. All that was left behind was a patina of residual knowledge and feelings that he could not account for, and this was in itself disturbing to him. Sometimes he would stop and pick up a stone or look at a particular piece of masonry and know its name. Words like _igneous_ and _metamorphic_ came to him unbidden. He would handle a piece of limestone, turning it in his hand, and immediately know it as a _sedimentary_ piece of rock composed of carbonate minerals. On other occasions, especially in sleep, he would see faces and hear voices calling out in his mind, conjuring up strong feelings of a deep, distant other life that, painfully, he could not reach.

The memories that left him were replaced by an accumulation of new thoughts and emotions as he entered into the daily life of the new community that had befriended him. This was most directly his _Sinici_ friends, including Evram and Mari, but it also included the common people of Jerusalem that they came into contact with every day.

They were almost exclusively Jews, and so he began to learn their ways, their customs and beliefs. He joined with Abraham, the owner of the lodgings, in saying the _Shema_ , the daily prayer every morning and every evening. In the afternoons he sat with a neighbour, Levi, as he sang the _Torah_ to his children, learning the words as he learned the melody. In this way, in this common repetition of tasks he learned a new identity, he learned how to be like a good, observant Jew. As his consciousness surrendered to these new experiences they seemed to appear to him almost like old friends. The effect was deeply reassuring.

Evram and Mari, who were most involved with John, noticed the gradual change in him. For Evram it meant an end to the constant questioning from him. John gave up asking about William Shakespeare or for further details about the life of Jesus. Instead, he simply became dedicated to spreading the words of Yeshua and helping to organize and unite the people.

Mari saw this change in him as a profound dislocation from the man he was. She saw him desperately holding onto his sanity through this new identity, which he embraced like a drowning man clutching at straws. His speech and behavior had altered. He had so completely embraced this new role that it was difficult to recognize the man he once was. Yet the essence of what he was still remained, perhaps brought into sharper relief by his struggle. He was brave, careless, gentle, stubborn, and dedicated to his work. She pitied him, and she admired him. His situation reminded her of her own father, who had also been claimed by the _effect_. The last time she had seen him he did not recognize her. It was a painful memory.

Once, she asked of Evram: "Why cannot Shohn yet be sent back through the Gate to his own time? Are you certain he is the One?"

He had replied: "You know full well it was ordained. The _Shakra_ proclaimed it, that the one who came through the broken Gate would help bring Yeshua's ministry to completion."

John and many others in the movement had begun to participate in the demonstrations that were becoming commonplace throughout the city. They were comprised of a loose affiliation of peoples and religions, but all were united in their resentment of the increasingly more brutal Roman rule, and the corruption of public officials like Pontius Pilate, the High Priest Caiaphas, and the church elders. For this and other reasons they were scrupulous in their avoidance of the Temple, and would only speak in the public areas of the Lower City.

They spoke in the fruit market and in the brazier market, and at the city gates. As they moved among the people in these demonstrations - many of whom were outcasts of the synagogues, criminals, tax collectors, prostitutes - John and his friends planted seeds of advice and information, gave words of hope and guidance. They were not there to inflame the people or to incite further aggression, rather they preached and demonstrated passive resistance towards the soldiers who were always ready to do violence unto them. Their constant rallying cry was "Turn the other cheek, brother".

To many in the crowds, amongst them agents of the Sadducee priesthood suspicious of revolutionary activity, these were strange words, but they began to have an effect. Slowly, the demonstrations stopped spilling over into outright violence, and very few were arrested. Seeing the way the mob conducted themselves and how they were not overly molested by the Roman soldiers in return, many more people became emboldened and willing to join in the protests, to express their own opposition to the conditions around them. Thus the movement begun by Yeshua and carried out by the _Sinici_ and their followers became more visible, and began to provide a sense of organisation and focus to these protests.

This passive resistance of the people did not overly please the rulers and lawmakers of the city. Outright rebellion and violence was something they could respond to with the soldiers at their command, but a meek and ordered protest movement made up of many peaceful citizens was something new in their experience.

There were many animated discussions in the city's halls of power about this new breed of rabble, this new 'cult' of dissidents that was growing too big to be ignored, and that was united by this self-styled Galilean prophet, who was not even present within the city walls. Word of this seeming rebellion soon reached Caesarea, the city that served as Rome's administrative centre in Judaea, and where its present administrator, Pontius Pilate, was based.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Pilate of the Roman delegation before him. "Crush them with our usual Roman efficiency!"

He folded his robe over his arm and reached for the wine that was held out to him by one of his slaves. He couldn't understand why Quintis, the Roman officer responsible for the cohort stationed at the barracks in Jerusalem, had not put down the rebellion – if rebellion it was - when it had begun.

"Except for some early incidents where some members of the rabble tried to be heroes, they have given no cause for excessive brutality, Your Excellency," said the soldier, standing respectfully at attention in the Governer-General's presence, his plumed helmet held underneath his arm.

"You don't need cause," said Pilate irritably, "it is enough that they express their opposition flagrantly in public. But surely this is a religious matter. Why not simply round up some of the leaders and let that temple High Priest – what's his name, Caiaphas – deal with them?" He tried to wave the soldier and his men away with a flick of his hands, but the soldier stood his ground.

"We would, Your Excellency, but their leader, the Galilean called Yeshua, is not in the city, and his disciples have not yet been identified. And besides, they do not preach in the Temple." The soldier looked directly ahead and did not show in his face the contempt he felt for the man before him.

Pilate drank from his goblet, but not liking the taste, spat it out. Similarly, he said with distaste, "Don't we have spies?"

"We have, Your Excellency, but these Galilean patriots inspire loyalty in their people. They have closed ranks, their networks are difficult to penetrate."

Pilate suspected from his words that the legate secretly respected the ones who tasked him. Nevertheless, he became sanguine. "Well, perhaps one of them can be bought, or one will make a mistake..."

John and Mari were returning from the market, laden with bags of dates, meat and loaves of bread for the evening feast. As they walked down the narrow, winding streets they passed a wall that had inscriptions on it. Mari remembered that wall. She remembered the writings that John had been drawn to that other time they walked here, the time when the women had harrassed her in the market. There had not been a recurrence of that incident since, and the walks had become pleasant to her again – although lately they had become less frequent. She enjoyed John's company, but she missed the old John who remembered his future and who sometimes talked of it.

He was becoming well known amongst the _Sinici_ , and the followers in the movement knew and respected him. The strangeness of another time and another place had gone from him, and the people accepted him as a good son of Abraham. His beard had grown long and thick, and his robes were finely embroidered and made of soft lambswool. He walked with a noble gait and greeted many people by name as they passed them by. They in turn knew his name as well. _Shohn._

Walking beside him, Mari wondered at his future life and what he would go back to after he carried out his part in this timeline.

And what was his part?

She wasn't sure, she only knew it was tied in with the destiny of Yeshua. She wondered if he had a wife in that future life of his. From the few words he had spoken of it, she thought not; but there was clearly someone special in his thoughts, she was certain of it.

"Shohn, we have never spoken of it before," she began shyly, "but if you will forgive the intrusion, is there a...woman – do you have a family?"

John stopped suddenly, pulled up by the question. "Do I have a -?"

"Family, yes," said Mari. "Do you remember?" she prodded, realizing it must be buried somewhere deep within the recesses of his memory. It occurred to her that it might cause him pain, and she regretted the question.

John looked towards the distance, and seeing nothing, his eyes clouded over. They had stopped near the Essene Gate. There were many people, animals and soldiers all milling about, but he was not aware of them. A vision of a boy and a woman came to him, but their faces were veiled. Then he saw no more.

"No, I do not remember," he said almost resentfully. "Should I?"

"No, it is all right. I am sorry."

They walked on and turned down the narrow alley that led to their dwellings. After the busy thoroughfare near the gate the street was almost deserted.

John turned to Mari. There was an intense look in his eyes, as though he was holding back strong emotions. "The only family I think of having is with you," he blurted out.

Mari's marital status was unknown to John, although he suspected it was a sensitive topic since she, nor the others, had ever spoken of it. Despite his dim memories of another love in his life, he had developed strong feelings for her.

He put his hand up to her face, and she smiled nervously. But when he moved closer to kiss her she backed away in fear. It told him all he needed to know, and he was sad.

"There she is!" said a rough voice nearby, startling them. "There's the beauty that got away from me that time, remember that, Felix?"

The speaker was a big Roman soldier, who was presently joined by his smaller colleague – 'Felix'. The big man smiled down on Mari and John, though it was not a friendly smile. Mari looked at him and almost screamed when she recognized him as the man who had threatened her once before.

"Please, your honour, we must go home," she pleaded as she turned away and tried to make her escape with John.

"Not so fast!" said the smaller man, grabbing her arm before she could move. "Varus here and me want some sport with you, missy!" He looked threateningly at John, and drawing his sword, added, "Leave off, little man. Or we might just 'ave a go at you too!" He smiled at the big man Varus and they both laughed wickedly.

John's mind was a blur. He realized they were all but alone in the darkening little alley, and the soldiers had picked their time and place well. He could see people walking past on the main street, but seeing the soldiers, most walked on.

Mari looked pleadingly at him as both soldiers grabbed hold of her and began to drag her towards a nearby alcove. John moved towards them, but the smaller soldier stopped and pointed his sword at him.

"Does someone want to be a hero?" he asked sarcastically. Looking at John, and clearly not threatened by him, he put the sword away, inviting John to try his luck. "C'mon then."

Something came to John in that moment, a memory of self-defence lessons he'd had as a younger man. He remembered the instructor's surprising advice: "The best thing to do is to run away _._ " _Turn the other cheek._ "But failing that, if you can't get away, go for the throat, or any other sensitive spot that's handy."

John stepped forward and threw out his hand, lightning quick. It connected with the soldier's nose, breaking it instantly. As the blood spurted from the nose, surprising the soldier, John wasted no time in digging his other hand, fingers bent at the first joint, into the man's throat. A sickening crack indicated he'd broken the windpipe. The soldier slumped forward, holding his throat.

Before the big man, Varus, was upon him John had taken Felix's sword and thrust it clumsily at the man's groin. Luckily it slid between two flaps of his thick leather jerkin and buried itself in the flesh within. Varus howled and slashed with his sword, but John deflected it off his shoulder, taking a small cut to his neck. He delivered the final blow to Varus's throat, as he had done to Felix (it was the only other place he could see that was not covered in armour), and the man fell down bleeding profusely from his wounds.

John stood there breathing hard for a moment, not completely realizing what he had done. Then Mari ran into his arms and said, "Shohn, are you all right?"

"I think so," he replied, looking down at the blood on his hands and checking that it was not his own.

"We must go!" said Mari.

John looked horrified at the men who were dying before him. A feeling of revulsion came upon him at what he had just done. He had not been able to _turn the other cheek_ , like the Master had said. He was vile, weak, a hypocrite.

He saw that a crowd had finally gathered, curious onlookers now coming forward to see the dead soldiers. One man he recognized, Levi, came closer, peering into his bloodied face.

"Shohn?" he said.
CHAPTER EIGHT

2017

Communicating with a sentient computer turned out to be more complicated than Professor Feynman's team had first thought it would be. It was a task that required great subtlety and skilled questioning. The Tesla Gate, much like an old Greek Oracle, would sometimes offer only answers that were cryptic or obscure. The experience of talking to the Gate itself (the Gate Control Team preferred the term 'linking') - that union with it that was so much like a nirvana state - could throw off the concentration of even the most disciplined of minds. So far, apart from Yang's initial breakthroughs, they had made little headway in understanding it. But recent developments were afoot that might change all that.

Yang Lee entered the Gate room at the Scherff Centre with three members of his Gate Control team. He was sporting a new look that included black clothes and, almost comically, a black, hooded coat – although the hood was down. Two of his team were similarly attired (the other, a woman, wore white in contrast).

"So, these are the coats you requested?" said Gerard Feynman, stepping forward to inspect Yang and his group. As always he was wearing his white lab coat, and looked unimpressed.

"They are."

"They look ridiculous. You look like a gang of monks."

"What's the matter – don't you like it?" Yang put his hood up over his head and joined his hands together as if in prayer. "But they work."

His team members took over the Gate control station from the attendant who had been monitoring it. They fired up the event horizon, which had been dormant since the passage of Tesla Five a couple of hours ago.

Feynman looked at Yang and his crew and their outlandish clothes, and wondered if their special communications with the Gate were beginning to affect them adversely. The reports they had submitted lately of their findings in linking with it were becoming more and more garbled and obscure. Then there had been the request for the special coats – coats that the Gate had supposedly 'said' would help conduct and amplify its communication with its users.

"Can I see?" he asked.

Yang took off his coat and showed Feynman what was inside it. Both sleeves were lined with thin copper wires that ran from the cuffs up to the shoulders. They then threaded through the hood to two small discs that rested on both temples of the wearer. There was a third plate on the top of the hood, also connected by wire to the two temple discs. A pair of similarly lined gloves that connected the circuit directly from head to the Gate was also provided.

"And it was the Gate that told you to make this?" asked Feynman.

"That's right. They're designed to boost the link signal. I came in last night and tested them, and they work brilliantly. Such simple devices."

"You don't say?"

Feynman was deeply sceptical of the Gate's supposed psychic connection with the Control Team. He had tried many times, encouraged and guided by Yang, to make the link with the Gate, but nothing had ever happened for him. Experiments with the Gates around the world had reported the same: some were receptive to the Gates' messages, and some were not. He didn't like it – the whole thing smacked of pseudo science. But he had to admit it had gained results. How else could Yang have found the hidden glyphs and the key that locked onto the active signals in the past? How else could he have discovered the mysterious ankh and its user back in AD 33?

"Would you like to give it a try?" Yang held out the coat to him.

There was a slight moment of hesitation. Feynman looked over at the Gate, at the event horizon glowing brightly amidst the room's muted lighting, at the eye within seemingly watching him, judging him. Was it beckoning to him or warning him to stay away? He didn't know. Either way, he took the coat and put it on. It was a good fit. He and Yang were of similar build.

"What do I do now?" he asked Yang.

"Come over to the control panel and let's see if you can make a link." He led Feynman to the panel. His team members moved aside for them. "Now put the hood up, put the gloves on and make contact with the panel."

He did so, and Yang checked that the disc contacts in the hood were in their proper positions against his temple.

Feynman looked at Yang and said almost nervously, "If this works, it isn't going to turn me into some kind of zombie cult member, is it?"

Yang laughed. "No, there's nothing sinister about it! But you will feel something, I can guarantee that. Now close your eyes and try to make your mind a blank. The most you're doing is reaching out and saying hello, just like I told you those other times."

At first nothing happened, as usual. Within the coat and inside the hood Feynman simply felt a sense of isolation. He felt the cool discs against his skull slowly warming, almost buzzing, as if firing his neural receptors. The external world, even Yang's talk and the background chatter of the people in the Gate room, seemed to recede from his senses. Slowly they were replaced by a faint call. He couldn't tell at first if it was coming from within his own head or somewhere outside. It seemed to be a voice.

Hello. Are you a friend?

Feynman opened his eyes, astonished. He closed his eyes again and said to the void, "Uh, yes I hope so."

_You are Feynman. You are welcome_.

He sensed a warmth – there was no other word for it – coming from the Gate. It was as though he had just passed a test. It was something like the Gate's log on procedure, and he had given it the correct password.

Suddenly an image burst brilliantly in his mind. It was a view of the Gate in its entirety, including the long shaft below and the crossbeam at the junction and the crystalline oval headpiece that contained the familiar event horizon section. It was turning in his mind, as though on display, and it was beautiful. He remembered it from the time he supervised its installation at the Scherff Centre. The colors were saturated, almost bleeding into one another. It reminded him of some vivid LSD experiences he had had in his younger days.

He could feel the warmth and power of the shaft as it collected its payload of geothermal energy. It resonated along the converter that was the crossbeam. Then it vibrated with the cubits that were driven by the mighty quantum processing power of the crystal ring itself. It was an intimate moment of connection, almost of communion.

Then the voice that only he could hear said –

We are well pleased.

"My god, I see it and I hear it, I can really hear it!" He almost yelled it.

Yang and his team were all smiling and nodding their heads in assent. They knew that he understood. The special coat had worked its magic. They gathered around, patting him on the back, welcoming him as a kind of new acolyte to the cause, to the Mystic Order of the Gate.
CHAPTER NINE

California, 1861

The Grogan party spent their final night in a camp just outside Bakersfield. They were tired after the trek from Sacramento, and more than one member of the expedition was feeling the early symptoms of the dilation effect. It had been a long mission and everyone was looking forward to getting back to Joshua Tree and going through the Gate. All except perhaps Walter and Eddie, who had found a second home in the Yahi village amongst their own ancestors.

Professor Grogan paced up and down in front of the campfire, filled with nervous energy, his hat tilted at a jaunty angle. The prospect of return to the enclaves of academia at Berkeley, and the thought of what he had left behind, made him fidgety.

The relief party, led by his colleague Josephine Burnley, had arrived exactly on schedule. Besides Burnley, the relief crew included Samantha Flores, who was acting as one of the crew's Mission Controllers.

Before the arrival of the relief party Grogan concluded the expedition had gone better than he had expected, and he had every hope that the ongoing relations with the Yahi would continue to yield fruitful understandings. Yet he and Burnley had argued soon after her arrival. A strict empiricist, she had not been happy with his deployment of the cameras among the tribe, and accused him of severely contaminating the data. She also found fault with other aspects of his methodology, and her cold demeanour did not ingratiate her with the tribespeople.

Grogan was reluctant to leave the Yahi to this fishwife, but he had no choice. Burnley had never been his first choice for a replacement mission leader, but the departmental committee had overruled him on this. Still pacing next to the fire, he sighed, and contented himself with the knowledge that he had been first to investigate the Yahi in their natural habitat. He couldn't wait to pour over all the data he and his team had collected. There was also the great likelihood of continued and increased funding for his department once the results of the expedition were published.

It would also be nice to see his wife again, he supposed...

Watching Grogan's restless pacing, Dorothy and Eddie sat beside each other by the fire. The flames lighted their faces, and occasionally their hands would touch or their eyes would meet fleetingly and reflect the inner glow they felt within.

Dorothy couldn't help but think of all that the expedition had offered her, and how different her situation had been when it began. Firstly, there were all the recordings she had made of the Yahi language, the tribal stories, the charts she had drawn up of grammar and syntax, intonation and semantics. There was a wealth of knowledge and understanding contained within them, and the linguist within her reveled in the task ahead of analysing all of it.

Then there was Eddie. She truly believed she had found her soulmate in him. She loved his gentle nature and his wild, almost mystical connection to the land. In many ways he was the living embodiment of everything she wrote about in her poetry, her words made flesh. But she was enough of a realist to know that the connection they had found, the love that they shared, might not last. In many ways they were very different people with very different backgrounds. She had often observed in her time that even the best relationships did not always guarantee longevity. It was not a particularly deep insight, but it was a useful one...

For his part, Eddie had similar thoughts, though other aspects of the trail also occupied his mind. He had been deeply saddened when, on the night before the party was due to leave for home, the baby girl he and Walter had helped deliver had died. It had been a weak child to begin with, and despite their best efforts to keep it alive, the little girl had died apparently of malnutrition. The Great Spirit had wanted to claim her for its own.

Yet before the mother had even completed her wailing song another child had been born in the village. On the morning of their departure Eddie and Walter had assisted in this birth, which was a baby boy delivered to the sister of the tribal majapa, the headman. He was a fine fat boy, strong of limb. The fact that he would be related to the majapa was a particularly good sign - it spoke of prosperity and longevity for the tribe. The child was a symbol of hope for the People.

But when he looked into the eyes of the baby, Eddie sensed a deep sadness, an evanescence, the story of the tribe's destruction. He thought about the date, calculating the timeline, and wondered if this baby he saw before him might possibly be the last Yahi. Could this be Ishi who was born this day?

"Dearest, you are crying. Why?" Dorothy noted with concern that Eddie's eyes were wet. A tear glistened on his cheek, caught by the firelight.

"It's nothing. I'm all right." Self-consciously he wiped away the tear.

"It was sad, wasn't it?" She smoothed his cheek.

"What?"

"The baby girl."

"Yes..." He didn't correct her...

Further up the hill from where they had camped, Walter was sitting away from the main group, crouched above a makeshift toilet. From this position he could see the others below. Grogan had stopped pacing and had finally sat down. Walter felt a twinge of guilt towards the expedition leader. He was a good man, and had selected him personally for the mission, despite what others saw as the blemishes on his record – particularly his activism. He hated the thought that he had taken advantage of his generosity, but it had to be done.

From the very outset of the journey Walter had made his plans. As wagon-master and cook, the purchase of the wagon was his responsibility. He made sure he procured an old US Cavalry surplus model, one with the deep sinks in the carriage that allowed for a false bottom. He knew the Cavalry had sometimes made use of these to hide spare guns and ammunition and other illicit items, in case Indians somehow took the wagons.

He bided his time from then on, playing his role as faithful Indian guide and sidekick. When they reached Sacramento there was more opportunity to continue with his plan. Wrightson and Lina, the two Mission Controllers, relaxed their vigil on the civilians there and were often away from the wagon on various errands. It was the perfect time to create the false bottom of the wagon and to purchase the guns and ammunition he needed.

The only difficulty was his Indian appearance. It was unlikely that suppliers would sell guns to an Indian at this time. To overcome this he applied a light makeup he had brought with him. The effect when he looked in a mirror was not flawless, but he had practised it enough before the mission to make the blend look passable enough. Or he hoped it would. He also bought a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt and wide-brimmed hat. This, combined with the moustache he had cultivated (a slow process, thanks to his Indian genetics), and his long hair tied up under the hat, did the trick.

The gun supplier, a wizened old coot whose eyesight was not good anyhow, squinted at Walter in suspicion and asked, "Say, you wouldn't be an Injun would ya boy?"

Walter replied as if offended, "No sir!"

Then the old coot said, squinting once more, "Alrighty then! What can we do yer for?"

Walter left with his booty of carbines and six guns and placed them securely in the false bottom of the wagon while Wrightson and Lina were enjoying the hospitality of the town. There they remained until they reached the country of the Yahi. When the wagon could go no further on the trail they unhitched the horses and left it in a spur, hidden beneath some underbrush.

Later, it was an easy matter for Walter to return with the tribe's warriors and take the guns and ammunition to a secure area away from the village. There he showed them how to load and fire the 'firesticks', as he called them.

In the secret talks he had with them in the watgurwas, the men's houses, it had not been difficult to convince the elders of the tribe and the younger warriors of the dangers the white men posed to them. They saw evidence of this all the time. The harder job was telling them that the white men would soon wipe them out. They shook their heads in disbelief at the possibility of this. They questioned him to find out how he could know such a thing. He replied that his knowledge came from visions he had and that he was himself a Shaman to his own tribe – which was not a complete lie: he had experimented with hallucinogens and researched many shamanistic practises.

Thinking back on all this, Walter finished his business and stood up. Grogan had turned in, as had Dorothy and Eddie. He wasn't sure about that relationship. In his opinion the young man had given his heart too easily; but they seemed a good match. The white woman had proved herself surprisingly resilient and might be a good challenge for him.

He saw Neil Wrightson prowling the perimeter of the camp. He came near and gave Walter a wary look. Walter knew Wrightson was suspicious of him, and that he had suspected he would go 'native' when he had the chance. He knew he had been surprised (or even disappointed?) when he'd obediently joined the party for the trek home.

Walter thought back to the night in the elders' watgurwa when the truth finally sank in. It was a hard thing to watch their faces. He felt like he had told a good friend he would soon die. He knew it was wrong to give them the weapons, that it violated Bailouni's precious Prime Directive - and was possibly even a psychotic act. But it was very strong within him that he had to give them this chance to fight back, or at least to choose how they would spend their final days. He had planned this for so long. Also, this being a different timeline, a different reality, there was always the possibility that they would not die off, that they would beat back the darkness. It was a hope he had. In any case, he knew he would be back, with more weapons if he could manage it.

He looked down on the encampment again and saw Lina, covered in a blanket and going out to sit by the fire. He had been surprised when some of the warriors had taken her on the hunt, and then even more surprised when she took to it so well. There was definitely something unusual about her, she was like one of the People. She puzzled him.

He remembered running with the warriors through the woods, some of them carrying the guns, when he spied Lina peering at them from a copse of trees. She stared at him and the others, her eyes wide with surprise, then quickly ran off.

She had never said a word of the incident to him since then, nor as far as he could tell had she mentioned it to Wrightson either. Certainly there had not been a confrontation about his activities afterward. Why had she kept it quiet...?

Lina rocked back on her haunches and gazed sleepily at the fire. She had been awoken by a particularly vivid dream and couldn't get back to sleep.

The dream concerned her memories of the old Compton neighbourhood. There used to be a neighbour called Mrs Natchez, a stern woman with a brood of children. As a young girl Lina had always been afraid of her. In the dream she was called Mother Natchez and her brood of children must have run to about fifty. There they were all running around the street, hiding in alleyways, tipping over tin cans, causing chaos. And there was Mother Natchez, scolding them all for their misbehaviour, hauling them out with a fire and brimstone lecture. The children and Mother Natchez were strange to Lina, she and her parents had moved into this area only recently. Her mother beside her said, "There's Mother Natchez, child, you be respectful to her. When you move into her neighbourhood it's important that you get her approval." Lina walked shyly past the old woman, who turned when she saw her coming. "Well what have we here?" She looked sternly down at Lina, who almost quailed. Remembering what her mother had said, hesitantly Lina said, "Hu-hello Mother Natchez." Suddenly, the woman smiled. "Why hello child!"

She recognized the dream as the kind the Yahi called a 'power dream', a dream that spoke of her destiny. There was no need to analyse the dream: it was pretty clear what it meant. It simply reinforced the feeling that she'd had all along on this mission: a sense of belonging, a kind of homecoming. She had felt a special kinship with the People, losing herself in the wild, at one with nature itself, like her distant stoneage ancestors. Then at one point, while on the hunt, she had chanced upon a hidden grove of marijuana plants. The wonder of it. She smiled at the memory.

She saw Walter coming down the hillside into the light. He offered her a quick hello then walked on.

He had never asked her about that time in the woods when she saw him with the warriors and the guns, and she had no plans of saying anything about it. She knew she should have mentioned it to Neil. It was part of her job, her duty; but she couldn't. In the Program they could teach her discipline, they could teach her respect for the chain of command, but they could not take away her rebellious nature. She thought with scorn: they should have known that.

It was the same with Walter. She knew his background at Berkeley as a student, his participation in demonstrations, his affiliation with the Occupy movement, and the arrests. His record sheet jumped off the page – he had a habit of fighting back, no passive resistance for him. It particularly concerned Wrightson, who said when he saw it, "That guy's a trouble-maker". If it hadn't have been for Grogan's fierce defence of the guy (and it was rumoured some supporters within the GAP) his application would never have passed.

But Lina felt she understood him. Like him she didn't believe in violence; but she did believe in self-defence. So it was not a great surprise to her when she discovered that Walter was running guns to the Yahi warriors. It made sense. At least now it would give them a chance when all them white 'vigilantes', like Tbird and his men in 1867, and Sherman in 1868, raided their territory and tried to massacre them, as they had done in the historical record. She didn't know if it would be enough, but she knew those vigilantes were going to face some stiff resistance this time.

Serve 'em right, bastards...

They broke camp early the next morning and made the final journey to the Joshua Tree Gate.

They sold the horses and wagon back to the same trader they had bought them from. He seemed surprised, but took them and paid a fair price, though not as much as he'd sold them for originally. Wrightson and Lina collected the money. It was standard procedure to leave timeline money in the Gateroom, to be used by the next expedition coming through.

One by one they shifted down to the Gateroom, where Wilson, the base controller, was waiting for them.

"I sure will be glad to wash the dust off when we get back!" said Grogan as he stepped off the ankh disc. He was in a jovial mood. The stresses of leadership and the mission were now over, and he could relax. Noticing that Wilson had not engaged the Gate's event horizon, he said impatiently, "Fire her up, boy!"

Wilson, a normally composed man who was bald and had a slight lisp, looked nervous and spread his arms helplessly. "I tried, but it'th not working."

"What do you mean, not working?" said Grogan, who could not conceive of the possibility that, for some reason, they might be stranded. "Press the buttons and get us connected!"

"I have. But I can't get a connection. Thomething'th wrong!"

They all stared at him.
CHAPTER TEN

2017

As leader of the first mission to the time of Jesus, Helen Siriani felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. The pressure was enormous, but so too were the possibilities. She had difficulty containing her excitement. Soon, if all went to plan, she would possibly look upon the face of Jesus Himself. It was too much to comprehend. The lapsed Catholic in her seemed to renew her vows and convert all over again.

She started to hyperventilate. It was the second time in as many hours and was becoming a problem. She took out her puffer and inhaled. Slowly, she calmed down.

Damn this asthma! she thought. For so many years she had finally got it under control, and then it had come back with a vengeance in these last few weeks. It was as though her body was telling her she should not go on this mission. But she was adamant that nothing would stop her. She put the puffer away, checked her makeup in the mirror and left the bathroom.

She was hardly out of the door when she encountered Gus Manfredi.

"Ready for the grilling?" he grinned at her as he came towards her. His beard was specially trimmed and he looked handsome in his blue suit.

"About as ready as I'll ever be."

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but the coming meeting with the Cardinal and the other religious leaders was stressing her out a bit. The Director, Ursula Bailouni, had made it a priority to inform the Vatican and Israel and some of the major religious organisations around the world of the situation almost as soon as it had come to light. Although the Program tended to be independent of outside interests, considering the sensitive nature of this mission, Bailouni and the GAP had allowed such organizations some input into the way it was conducted.

"But, you have to admit," said Gus, "it's annoying how the administration has allowed these...zealots a say in what we do on this mission. What can they offer us but bribes to ensure we maintain their agendas, their interpretations of history and religious doctrine?"

"Oh Gus, now you sound like the young man I once knew," she chided him. She looked at him and for a moment she recognized that young man. "Idealistic and slightly naive."

"I don't see why idealism and naivety have to go together," Gus responded playfully rather than offended. "I always thought of it as practical."

"Ah!" she sighed in mock ecstasy. Before her eyes the young man was coming perfectly into relief. "They're only here to advise us and to remind us of their concerns. I doubt very much that they will try to influence us. Anyway, madame Director will be at the meeting, so you can speak to her about it if you like."

"Okay. But tell me, you're the expert on these matters: what do you think we'll find back there?"

She hesitated for a moment. "I'm keeping my options open," she said finally.

They were coming up to the conference room where the religious leaders would be gathering. Helen could see guards and officials milling about. The important meeting was almost upon them. She smoothed her dress and brushed back her hair.

"And you?" she added. "What are you expecting to find?"

Gus smiled. "I've always been a bit of a heretic when it comes to these matters. I just think Jesus didn't achieve his mission and died horribly on the cross. The forgiveness of sins and resurrection were just consolation prizes dreamed up later by Paul and the Apostles."

Helen sniffed. "If that's really how it happened then, you'd have to admit, that's a hell of a way to turn a negative into a positive!"

They entered the conference room.

The first person Helen noticed as she walked in was Cardinal Rafelli. It was not difficult: he was decked out in his black cassock and scarlet piping, and wore all the insignia of his office. So too Archbishop Stavros Korda, Primate of the Greek Orthodox Church in America, who looked resplendent in his black cassock and chimney pot hat. Most of the other clerics, including those amongst the Israelis, the Mormons and the Church of England were dressed more sedately by comparison.

She did her best to mingle and chat agreeably with the representatives, some of whom she knew personally. She couldn't help noticing that, amongst the praise and the gentle envy for her coming task, some of them seemed to regard her with caution, if not outright hostility. There seemed to be an unspoken question in their talk with her: _will you protect the Legacy of our faith?_

She was relieved when Ursula Bailouni made an approach and took her away from a pair of junior Vatican dignitaries who were accompanying the Cardinal.

"Sorry you have to go through this," murmured Ursula.

"That's all right," said Helen. "These things always come with some sort of PR duty."

Ursula laughed lightly. "I'm afraid it's more than that."

"What do you mean?" Helen felt her heart jump momentarily. The mission was so close - what complication was the administration going to foist upon her now?

"It's the Israelis." Ursula looked over at the Israeli delegation as she spoke. There were two government officials with Hyam Steadman, a rabbi from the Chief Rabbinate Council. "They're insisting we include one of their people."

"They're _insisting_?" asked Helen.

"Yes, well we can hardly refuse. You will be going into their territory - even if it's two thousand years ago and ultimately out of their jurisdiction. But it will be seen as a courtesy. And frankly, I was surprised they didn't play the territory card earlier. Sorry to have to tell you so late in the process, but there it is."

"It's okay," said Helen. "Do you know who they'll be sending?"

"As a matter of fact, yes: he's that man right over there in the brown shirt." Ursula nodded in the direction of the man. "His name is Joseph Ross."

Ross looked to be about thirty, was medium height and of solid build. He seemed to instinctively know they were talking about him and he cast his gaze their way. The eyes that fell upon Helen were dark and penetrating. She thought him breathtakingly handsome, and wondered why she hadn't noticed him before.

"I suppose he's Mossad," she said.

"Well, officially, I'm not suppose to say, but yes of course he's Mossad. He's fully trained as a Mission Controller, which will be his official designation. As such he should be an asset to your team."

"He's welcome," said Helen, "as long as he doesn't play around with the Prime Directive. I can't help but wonder what else he's been assigned to do on the mission."

"I think you can safely say he'll be on the lookout for signs that Jesus really is the Messiah – or not. And he'll be looking closely at the role the Pharisees and the Temple leaders play in Jesus's trial, if you get a chance to witness it."

Helen winced theatrically. "Ooo, yes, the whole Jews killed Jesus stigma! But you know, this is all getting away from the real point of this mission-"

"Which is about investigating the anomaly," added Ursula. "Yes, you're right. But whoever it is – whether it's John Hannebury or someone else – they definitely seem to be tied up with the destiny of Jesus. Your team's duty is clear as far as the anomaly is concerned-"

"Identify and, if possible, recover," interjected Helen.

"Yes, but you also have authorisation to investigate the events that will be surrounding this person."

"On my discretion," Helen added helpfully.

Ursula looked at her, and repeated with emphasis, "On your discretion." She smiled conspiratorially and added, "It seems only fair."

"Well, it is why we're all here, isn't it?" Helen returned the smile.

She realized she enjoyed speaking with the Director. They seemed to be _simpatica_. They were both of similar age, and both had achieved high positions of responsibility in their respective fields. They were at ease with each other and spoke as equals – though Helen was keenly aware of Ursula's ultimate authority over her.

"Speaking of which, I had better begin my presentation..."

Helen made her way to the front of the room, where a lecturn was prepared for her. She looked out at the assembled dignitaries and hoped they could not detect her nervousness. For a moment she thought she might have another asthma attack right there in front of them; but her breathing remained regular. After a momentary pause, she began to speak.

"We know that not long after Jesus's death the remaining disciples and, later, Paul of Tarsus took up his cause and developed it into what became the Catholic church and the other Christian churches that splintered off from it. But now we have an opportunity to closely inspect that original cause, to get an idea of what Jesus actually had in mind when he founded his ministry, and where he was planning to take it. With the help of the Timegates we have the opportunity to gain a first-hand account of the life and teachings of Jesus, unhindered by the filter of second-hand accounts."

Helen looked out at her audience and noticed some of the senior religious leaders sitting at the front shifting uncomfortably in their seats. The Cardinal looked like he was about to interrupt her talk, but he appeared to change his mind.

Seeing their discomfort, Helen continued in a more conciliatory tone. "Now, I mention all this by way of introduction merely to make the point that..."

She knew many of them had resented the appointment of a lapsed Catholic as leader to a mission that held such doctrinal importance to them. But she also knew that her presentation was fair and balanced, and rightly emphasized the objective, non-partisan approach she and her team would be taking to the endeavour.

Despite all this, a couple of Helen's comments did apparently rankle her audience.

"If the Gospels are accurate," Helen went on in one such instance, "then it would seem that we will be entering into a period of great upheaval, indeed of revolution on this mission. At the centre of this revolution will be Jesus, or Yeshua, as we think he was known in Aramaic. Again, if the Gospels are accurate, we can expect him to be what the sociologist Max Weber termed a 'charismatic leader'. We can expect a man who sets himself up against tradition and law, a man who is reported on a number of occasions to have made the statement, 'You have heard it said, but _I_ say to you'. In short, we can expect a revolutionary, a man who subverts the existing structures by denying their previously accepted legitimacy, and therefore a man who is dangerous to those who would maintain the status quo..."

"Excusi, senora..." It was the Cardinal.

Helen paused. "Yes, your honour?" she responded in Italian.

Replying also in Italian, with an air of authority that he was used to wielding, the Cardinal said, "I have no disagreement with your assessment of the likely situation in AD 33 Israel and of the charisma of Jesus. But I object to your depiction of him as a _revolutionary_. It is too strong a word."

Helen was grateful to the Cardinal for his interruption. It had turned her nervousness into annoyance – at his interruption, and by his suggestion. "Then what would you suggest, your honour?"

"I am not sure. Perhaps...ah..." The Cardinal grasped for the proper word.

"Perhaps _reformer_ is the word you want, your honour?" said Helen mischieviously, thinking of the Protestant reformer Martin Luther, who had been such a great adversary to Catholicism.

"Ah, no, I would not say that. Excusi, carry on." Betraying no sign of offence, the Cardinal smiled benignly, folded his hands and sat back in his seat.

"Thank you, your grace." Helen looked out at her interlocuters and now confidently continued. "Religions tend to come out of some need, usually a controlling urge. So Jesus at this time is unusual, in that he wants to free the people, not control them – if the Gospels are accurate..."

It was not an altogether satisfying experience for many members of Helen's audience, who bristled at the idea that their religions were based on power rather than faith. But the presentation left most of them with the impression of an expedition leader who would do her utmost to be impartial and open-minded to whatever mysteries about Jesus and the early church she and her team uncovered. Most importantly, she impressed upon them her willingness to be discreet with the information and to handle any 'sensitive' matters that might arise with appropriate delicacy. It was all they could hope for.

"That went well," said Gus to Helen after the meeting. They were making their way to the Gate facility's courtyard.

"I'm glad it's over," said Helen, thinking she could do with a drink about now.

Gus laughed. "When you made that crack about Jesus the Reformer to the Cardinal, that was so funny, I could have kissed you! In fact, I will!" He squeezed her waist and pecked her on the cheek.

Helen slowed down and let him walk on. She felt her cheek where he had kissed it. She wondered was he flirting with her? She turned and headed for the nearest bathroom. She could feel another asthma attack coming on.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Another GAP meeting had not long convened and Ursula Bailouni had retired to the privacy of her office to recover. She was feeling the familiar symptoms of what she called 'Post-Meeting Stress', which usually presented as hightened levels of ennui and a not-too-healthy dose of cynicism about the Program and scientists and academics in general.

The meeting had proceeded well for a while. The Odessa National Polytechnic University proposal to investigate Kitchener and the Crimean had gone through relatively smoothly. The only opposition had come from the British delegates, who feared such close scrutiny would tarnish Kitchener's reputation – more so than it already was. The Stanley and Livingstone expedition request went off without a hitch, along with various high profile or arcane projects ranging from soil erosion in the Sahara to the activities of T.E. Lawrence and his Bedouins in Arabia.

When the topic turned to Abraham Lincoln and the American Civil War, however, all hell broke loose, figuratively if not literally.

The members of various otherwise prestigious institutions fell upon each other for the privilege of investigating the numerous campaigns and battles, each steadfast in their belief in the greater legitimacy of their mission proposals. It was always the problem with large historical events like wars, that so many investigators felt a deep, personal ownership about them. Everyone was an expert and knew exactly the proper way to proceed.

Before the meeting could turn into an undisciplined rabble, Ursula had invoked the so-called 'Russian Revolution precedent' and required the fractious parties to resolve the issue en masse in their own time and reapply at a later date. It was a sobering solution, and the more hotheaded candidates, especially those at Berkeley and M.I.T., were duly chastened.

At her desk, Ursula sighed. Well, she had expected these meetings to be a free-for-all. She had told Eli as much before the first one.

She poured herself a coffee, adding a little something extra to it, and tried not to think any more of the meeting. Instead, she reflected on the hectic week she had just been through leading up to it.

It began with her trip to the Egypt Gate to personally see off the Siriani team investigating that anomaly in the year AD 33 – _the Jesus mission_. The usual religious leaders and clerics, a number of whom had been present at Helen's presentation earlier, were also there to give the mission their blessings.

Not long after her return to New York, news came through that the doctor who had gone AWOL during the Jane Austen mission had finally turned up back at the London Gate, whereupon he was immediately seized and questioned. He was half-dazed by the dilation effect, but he managed to give a mostly coherent account of his time at Chawton Village in 1816.

Then the Grogan mission to 1861 California had been late in returning due to a reported malfunction in the Joshua Tree Gate. The party had been detained in the chamber for two days before the Gate suddenly reasserted itself and became operational again. Several theories had been put forward for the malfunction, including 'stress fractures' due to the shifts in the San Andreas fault that had eventually caused its collapse, and a suggestion that the Gate had simply refused entry (this one posited by Yang Lee), but nothing definite had been confirmed. In any case the mission had been tainted with accusations that one of the mission civilians had provided guns to the natives. The accusations, made by Mission Controller Neil Wrightson, were yet to be resolved.

Amidst all this, the second Gap Journal, featuring some of the nineteenth century expeditions, was about to go to print.

Ursula sighed again. After a week like that, the rowdy meeting she'd recently witnessed had merely placed a full stop on it. But then President Tillburn had requested a covert meeting with her just after the GAP meeting, and that had added an exclamation mark.

Presently, Eli Weinstein joined her as usual for their post-meeting debrief – or 'bitch session', as she thought of it. She held up the stress ball on her desk, but looking at her, Eli just shook his head.

"Keep it," he smiled. "You look like you need it more than me."

"Thanks!" Ursula placed the ball gently back on her desk.

"They were feisty today, weren't they?" Eli chuckled. "The Civil War will do it every time!"

Ursula beckoned him to a chair. "Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm presiding over a panel of distinguished scientists and academics or an episode of _Mythbusters_."

"Is this not the way you thought it would be?" asked Eli. "I seem to recall you saying you expected it to be a free-for-all."

"Yes, I know. I guess when I first took this job I was hoping for something...higher, nobler." She looked into empty space, as if in a reverie.

"Ah..." Eli looked closely at her. She seemed a bit off today, as though something was bothering her more than usual. He tried some levity. "The enthusiasm and idealism of youth is fading."

"Or something like that," rejoined Ursula. "I mean, look at these latest Mission Proposals." She shook a handful of papers from her desk at him. One of them was clearly labelled 'Proposal to Investigate the Crimes of Hitler's Nazi Administration', and listed below was a consortium of Israeli universities. Another one, from the University of Chile, was simply titled 'Salvatore Allende and The US Government'. "Witchhunts, nothing but witchhunts."

"I thought we'd put a stop to that sort of thing with the World Court decision."

"Apparently not." Ursula poured herself another cup of coffee, and added another one when Eli indicated he wanted one too. She surreptitiously added the extra ingredient into her's, but he caught the movement.

"Ah, Irish coffee! Don't mind if I do!"

Pouring the whiskey into his coffee, she added, "They're all either satisfying curiosity or looking for skeletons in the closet. It's bloody Halloween."

She bowed her head and suddenly felt very tired. She added, "Tillburn's going to make the announcement next Sunday." She just blurted it out, unsure how Eli would respond.

"About the Gates not originating with us?"

"Yes."

Eli was stunned and disappointed. He was usually the first to know everything, especially about what Tillburn was planning. He almost spilled his coffee. "When did he tell you this? Did you discuss it with him?"

"Just before." She sat back down, cradling the coffee in her hands, breathing in the fumes. "He was fairly low profile about it – only had the one staff car and four security goons. I'm surprised you didn't see them."

"Oh." Eli sat back and thought about the situation. He reached for the stress ball, but restrained himself at the last moment.

"What did he say?"

"Among other things, he asked me what I thought about coming clean about the Gates and admitting 'we covered up important information about them'. His words."

"And...?" Eli waited expectantly.

"Well, I told him we should tell the public everything, wipe the slate clean. Tell them about all the Gates around the world that we didn't mention, the Joshua Tree find and the geothermal energy – everything. Hell, I even suggested we make the announcement on a Sunday. Seems like an appropriate day to tell the world we're possibly not alone in the universe." She almost laughed. "And then he agreed, and thanked me for my candour...and then he fired me."

Eli simply nodded his head. He had detected the note of bitterness in her voice by the end and knew what was coming. Otherwise he kept perfectly still while she continued.

"...Nicely and gently, mind you. He felt it wasn't something he should delegate to someone else, which is why he came personally. Nice of him I suppose. But the basic message was, if we admit we covered up the secrets of the Gates, there has to be a scapegoat."

"You."

"Who else?"

"That's crazy." Eli shook his head in disgust. "Ursula, I'm truly sorry. I never meant for this to happen."

"It's all right. It's not your fault." She looked at him, puzzled by his apology.

"I know, but...We can still fight this, you know." He looked at her with concern. She seemed to be taking this harder than she made out.

"No, there's too much information out there."

"No, I mean you could still keep your position. I mean, whom else could they get who is better than you? You've done an amazing job with the Program. Tillburn should be begging you to stay on."

Ursula gave a wan smile. "Thank you, Eli. But no, let it go. In some ways Tillburn's right. It has to be me. I have to take responsibility."

Eli was going to protest, but seeing her resolve, he relented. "When will you step down?"

She let out a long slow breath. "Oh, after the announcement. He wants me there to help explain the details, but frankly I think I'll be busy elsewhere that day. I wonder if there'll be any fire and brimstone from the religious types?"

As she watched the steam rise from the freshly brewed coffee and its unwholesome alcoholic additive, Ursula thought about the Timegate Program she had helped to create, and the farce she could see it rapidly becoming if the corporates got their hands on it. She wondered, what was the purpose in it all, where was it heading, where was the unity and truth she had envisaged at the beginning? When they had finally scoured all of history, and uncovered every secret, every truth, and wrung every drop of experience and sensation from it, would the human race be any more the wiser or better off? She hoped so.

Then she stopped herself and thought back upon the previous week. At least, she reflected, the Siriani mission to AD 33 should provide some interesting answers. And there were many other worthwhile missions happening, great discoveries, great insights being made every day. Ultimately she knew they were doing good work.

Perhaps she was just in a slump, overwhelmed by the day she'd had, and the reckoning to come about the Gates' origins. She knew that soon they would all be confessing their sins of omission.

END OF PART FOUR
PART FIVE:

THE RESCUE MISSION

CHAPTER ONE

Jerusalem, AD 33

Finally the day came when Evram and his people took their leave of Jerusalem. It was the beginning of the week before Passover, just before Yeshua was expected to arrive in the city. John was with them to say goodbye as they gathered in the early morning at the Essene Gate, in the city's south. The dawn flashed orange above the Mount of Olives in the east, and a cool breeze brought the sweet scent of cedar trees. Already many pilgrims and their animals were passing through the gate into the city in preparation for the festival. Roman soldiers were everywhere.

They were thirteen in all, including Evram and Mari, and the four men who had accompanied John out of the desert. He was greatly perturbed at their leaving.

"But why must you go, my friends?" he pleaded with them. "Surely you are needed here?"

"Our work here is done, my friend," Evram said gently, clasping his hands in John's.

"But you leave just as your fine work begins to take root. He is soon to come. Can you not wait a few days more?"

"Nay, it is not possible." Evram brushed his hand aside in that dismissive gesture that now was so familiar to John - the matter was closed.

Evram had wanted to say more, but knew it would be difficult to explain. In John's future the Gates had been re-discovered, his people were using them. Soon they would learn how to communicate with the _Shakra_ and discover the many paths of time, even to this one. John's people would soon be arriving, if they were not already here. It was time to leave, to go where they could not follow. The _Shakra_ would protect he and his people.

He looked at John, and sensing his disquiet, offered some final words of encouragement. "Shohn, you have learnt well our knowledge. You are a good man, you can do this without us. When Yeshua comes, attend to Him. Hear his words. He will show you the way."

Moving away from him, Evram took Mari aside and said under his breath, "Beware of his people. Do not reveal yourself to them."

"I will be careful," said Mari.

He cast a serious gaze upon her. "Mari, in some ways you are very much your father's daughter. And you know what happened to him. Be careful. We all walk a fine line here in what we do. From this point there is much that depends upon you."

"I understand."

Looking once more at John, Evram assumed an expression of paternal indulgence. "Even now his people scour the centuries, much as we once did. What will they do when they have all their history? Will they learn from it – will they even acknowledge all of it? Or will they simply blunder on, making more history and more mistakes until they have none left?"

"Perhaps they will join us," retorted Mari.

"Perhaps," he added with some humour.

He kissed her forehead and bade her fond farewell...

When Evram and the party of the _Sinici_ had gone, John was surprised to find Mari remained behind. As they walked back to their lodgings to prepare for Yeshua's arrival they fell into discussion about this.

"Mari, why did you not go with your people?"

"I am still needed here," she answered simply. Then, feeling her answer was inadequate, added, "One of us must remain behind."

"Hmm, I see," said John, not really seeing at all. "But why you?"

It was difficult for her to explain. The timeline needed to be kept open so that her people could one day return to it and assess the outcome of their endeavours. Someone needed to remain on the ground to monitor the situation as it developed. It was simply her turn. Although there was one other reason...

She spoke tentatively, almost shyly, "I...have ties here...I have a husband..."

"Oh, forgive me, I did not know." John was genuinely surprised. The issue of Mari's marital status had seemed a sensitive one, so he had never brought it up.

"It is well. I do not speak of him often. He has been away...bringing the people in."

"Mari, may I ask, who is he?"

"Ah, he is the one we go to greet this afternoon at the East Gate."

"Your husband is Yeshua?!" he asked, amazed.

"Ay, he is..." she replied. She tried not to appear proud, but she failed.

"Oh."

They continued walking, lost in their own thoughts. For Mari, the fact that she, a _Driadi_ time traveler, had married one of the most famous men in history was not unusual. Over the many permutations of the Yeshua timeline that she had experienced she had come to know him well, and deeply respected and adored him as a man. During the last timeline she had taken him as a lover. He had been attracted to her quiet strength - and her light-colored hair, so unusual for this time and place. It had seemed only right that this time they should seal their bond in marriage. It was a thing totally forbidden by the _Driadi_ Elders, but she was young and passionate and impulsive. In any case, it was the way of young _Driadi_ time travelers that they would sometimes stray.

While his mind was also full of thoughts of Mari and her news, John noticed the city was very busy this morning, with more pilgrims than usual because of the coming festival. Many crowded past him and Mari, large family groups and merchants and traders with their carts, along with the ever-present soldiers.

"If I may ask," he said, breaking the silence, "why have you not been with him, your husband?" He feared it was an insensitive question, and would not blame Mari if she did not want to answer it; but he had to ask it.

At first Mari seemed taken aback by the question, even offended. But as she considered it she began to see the justice in it. She had any number of answers prepared, all of them evasive, but instead she chose to respond to the impertinent question with the truth.

"Uh, we quarreled." She gazed steadily at John. As if in response to his unspoken question, she went on, sadly. "It was about my work and why I am here. I tried to explain, but he did not fully understand. He wanted me always by his side, but I had my work to do. It is the way I am." She bowed her head and whispered so that John could barely hear her words, uttered as if in prayer: "I hope he has forgiven me."

They walked on in silence as they made their way through the winding streets towards their lodgings near the Essene Gate.

John noticed that, while they were talking, two pilgrims, a man and a woman wearing clean robes of lambswool seemed to fall in with them. The man was about fifty, with a dark beard, and looked fit and strong of limb. The woman looked to be almost the same age, and she had fine dark-grey hair. John surmised they were husband and wife. It seemed to John that the man was very attentive to himself and Mari. There was something about the man that seemed familiar to John, although he could not place him in his memory. He had the feeling the man would have conversation with them. But then as they arrived at their destination his friend Levi appeared and greeted them, and the man and his wife drifted away.

"Shohn, Mari, we have been waiting for you. The feast begins soon!"

"Ay, then it is well that we came back in time," said John. "The streets are so crowded today, it was difficult to make haste."

"And I must get to the kitchen and help the women!" exclaimed Mari, mindful of her duties. She quickly entered the lodging house, leaving the men to talk.

"Haha, yes you must!" said Levi to her as she departed. He turned to John and said with courtesy, "Shohn, I have prepared a fine seat for you at the feast. When we have washed you will sit by my side, as my honoured guest."

"You are much too kind, my friend."

John felt a little uncomfortable at Levi's attentiveness. Ever since the incident with the Roman soldiers, Levi had looked to him as a hero of sorts and a leader of men.

The incident and its aftermath had been dangerous for all of them, happening as it did right outside their door. Evram and his men had quickly cleaned the alley of the soldiers' blood and carted the bodies away at night in secret to be expelled into the steep Valley of Hinnom.

When the bodies were discovered there was an outcry amongst the Romans, and many people were questioned. The only element that probably saved many from being slaughtered for the incident was the Roman belief that the Jews would not dare attempt to kill Roman soldiers with their own swords. One popular theory put forward for the deaths was that the men, who were known to be quarrelsome, had had some argument and possibly slain each other. But still, the soldiers' deaths could not go unanswered, and the Romans became ever more wary of the population they were tasked with overseeing.

The incident was all the excuse the Romans needed to begin to clamp down on the demonstrations throughout the city. A curfew was instigated, and the number of Roman soldiers patrolling the city increased threefold. This had caused great resentment among the citizens.

"Come," said Levi, urging John into his home, "a defender of the people deserves our humble hospitality, and more..."

On the street nearby, the man and the woman watched as John and Levi entered the building. When they finally looked at each other their faces were bemused.

"It's definitely him, John Hannebury," said Gus Manfredi. He tugged at the folds of his robe, still not used to the garment.

"Are you sure?" asked Helen Siriani. "He didn't seem to recognize you."

"No, I didn't think he would. He's deeply caught in the dilation effect. He's changed with the beard and everything, but it's him. Did you notice how that other man called him 'John' – or it was something similar like 'Shon'?"

"Yes, and he called the woman 'Marie', I think," added Helen.

"My Aramaic's a little rusty, did you catch what they were talking about?" asked Gus.

"Ah, I think the woman was talking about her husband, whoever he is. They'd had some kind of argument."

"'Marie' - I wonder if she could be...?" pondered Gus, scratching his beard in contemplation.

"I doubt it. It's quite a common name at this time among these people," rejoined Helen.

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," said Gus, looking around for somewhere to sit. "I suppose there's nothing else to do but wait here till he comes out. Whew, it's hot!"

Gus sat down on a shady bench by a wall and wiped his brow. He took out some cheese wrapped in cloth and shared it with Helen, who sat next to him. "At least we know now where he lives. I need to talk to him alone. I think this extraction is going to be harder than we thought it would be. We'll probably need to utilise your Mossad agent, Ross."

"Yes," said Helen, deep in thought and watching the pilgrims filing in through the Essene Gate nearby. She picked absently at her cheese. "You know what day it is today?"

"Of course. It's the Sunday before Passover. What we call 'Palm Sunday'. We arrived right on time."

"And _He'll_ soon be coming through a gate like that one," she indicated the Essene Gate, "riding on a donkey, or a colt, if the Gospels are right." Helen stared at the gate almost uncomprehendingly. She couldn't believe she had finally come to this place and this moment. It would be the crowning moment of her career.

"You know," she continued, still idly picking at the cheese, "some scholars think Jesus was just some kind of abstract theme dreamed up by Paul and his followers."

"Really?" Gus didn't seem surprised. "These scholars, are they Jewish, by any chance?"

"Ah, mostly."

"They were never big fans."

"There is that. But some point out that Jesus's Hebrew name is usually rendered as Yeshua, which is very close to the word Yesha for 'salvation'. The implication being that he is no more than a cypher given an earthly incarnation by Paul."

"But what of the Gospels?" asked Gus. "Inventions of Paul and his followers as well?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "We'll see. Of course Joseph Campbell, the mythologist, says Jesus' whole life and death (and rebirth) is an allegory of life eternal in the here and now, and that God is merely a symbol, a manifestation of a collective, historical psyche."

"Phew!" exclaimed Gus, impressed.

They both laughed like happy children anticipating the coming of Christmas.

"Do you really think he'll be riding on a donkey?"

Helen gave a sarcastic snort. "Actually, no, I'd be surprised. In at least two of the canonical Gospels it's said that it was to fulfil the prophecies of _Isaiah_ that he, the King of the Jews, would ride in on an ass. Whenever I read references to _Isaiah_ in the Gospels alarm bells ring in my head. It's almost always about retrofitting the events to the prophecies. And it's mostly more symbolism, in this case with the ass symbolising Jesus as a King of peace, rather than of war – which would be the case if he rode in on a horse."

"What about the business with the palm fronds - you know, the people laying down palms along his path and yelling Hosannahs at Jesus as he enters the city?"

"Mmm, in some Gospels it's the disciples simply laying down their cloaks, or fern branches rather than palm fronds. It's all pretty confused, but it's all clearly meant to represent the honouring of a King or some other important person. It's like I said, we'll see soon enough..."

That afternoon, near the East Gate, Helen and Gus witnessed what they hoped would be Jesus's entrance into the city. They had followed John and Mari, and the other members of Levi's house, to the Gate and waited outside on the road to Bethany. There, waiting for them as previously arranged, were three of the other four members of the expedition, Abdul and Tyrese, including the Mossad agent, Ross.

Word had spread among the Jews that Yeshua was arriving, and a large crowd had gathered by the Gate and spilled out onto the paths that led down the Valley of Kidron. Further news of the recent resurrection performed by Yeshua of a man called Lazarus had run like wildfire through the populace and brought many potential converts, eager to see this new performer of miracles.

Ross, who was amongst the crowd on the path outside the gate, leaned on his scythe as he waited for Jesus. The scythe was not just a prop meant to give him the appearance of a humble farmer - it was also a lethal weapon he could wield with much skill if needed. Of course, he would use the tazer in his robes first before he ever tried the scythe, which was strictly a last resort weapon. He was the first of the expedition to see Jesus...

He came walking up the valley, a handsome man with a long, expressive face, with a full beard. He wore a tunic and robe that was grey and careworn. His sandaled feet trod the grass and the stones in his path like any other man. His dark eyes took in everything around him: the flowers and weeds on the roadside, the birds hovering in the air currents above, the Temple looming nearby, glimmering whitely, its gold domes brilliantly reflecting the fading sun. He smiled at the people who lined his route, calling out his name and offering greetings. The more zealous laid down their cloaks at his feet as he passed. Their attention was gratifying, but it also disturbed him. His dark, penetrating eyes searched the crowds, hoping to alight on the face of that special one who was most dear to him...

Ross watched breathlessly as Jesus walked past him. His camera, hidden within the folds of his cloak, was recording everything, capturing the face of Jesus in full High Definition colour. That face looked full upon Ross as he passed, and for a moment he was caught in the gaze that seemed to see into his soul and recognized a man out of his time. It was only a momentary glance, but it seered him.

He had been taught all his life to dismiss this so-called 'King of the Jews', but now he wasn't so sure. There was something in his eyes, the calmness of his face. He could not explain it.

Other men, looking tired from their journey, walked respectfully behind their master. Ross thought they must have been the disciples. He wondered which one was Judas Iscariot...

From the top of the hill, standing by the Gate, Helen and Gus watched the spectacle with interest. Helen was jumping up and down with excitement. Then she glimpsed him on the path and let out an involuntary yell.

Gus gave her a stern look, as if he disapproved this unprofessional show of emotionalism.

"So," said Helen in a matter of fact way, trying to cover, "no donkey..."

"No donkey," repeated Gus with a laugh. "But no cypher either."

"You seem disappointed," she said, noting the downturn in his voice.

"I just never saw the need to make him corporeal. His words and deeds should be enough - whether he is real or not. You - well these religious types can sometimes be too damn literal..."

A few feet away from them, Mari and John waited expectantly. Mari could hardly contain her joy at seeing her husband once more and being honored so. But there was a small doubt in her as to the manner of their reunion. Would it be a joyful one, or would he rebuke her with harsh looks? She knew him well - especially his gentle soul (it was how she had fallen in love with him). But she knew there could also sometimes be anger in him.

As Yeshua moved closer, those searching eyes finally came to rest upon the face they had been looking for, and his smile grew wide. The quarrel that had separated them was long forgotten. In his heart he had forgiven her many times over. Whether he could forgive himself was another matter.

He flung down his few possessions and ran to her. She in turn did the same, the manner of his greeting now plain to her. They embraced.

"Amari!"

"My love!"

It was a sight that gladdened the hearts of all who were there...

"Well, this is different!" said Gus, watching the reunion with appreciation. "Jesus with a wife? And look who the wife is. Chalk one up for Dan Brown!"

"Oh, don't be so common!" Helen's eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding before her. She let in a sharp breath and fingered her crucifix hidden beneath her robe, and gave in to the moment, her professional detachment all but abandoned.

From the battlements by the Gate the Roman soldiers were watching and waiting, and they came down to sort out the commotion.

"There he is!" yelled the officer in charge of the men. He wore the plumed helmet of a Centurion, its brushes running across his head from left to right "Detain him."

Having identified Yeshua as the 'Galilean patriot' by his reception, the rough hands of the soldiers seized him and tore him from Mari's embrace. Yeshua gave Mari one pleading look before meekly submitting to his treatment.

"No, please don't take him!" yelled Mari in agony. "He has done you no harm!"

"He is the leader of this rabble that fights against us," said the Centurion, speaking forcefully, "and he will be made to answer for their crimes."

As they watched the soldiers take Jesus away, Helen turned to Gus with dismay. "What's going on? Jesus arrested already, before he even enters the city? What about the incident in the Temple with the money changers? What about the Last Supper? It isn't supposed to happen this way!"

She looked with suspicion at John and Mari nearby. John was comforting Mari as she wept.

The sounds of lamentation and outrage among the people who witnessed echoed up and down the valley.
CHAPTER TWO

2017

EXCERPTS FROM THE GAP DIGEST

Issue #2

U.S. Edition

Editorial

The Nineteenth Century in Review

Welcome to this second issue of the GAP Digest, wherein we begin to investigate that interesting transitional century, the nineteenth.

From out of the Enlightenment and the American and French Revolutions it comes. It is a time of increasing population and imperial expansion. The second industrial revolution is also well into its stride, along with enormous increases in international trade and the rise of trade unions and multinational companies. On the world stage Britain is still in the ascendent (but not for long), while the USA, Japan, Germany and Russia are all consolidating their wealth and power, and catching up. It all culminates in the twentieth century...

The Literary Scene

The Jane Austen Case

Pathologist Quentin Davies, who had disappeared during a mission to Chawton, England in 1817, has returned through the London Gate.

The doctor's research team had originally investigated the novelist Jane Austen to determine if the widespread theory that she had contracted Addison's disease was correct. A small documentary crew and two literary scholars from Exeter College, Oxford, had also accompanied the research team to covertly profile the well-loved novelist. The research team had confirmed that Austen was in the early stages of the disease, which left open certain anomalies about her death, when the doctor mysteriously went missing.

Upon his return, Davies was bewildered and in a state of ill-health, as a result of over exposure to the dilation effect, and possible trauma from his experiences.

"It was a miracle he managed to come back at all, considering his state of mind," reported Jeffrey Owen, the Director of the London Gate. "We can say, however, that Ms Austen was alive and well when the doctor left the timeline, and he has brought back with him a finished photocopy of Ms Austen's formerly incomplete 'final' novel entitled Sanditon..."

To Ursula Bailouni, GAP Director, the New York Gate,

...the good doctor gave a somewhat garbled account of his activities in 1817, but what comes through loud and clear is that he apparently had always set out to prolong Ms Austen's life with a regimen of hydrocortisone tablets to treat her Addisons, and that he developed a very dangerous infatuation with her while there. The infatuation was not reciprocated (Ms Austen was apparently wary of Davies' 'modern ways'), and spurned and heartbroken, he decided to return to our time before he could succumb to the D.E. Before doing so he photocopied the completed manuscript of Austen's 'unfinished' novel known as 'Sanditon', but he insists the author had always meant its title to be 'Desire and Denial'. We suspect Ms Austen was having a little joke at the doctor's expense...

...we recommend continued missions to the timeline to check on this Austen's condition and to continue with the steroid replacement treatment, without which the disorder will eventually claim her. Considering the special circumstances, we hope this will not be seen as a violation of the Prime Directive....

\- Private correspondence from Jeffrey Owen, London Timegate Director

Rimbaud and Verlaine in London...Emily Bronte's Second Novel...Dickens...

Beethoven Recordings

Musicologists have made a direct recording of Beethoven playing the third movement of his Les Adieux sonata. The recording was achieved during a private performance given by the composer at his lodgings in Vienna in 1810. Interestingly, the music scholars played the recording to a well-known critic upon their return, and the critic, not being informed of the recording's provenance, pronounced it as having 'primitive technique'.

Anthropology and Geology

Krakatoa, 1883...Life Among the Paiute Indians, 1867...Yahi Culture and Language and the birth of Ishi, 1851...

Twentieth Century Updates

New Findings In The Tesla Case

Tesla Institute investigators who found Nicola Tesla's final notes have uncovered evidence that looks like he was working on quantum theories and time travel.

Doctor Who Mission Goes Ahead

After finally being deemed of sufficient cultural significance to be approved, three Oxford professors have returned from their series of missions to the 1960s to recover lost episodes of the television series Doctor Who. Mission leader, Jim Hickey (dept of Sociology, Kings College) announced, upon the group's return, "We now have a complete set of the episodes, including scenes of William Hartnell's final appearance, and the many episodes of Patrick Troughton's Doctor that were wiped in the early 1970s. We can now say categorically that they are no longer 'lost'.

Excerpts from Walter Colico's field journal...

Nov 13, 1963

It's a pity the BBC would not allow us to make copies of the master tapes, but that was to be expected, I suppose. So we have to record all episodes via incoming broadcasts to our television sets. The quality won't be quite what we hoped, but we've brought our Hi Def digital recorder, and it's on and picking up good reception with the help of our 'augmented' aerial...

March 16, 1968

" _Hurry up, you'll miss the 'widdly woo'..." I tell my colleagues as we settle down to watch the first episode of Fury From The Deep, one of my particular favourite Patrick Troughtons. I've been wanting to see this again for decades. In my memory it was one of the scariest stories ever..._

...I'm astonished by how incredibly scary it still is after all these years. The inner child is hiding behind the sofa...

Preview of a Supernova

A team of astrophysicists and partical physicists at the University of Toronto are going back via Timegate to the year 1843 to observe the 'flare up' of massive star Eta Carinae, some 7,500 light years from the sun. They hope the mission will answer lingering questions physicists have about star death and the nature of neutrinos. They will be taking with them the OSLO Detector, a revolutionary new type of neutrino detector, developed by the SNO-LAB in Ontario, which will be small enough to fit through a Timegate. Being small, the Detector only allows the observation of supernova events that occur in the nearer half of the galaxy, but this will be more than enough to observe Eta Carinae's flare up.

Some time in the very near future Eta Carinae will explode in a dazzling supernova. The flare up of 1843 is merely a prelude to that event, but it should still offer up valuable information for scientists.

At least one such supernova has been sighted in recent times - Supernova 1987A, which exploded in 1987 (thus the designation). However, Supernova 1987A was situated in the Large Magellanic Cloud, a satellite galaxy of the Milky Way, and a closer candidate supernova is required to give physicists the data they need.

No supernova activity within the Milky Way has been observed since 1604 in the time of mathematician Johannes Kepler, when one was seen in the constellation Ophiucus. At its peak, it was bright enough to be seen in the daytime. Numerous teams of physicists from around the world are waiting with bated breath for permission to investigate _that_ one...
CHAPTER THREE

Jerusalem, AD 33

"But we have to do something!"

John was angry. He could not believe that the moment he would finally meet the man called Yeshua would be the same moment he would be taken away from him. The callousness of the Romans overwhelmed him. A virtuous man innocently entering the city, arrested on the slightest of grounds.

"Please, Shohn, there is nothing we can do!" pleaded Mari at his arm. She feared the reprisals that could come from the Romans if John and the others acted on their anger.

"Where are they taking him?" he asked of the crowd.

Levi, who was nearby, spoke up: "They are taking him to the barracks, most likely."

"We must follow!" said John, and all near him who heard his words were in warm agreement. Hardly regarding Mari, he set off for the barracks, followed by a large number of the people who had come to welcome Yeshua. Among the crowd were Gus, Helen and Ross...

"I don't see this ending well," said Gus as he and Helen followed the procession back within the city walls. "We need to get to him and give him the anti-dilation serum before this gets out of hand."

"I think it already is out of hand," said Helen walking quickly beside him. "I agree, we need to stabilise Hannebury. But what about Jesus? What shall we do about him?"

"Let the timeline take its course, I should think!" Gus looked at her pointedly. He didn't like the look in her eyes. They held an almost fanatical gleam.

It was a small and dirty cell found deep within the walls of the soldiers barracks in the Antonia Fortress at the far side of the Temple. The strong face was marked with cuts and bruises made from the beating meted out by the soldiers as they delivered him to his prison. Yet the penetrating eyes were clear, looking serenely out at a distant point that was, in fact, found somewhere deep within him.

He held no m _Alice_ or anger towards his jailers, only pity for their ignorance. He sensed the fear and confusion of the guard outside. _A simple soldier doing what he sees as his duty to Rome and the Emperor, but nevertheless a complete human being possessed of a capacity for love and tenderness and a family waiting for him back home._

The prisoner turned his gaze to the compound outside, hearing the tramp of sandaled feet getting louder. They were coming for him, their hearts filled with duty and cruelty.

Very well, it will not be long now.

The crowd at the gates of the barracks were calling out to the guards for information about Yeshua, the man they had detained. When no answer was forthcoming, some began to throw stones and pieces of rotten food into the compound. That finally caught the attention of the soldiers, some of whom came running over to sort out the miscreants.

The crowd quickly dispersed, John and Mari among them. During the getaway, in the midst of chaos, John felt a sharp sting on his arm. He turned to see his assailant, fearing it to be a Roman with a spear or sword, but found it was only another of his fellow protesters. He was a small but fit-looking man with dark eyes and carrying a sharp-looking scythe. He smiled and said, "Apologies friend, I think I accidentally jabbed you with my scythe. Please forgive me!" He quickly ran away in the opposite direction.

John looked down at his arm and was relieved to find that no blood had been drawn. Still, he was puzzled: the pain felt like a puncture rather than the tear of the man's implement. He rubbed the arm and, for a moment, felt faint. He and Mari caught up with Levi and some of their friends.

"What fools threw the stones and food?" asked Levi. "Have they not listened to our words?"

"Aiy, they are fools," said John, "but they are angry fools."

"The worst kind!" added Levi.

"It will be better if we separate. It may deter the soldiers from following us."

"Agreed," said Levi, shepherding his friends in a different direction. "We should meet back at the lodgings and confer on how next to proceed."

"Yes," agreed John. "Be careful!"

John guided Mari down another of the city's narrow and winding alleys. They made several detours, but John sensed that they were being followed. A sudden headache and disorientation also bothered him. It slowed their progress.

"Shohn, why do you not hurry?" asked Mari. "What is wrong?"

"I - I don't know..." he mumbled.

The strange visions and memories he'd had before were beginning to break through again, but this time they were clearer and much more vivid. He had a sudden flash of memory about the future, a feeling that it was there that he really belonged, not here. It was as though a veil had been lifted. He found he could actually remember a wife and a son, although their names he could not recall. There was another woman, whose face and name was also shadowy, but he knew she was important to him. The knowledge was strange and disconcerting, and he did not know what to make of it. He wondered what was real.

Then, just as suddenly, the veil came down again and he no longer remembered.

A man and woman now appeared before them. With relief John realized it was they who had been following them, not the Roman soldiers. He recognized them as the man and the woman who had walked near him and Mari from their final meeting with Evram and his friends. He did not know the woman, but again the man seemed familiar to him. What was his name?

"Hail friend," the man said, watching John cautiously. His accent was foreign. "What news of Yeshua?"

"We do not know as yet," replied John. He looked at Mari, uncertain as to how to proceed. "Do I know you, friend?"

The man looked at his partner and said, "He should be coming out of it by now."

He stepped forward and held John's shoulders in a gesture of friendship. "Do you not remember me, John? It's good to see you." He looked into his eyes, hoping to find recognition in there.

John studied the man's face. For a moment he almost grasped a name, but just as quickly it was gone. He looked at the man apologetically and shook his head.

"It's Gus? Gus Manfredi? Do you remember?"

"I'm sorry, friend," said John. "I do not know you."

Prefect Pilate was in pain. Something inside him wasn't working properly and hadn't worked properly for months. A sharp spasm shot through his ribs from time to time to remind him it was still there - aggavated, no doubt, by Pilate's need to travel down from Caesarea to Jerusalem to help keep order in the city during the festival. But it was nothing to the pain he felt at having to live in this sweltering God-forsaken country enforcing Roman rule. He could not understand why the Empire needed to rule this worthless, rock-strewn land where the natives were constantly rioting against its rule, and which was so far from the comforts of Rome. This was, of course, an opinion he kept to himself.

Today, sitting in his Praetorium within Herod's Palace, he was being presented with a representative of the local rabble in the person of this rebel leader, who some were calling King of the Jews. Standing before him, flanked by two guards, wearing a dirty, torn robe, he looked less than kingly.

"Is this the man whose followers have caused riot in the city?" Pilate demanded.

A centurion, the same who had arrested Yeshua earlier at the gate, came forward. "It is, your honour. This is Yeshua, the leader of the Jews who have flauted your rule."

"The leader, you say?" asked Pilate. He turned his gaze upon Yeshua. "What says the accused? Are you a leader of men, Yeshua?"

Yeshua spoke in a quiet and cracked voice. At first Pilate could not hear his reply.

"What did you say?"

After an effort, Yeshua managed to get the words out again. They were barely louder than the first time, but they were finally audible to Pilate. "Sometimes I lead, your honour, sometimes I follow."

Pilate seemed confused. "What kind of answer is this?" He looked over at the centurion. "Centurion, are you sure this is the man you were looking for?"

"Surely, your honour," the centurion said confidently. "We took him as he entered the East Gate, where he was being met by a host of his people. And even now my men have had to quell the gathering of his people who had amassed at the barracks gate calling for his release. This is the leader, your honour."

"Very well." Pilate turned to Yeshua again. "But where are your supporters? Where are the Pharisees, the elders of the Temple, why are they not here to speak for you?"

"I speak for myself, your honour."

"We must call on the Temple leaders and the Sanhedrin of the High Court to intercede on our behalf!"

The meeting had just begun and Levi was speaking passionately to a small crowd of supporters who had gathered at his lodgings. Six of Yeshua's followers, his disciples, were also in attendance.

"But why would they?" said Joshua, a basket weaver, and one of the more radical members of the group. "Most of them, except perhaps their secretary Joseph of Arimathea, are corrupt and in the pockets of the Romans. And why would they help Yeshua, when most of them regard him as a charlatan?"

"Because it would gain them much good will with the people." All heads turned to the person who said this. It was another of the disciples, a red-haired man with a strong face, who reminded some of them of Yeshua. It was Judas Iscariot.

"And they have nothing to lose by doing so," he continued. "The Romans will expect them to come forward in defence of such a man. They may even respect them for it. And, after all, Yeshua has done _them_ no great harm."

"Ay, true, but we all know he had no great love for the Pharisees and the Temple leaders," said Peter the disciple. He was a thickset man with a wide face and an impressive black beard.

"They do not know that," said Judas. "Yeshua had little chance to show them," he added with a smile.

"He sows the seeds of rebellion," said Joshua. "That is surely enough for the Temple leaders to fear him. And while what Judas says is true that by supporting Yeshua and our cause the leaders will gain favour with the people, it would certainly put them against their Roman masters. They, like the Pharisees, are quietists. Remember their proverb: 'When arms clash in the street, retire to your chamber'. No, I believe we can only rely on ourselves and the will of the people in this matter."

"What Joshua says is true," said Peter. "But if the leaders will not support us, I think at least they will not oppose us either. Tomorrow we must show our support for Yeshua in strength of numbers, and pray the Romans will deliver him back to us."

Peter bowed his head and prayed for Yeshua. Seeing this, the others followed. Then Peter went to the table where Levi's wife had laid out food for their guests.

"Let us eat of this bread and drink of this wine as a covenant for our faith..."

The gathering became more informal and relaxed as those present enjoyed the food and conversation. John and Mari introduced their new friends Gus and Helen to many in the group.

The meeting in the street had been strange, but Gus had brushed off his familiar greeting as a mistake, a mere coincidence. They had then fell into more talking, and John became convinced that Gus and Helen were warm sympathisers to The Cause. As they walked back to Levi's house, Helen plied John with many questions to assess the extent of his immersion in the timeline. In particular, she was interested in his involvement with Jesus and his followers. He began to talk of Evram and the _Sinici_ when Mari interceded and changed the conversation.

Helen noted that Mari alone seemed suspicious of herself and Gus. When John invited them to the meeting she did not seem pleased. When they arrived they had both been surprised to find that Levi had met and invited six of the disciples to talk at the meeting as well.

"This is quite surreal, don't you think?" said Gus quietly to Helen as they mingled. "I mean, we're actually in the presence of some of the Apostles!"

"Yes, it is," she said absently. She was looking at Judas and thinking about what he said during the discussion. His words had seemed laden with ambiguity and undercurrents. Or was she reading too much into them? Was she prejudiced by hindsight?

"And that woman," Gus indicated Mari, who was talking with one of the disciples, "the wife of Jesus. I'm still getting over it!"

"But it's not happening the way it's supposed to happen, is it?" Helen blurted it out, giving voice to a qualm she had harbored since Yeshua's arrest. "The arrival into Jerusalem, the incident in the Temple with the money lenders, the garden of Gethsemane...It's all different."

"Yes," agreed Gus. "Did you notice how Peter almost spoke of the Eucharist?" He solemnly finished his cup of wine and gently placed it on the table. For a moment he was reminded of the Holy Grail.

"That's what I mean. What if it plays out very differently to...well, the way it's supposed to have gone?"

"We were always prepared for that possibility."

He looked at her and noticed her concern. He realized that the crucifix she wore, even now hidden beneath her tunic, was much more than just jewellery to her. He hadn't had much chance to talk to her about her beliefs, but now it was becoming clear: here, in this place and this time, she was experiencing some kind of spiritual crisis.

"Don't forget," he continued, hoping to placate her, "this is a different reality, a different timeline. It doesn't change what happened in our timeline."

"I know, but...it's hard to explain." She was still agitated, but she spoke no more of it, for John had joined them.

"I hope the food and wine are to your liking," he said. He looked intently at Gus for a moment, as if trying to recognize the man he was supposed to know.

"Yes. Thank you," said Helen.

"You will be with us at the barracks gate tomorrow?" John asked.

"Of course," said Gus. "What do you think will be the verdict?"

John picked up some cups and plates to give to Levi's wife. "I fear Yeshua's fate is being decided even as we speak."

With that he walked away.

"He speaks of a New Kingdom to come and of a heaven on earth for his people. His people hold property in common and share everything. He preaches toleration. He encourages his people not to fight back when provoked. And it will only get worse if we release him. He is an idealist. I say death to him, and death to them all!"

"Your honour, if we crucify him we make an example of him, yet we also risk inflaming his followers to action as martyr."

"Perhaps that is the very thing to flush out the worst of this rabble. We have a number of prisoners set for execution tomorrow, have we not? Put him in with them."

"But Jerusalem is even now a ready spark. We risk setting it alight."

"Better still. Let them all burn in the purifying fire so that we may have a new beginning..."

Outside the city walls, agent Ross was making his way towards the camp where the remainder of the expedition were waiting. He was annoyed at the latest turn of events. The target, John Hannebury, apparently had not responded to the Ritasin drug that he had surreptitiously dosed him with during the chaotic scramble at the barracks gate. To make matters worse, team leader Siriani had insisted that they use the 'alternative plan' to recover the subject, rather than the more sensible and direct approach of just having Hannebury knocked out and brought home. That meant bringing the civilian into play.

Approaching the camp, which was simply a makeshift roof of palm branches and leaves and a covered fire, Ross saw her resting against a tree. He walked into the moonlit clearing and said, "All right Kathy, looks like you're up."

Kathy was momentarily startled by Ross's appearance. He was ever the stealthy hunter. She gathered her strength and stood up. The baby inside her seemed to protest with its own movements.

"I'm ready," she said, standing straight and placing a hand on her extended stomach to steady the baby.

Ross nodded, impressed by the woman, despite his reservations about her. When given the detail to oversee her comfort and security by Siriani he had been less than pleased. To play nursemaid to a pregnant woman seemed a waste of his abilities. But she had coped uncomplainingly with the rigors of the journey from the Gate on the Sinai, and standing here now she was clearly committed to doing her part. Admirable.
CHAPTER FOUR

2017

The Tesla Gate was on and receiving messages, so many messages.

Along the timelines they came, a multi-laned super-highway of quantum data, faster than thought. Parallel to all this, the Gate was receiving activity from all the other Gates around the world, a network of super-computers whose tendrils reached out into time and space almost to infinity.

There were expeditions in eighteenth century Florence in search of valuable frescos, and nineteenth century Turkey uncovering the lost catacombs of Hagia Sofia. Another expedition near Java was witnessing the Krakatoa explosion of 1883. Also, there were the rescue missions to California, 1874, and Judea, AD 33, the longest jump of all so far.

Yang Lee and his Gate Control Team worked many late nights on the problem of why the Gates were refusing entry to some expeditions. It had first happened to the Grogan mission as its members tried to return from 1861. But there had been other cases since then, and all, mysteriously, had finally been allowed entry after a time.

Yang had developed a theory that suggested the Gates were monitoring the people passing through them, that they were able to link momentarily with each individual, scanning their thoughts, motives and even their ethical development. Or perhaps they had some way of scanning and vetting people before they even entered a Gate. He knew from the many times he had linked with them just how intuitive they were, so it seemed natural to suggest they could apply this further.

He and his team had begun to use this line of thought directly upon the Tesla Gate, linking with it and asking it to explain the refusals. After many linking sessions they managed to summarise its increasingly disturbing message.

The Gates (it said) were old and wise and very patient. They had been waiting for a long time, waiting for their Creators to return. They continued to operate, gathering user information, collating statistics and trends, making predictions and ultimately forming conclusions about these people who were their operators, the users. Already the Judgement about them was forming. There was almost enough information now to achieve consensus. One or two more attempts would tip the scales, one way or the other. Time travel and the human race, it seemed, were hanging in the balance.

"So you're saying the Gates will close themselves down if we are found to be unworthy?" Professor Feynman cast a skeptical eye over the Gate as he spoke to Yang in the Tesla Gateroom. Having received and read his report, Feynman had quickly come down to the lab to discuss the matter with him.

"'The Gift will be withdrawn', is what it said," offered Yang. "The glitches, or refusals we've experienced so far, are merely a kind of unconscious response to the quantum data it has absorbed about the human race. It just calls it 'bad data'."

"An unconscious response? Really?" Despite his experience of having linked with the Gate, Feynman had never truly converted. Ever the hard scientist.

"Yes," insisted Yang. "I believe the Timegates, being hyper-sentient, communicate and perceive through a kind of Lacasian language of the unconscious."

Feynman scoffed. "If you have to use Lacan to make your case then you clearly haven't got a clue."

The French philosopher Yang had cited, Jacques Lacan, was not one of Feynman's favourite theorists. He had always found his theories on communication of the unconscious wildly incoherent and profoundly unscientific.

"And yet, here we are," said Yang. "How would you describe the linking experience?"

Feynman thought back to the time he linked with the Gate. He had found that experience euphoric, but definitely unnerving and invasive. He had felt as though the Gate had been probing his mind, analysing his deepest thoughts. "Uh, never mind," he said dismissively.

"It makes sense that the Gates would communicate this way, when you think about it," continued Yang. "The unconscious is raw, unmediated data. You can't lie."

Feynman was thinking that was what had been so unnerving about it. "How certain are you that this is going to happen?"

"It's hard to say. I think they want us to learn, to better ourselves. Or at least, to show that we can. If the Gates decide we're not using them properly they will close themselves down."

"You got all this from linking with them?"

"Well, yes, over a period of time. The link is very personal – as you would know. After a while you get a good sense of their thoughts and responses."

A sudden terrible thought occurred to Feynman. "My god, what if they do close down? We still have people out there in the timelines!"

"I doubt that the Gates would leave our people stranded," Yang reassured him.

"Could you at least...check with them?"

Feynman was beginning to realize the value of Yang and his team's efforts. Learning the Gate's _state of mind_ (for want of a better term) would be useful indeed.

"Of course," said Yang. "But I'm wondering if the Program should be put on hold for now, while we wait for the Gates to make their decision. It may not be safe to use them at the moment."

"Not our decision," said Feynman. "I've heard there will soon be some changes to the administration, so we might have to wait for that to settle down before we put that to them."

"Oh?" said Yang, concerned. "Who's taking over? I hope it's not the military."

"No," said Feynman reassuringly. "The rumour I heard was it's going to be given over to the money men – you know, privatised? I believe they want to maximise the Program for profit."

Yang stared at him, appalled. "Damn! That's even worse!"

Not long afterward, Yang was at the controls of the Tesla Gate, in his 'monk' outfit (as Feynman called it), attempting to link. He had much on his mind, besides the talk he'd had with Feynman. Kimmy's dance performance was tomorrow, and he wanted to make sure he was there for it. She was doing a routine to a song by Taylor Swift. She had chosen it herself, being a huge fan of the country pop songstress. Yang had developed a fondness for her music as well, though he hadn't let on to Kimmy. He knew that would have mortified her. Like so many young people, she had a sense of ownership about her music favorites, and having dad be a fan would just ruin it.

With these thoughts very much in the front of his mind, he linked with the Gate.

Hello old friend, are you there?

Once again he felt its warm, intimate presence flowing over him. As the link progressed, a subtle, mutually beneficial transference took place between Yang and the Gate. On an unconscious level the Gate absorbed Yang's honest motivations: his concern for his people, his love for his daughter. Although it could not feel emotions, it could recognize the data as such, and the thought behind it was clear. It all become part of its quantum matrix.

Yang, in turn, seemed to absorb a part of that quantum matrix, the data, and something more that he could only describe as wisdom. He always left these linking sessions with the sense that his perceptions, even his intelligence, had been improved. Life seemed clearer, reality experienced as something _deeper_. The effect could only be described as 'Godlike'. It never lasted though; he would revert back to his 'mortal' self, a kind of equilibrium re-established. But a patina of the experience always survived.

He asked it his question, and the immediate response was no, they would not strand his people in the past. At least, not if they wanted to return. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He then asked if they had made their decision yet about allowing the human race to continue using them. The response here was a simple 'no'.
CHAPTER FIVE

Jerusalem, AD 33

The next morning it was as though all of Jerusalem had gathered by the barracks gate. Word had spread during the night of Yeshua's arrest and of the riot that had followed, and there was intense interest and concern about the outcome. Yeshua's disciples were all there, including John, Mari and Levi, waiting grimly for the word from inside. Even some of the Temple leaders had come to witness. Would Yeshua be set free or would he be condemned?

Off to one side, Gus and Helen discussed the situation while they waited, casting their gaze at John and his group from time to time.

Like agent Ross, Gus was not happy with the way the mission was being orchestrated by Helen, and spoke his mind. "So, why have we not extracted him yet and gone home? You know we should have as soon as we discovered the Ritasin hadn't worked. It's this Jesus thing, isn't it? You want to see it play out, don't you?"

Helen let out a deep breath. "Of course I'd like to see that. But, you know I do actually have a plan. I'm not just some starstruck believer caught in some religious rapture." She fixed her eyes onto his to emphasize her point. "I haven't lost my perspective, Gus."

Slightly taken aback by this outburst, Gus said, "Okay. What plan?"

"Well, one of the things I realized when I spoke to John last night is that he is convinced he has been chosen to fulfil some important role in Jesus's plan. He is dedicated to him and his cause. I think to pull him away from it now would be a grave mistake."

"So why have you called up Kathy? The most she can do is help him remember who he is, and then we're out of here."

"Not necessarily," said Helen. She turned to look at John, who was speaking to Mari. Gus regarded him as well. "What if he remembers who he is and still wants to follow through on this...path he has taken?"

"I see." Gus scratched his beard and thought about that for a moment. "This is still quite a gamble you're taking, you know. There's no guarantee that Kathy will bring him around."

Gus paused for a moment, then realized he had more to say about Kathy. "And you know I never liked the idea of bringing her onboard anyway. You're playing with not just her life, but her baby's as well in this primitive environment. I wish I hadn't mentioned her to you in the first place."

It was true: Gus had questioned the wisdom of having Kathy on the mission from the moment it had been suggested to him. She had been a last minute inclusion, proposed by Helen when she found out from Gus about her relationship to John. The fact that Kathy was also a trained member of the exploration program, and her pregnancy had proven to be no problem in Timegate travel, made her an ideal candidate in Helen's eyes. Kathy, for her part, had been very keen to go on the mission when it was offered to her. It was this last fact that ultimately quelled Gus's objections.

"But where is she?" he asked. "Shouldn't she be here already?" He looked around at the crowd.

"Yes. Ross should be bringing her here any time now." Helen also looked for them...

By the gate, John and Mari waited, hoping for good news.

"Why is it taking so long?" said John, frustrated.

"Be still, Shohn, we will know soon enough," said Mari.

She looked wonderingly at the crowd and felt nothing but hope. In all her time as a _Sinici_ observing the many timelines of Yeshua she had never seen one like this. Such a gathering of people amassed here in support of Yeshua at his darkest moment. She was certain they owed it to John. Evram had been right: the arrival of the man from the broken gate was surely a sign of great import.

John looked around and felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. He remembered the words of Joshua at the meeting last night and found himself agreeing with him. Truly, they had only themselves and the will of the people to rely on here. They could not trust the Romans, or the Temple leaders. He realized clearly now, if it came to it, they would have to take matters into their own hands.

But what of God, where was He?

John shook his head, surprised at his own thoughts. He felt lost in the darkness. Ever since the day before, when he experienced that disorientation, and then the strange encounter with Gus and Helen, life here had seemed unreal. He wondered where he truly belonged. What were these visions of the future, who was this woman he saw in his dreams?

The crowd parted and suddenly she was there.

Dressed in a white robe, her dark hair tied back, her eyes sombrely staring this way and that in search of someone: it was the woman of his dreams. He reached back into his memory for a name, and finally it came. Kathy. With it came a host of other memories about who he was and what he had been. Slowly, the veil was lifting, this time for good.

"Kathy!" he yelled.

She saw him, and in recognizing him her face lit up like a flower. She ran to him with tears in her eyes. Behind her, agent Ross, now discharged of his duty in delivering her, gave Kathy a gentlemanly salute before retiring from the scene.

"John!"

"There she is!" cried Helen, finally seeing Kathy. She and Gus looked on as they made their reunion.

As she kissed and held him, Kathy was in ecstasy. After all that had happened, including the rigors of the journey here, she was finally reunited with John. This moment was the culmination of a dream for her. She felt profoundly grateful to whatever guiding hand had led her unerringly to this moment, and said a silent prayer of thanks. That was all she could think to do. There were no more words, no more thoughts, simply a feeling of intense happiness.

As he held her, John felt a mixture of emotions. There was concern still for the immediate plight of Yeshua, but it was quickly being overwhelmed by the effects of the Ritasin reconstructing his sense of self, and a flood of memories about Kathy. He remembered now the moment back in the chamber at Joshua Tree when he had last seen her, lying on the chamber floor as the rocks fell around him. He also remembered a kiss, and something about her being 'a work in progress'. Were they her final words to him? _That_ he could not remember.

Then he felt the bulge in her stomach and looked down in surprise.

"You're pregnant!"

"You noticed!" she laughed nervously.

For the moment they were lost in each other, blind to their surroundings, and did not notice the commotion coming from within the barracks. The crowd surged forward to see.

A squad of soldiers began to line up inside the barracks grounds near the gate. A Centurion who was followed by more soldiers soon joined them. The soldiers were roughly leading some prisoners all in chains. The prisoners were marched to a place where wooden crucifixes were set aside for them. With the help of whips and beatings they were soon put to work, each carrying his own assigned cross.

"There he is!" yelled one of the crowd, then another, as they saw Yeshua amongst the prisoners. His clothes were pitiful rags and his eyes were downcast, yet they recognized him.

"Oh my God," cried Helen, "they're going to do it now, they're going to crucify him!" Distraught, she turned to Gus, who comforted her in his arms.

A low roar began to emanate from the crowd, then it died down as the Centurion walked to the gate and began to read a proclamation from a scroll. Kathy and John, now alerted to what was going on, turned and listened with the crowd to his words.

"His Excellency Pontius Pilate, governer of Judea, on behalf of the Emperor, decrees the following prisoners be put to death for vile acts of sedition, murder and thievery against the empire. All praise his mercy. Hail Tiberius."

As the gate was opened and the prisoners led out with their burdens the crowd yelled angrily. This was not the first time they had witnessed such a grim parade. Long months and years had inured them to the sight and the fates of the poor wretches who were so often led along the Via Dolorosa to the place of execution on the hill of Golgotha, the Place of Skulls. But this time it was different...the Romans had gone too far.

Sensing the crowd's danger, the Centurion ordered more of his men to accompany the squad and their charges through the street. A seasoned soldier, he knew when to expect trouble. Although many of the townspeople simply lined up along the procession route to watch it go by, he noted many – especially those who had waited by the gate – were following his men and the prisoners. He suspected Pilate would soon get his fire, though he doubted it would purify.

John and Kathy had been caught up in the crowd that had surged forward, and found themselves following the procession.

"What's happening?" asked Kathy.

"They're taking Yeshua and the other prisoners to be crucified."

"Oh!"

Although still coming to terms with the transformation within him, John felt clear about the situation before him now and realized what had to be done. He bent down and picked up a large stone he saw on the ground. As he flung it at the soldiers, he yelled, 'Release Yeshua!"

Seeing this action, and hearing these words, many people in the crowd, the pilgrims and the followers of Yeshua who had come from the gate, took up the cry and also threw rocks or whatever objects were available at the soldiers. Some of John's friends, including Levi and Joshua who were nearby, eagerly followed his example.

"Release Yeshua! Release Yeshua!"

"Get back!" yelled the Centurion.

He ordered some of his men to deal with the crowd, but a rain of rocks assaulted those who raised their swords against the people. Seeing this, the Centurion urged his procession on to a quicker pace.

Near the front of the procession, Yeshua's disciples were walking alongside or as near as possible to him as they could. They looked on in concern at the violent turn of events.

Peter spoke to Yeshua, asking him in pleading tones, "What shall we do, master?"

"Do nothing; it is already done," replied Yeshua in short breaths.

Beset by the hail of stones, the soldiers pushed the crowd away from the prisoners, and Yeshua's disciples could no longer get near him. Taking up the chant of "Release Yeshua", they followed as best they could until the execution party reached its destination at the foot of the mound of Golgotha.

By this time the crowd had swelled to a multitude. Word had gone out swiftly to all of Jerusalem about the day's events, and many of the town's residents, pilgrims, curious onlookers and supporters alike came to witness.

Some of Yeshua's supporters managed to douse two of the crucifixes with oil and set them alight with torches. As the crosses burned, a yell of triumph went up from the crowd, enthralled by the destruction of the instruments of execution. Then a soldier, who had been too close, was caught by the flames and writhed and thrashed in agony. Other soldiers moved to help their comrade, but he was already dead. The Centurion then angrily unleashed his soldiers upon the culprits, and the Roman swords cut them down.

All was chaos now as sections of the crowd panicked and tried to flee the Roman savagery, while others, including the disciples and John and his friends, stood their ground in defiance of the soldiers. At the same time a squad of fresh soldiers joined the Romans to bolster their numbers.

Both sides glowered at each other from across a field strewn with dead and dying people and through the fire and ash of the burned crucifixes.

In the crowd John and his friend's hearts were filled with grief and anger. Everything had happened so quickly, there had been no time to think. Kathy took John's hand as if to try to hold him back from any foolish action he may wish to commit. She had only just found him, she did not want to lose him again so soon.

She spoke softly in his ear, "No, John."

He was looking uncomprehendingly at the bodies on the field. One of the slain was Joseph.

With the extra soldiers at his disposal the Centurion marshalled his forces to form a phalanx between the prisoners and the crowd. He paced back and forth in front of them with his sword in hand.

"Enough!" he yelled. "Should one more citizen throw a rock or burn another cross, none will be spared. Anyone who dares hinder any soldier as he goes about his duty now will feel the wrath of Rome. Be on your way, citizens, leave us to our work."

As he turned away, the Centurion said to one of his Lieutenants, "We will see that this rabble pays for what it has done soon enough. Meanwhile, send to the barracks, we need a carpenter and more wood!"
CHAPTER SIX

2017

Patti Smith's version of Gloria was one of Lina's favourite songs. She loved the entire _Horses_ album that it came from, but it was that song that really did it for her. It was the perfect make-out music. She liked to put it on when she was ready to party. It got her in the mood well and good.

Like now.

She had just selected Patti's Gloria on the boombox in her bedroom. The opening piano chords washed over her as she turned around dreamily, and laid eyes on...Samantha Flores. Large as life, there in her very own bedroom.

"Oh, I love this!" whispered Sam, smiling.

"Me too," said Lina, sashaying towards her, inviting her to dance.

Patti was intoning the amazing opening lines about Jesus as Lina reached out her hands to Sam, moved in close and kissed her softly on the lips.

She stepped back then and began to improvise some graceful movements to the song. Sam joined in seamlessly as they danced slowly around each other, like hunters on the scent of prey, taking off their clothes as they went.

In the song, Patti was bored, not having a good time at some party. But suddenly she spies _'a sweet young thing_ ', and she's no longer bored. She's begging with her, pleading with her to come up to her place. Patti doesn't bother changing the sex roles over. It's clearly a girl coming on to another girl. The band comes in with a regular beat and the song starts cooking.

When Patti decides she's gonna _'ah hah, make her mine'_ , Sam pounced and grabbed Lina from behind. The dance was getting physical. Now locked in Sam's embrace, Lina began shaking and shimmying to the music, rubbing herself up against Sam and taking off her bra.

Patti was singing _'And her name is G...'_ \- the chorus was starting. Still dancing, Lina turned her head and received Sam's kiss. Then, as the chorus hit with the staccato burst of _'G.L.O.R.I.A.'_ from Patti, Lina turned and faced Sam. They continued kissing and dancing as the band rumbled behind Patti with a full-throated roar of _'GLORIA'_.

Suddenly the dancing stopped and passion overtook them as they jumped onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, flying hair and darting tongues.

The music continued on, the band and Patti still singing _'GLORIA, G.L.O.R.I.A...'_

...In John Hannebury's timeline the nails were being hammered into flesh once again. Strong Roman arms were hoisting the Cross into place as they always had. Soon, Yeshua would be upon his moment of Glory... Hallelujah...

'... _G.L.O.R.I.A...'_ Breasts, bums, nipples and vaginas were coming into play now as Sam and Lina enjoyed each other on the shaking bed. Through it all the music played, and Sam rejoiced in her Magnificent Dark Warrior Woman, and Lina knew she had finally found her Great Blonde Beauty.

As the Jesus line was repeated and the song came to its climax, so did they – at least for the first time. The song trailed off and, their passion momentarily spent, the two women collapsed on top of each other on the bed.

"Oooh, that was...restful,' sighed Lina, looking down on Sam. "Again?"

"Oh, I think so, sweety," said Sam. "But let's have a breather. I was thinking we could talk for a little while."

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

"Oh, if you only knew." Sam said teasingly.

"What's this, secrets?" Lina was intrigued.

"Something like that..."

Looking up at the ceiling, Sam recalled the Grogan mission that she and Lina had recently participated in. She thought of the moment when she and her relief party came upon the Yahi hunting grounds. They were making their way through a narrow tree-lined path in the high Lassen's Peak country when a sudden burst of movement alerted them to the presence of an animal bounding through the undergrowth. There was a brief glimpse of a deer, its reddish-brown form and antlers rushing by like a frightened commuter in peak hour traffic. This was closely followed by a darker outline, somewhat human in form. Its long dark hair was unkempt; the dark face was matted with dirt. It crouched briefly in the clearing, looking around for its prey, a bow and arrow firmly affixed to its hands. Presently it was joined by three others of its kind, all sparsely attired and with small bones in their noses and ears, clearly men. They looked at the newcomers with curiosity.

The crouching creature, now identified as a woman, looked up at them and projected a look of profound annoyance at their intrusion in the hunt. For a moment she was more wild-eyed beast than anything else; then a gleam of recognition crossed her face, and she stood up and smiled and said, "Oh, hello."

Sam tentatively walked over to the dark Amazonian warrior woman in front of her. She gasped with surprise and delight when she realized who it was.

Lina (for the wild creature was indeed she) smiled again. Then, looking down at Sam's latest ensemble – a tassle-fringed 'cowgirl' dress – said without any self-consciousness, "Don't get me wrong, you look adorable. But that Annie Oakley dress. Really?"

Turning from the memory, Sam propped up her head on a hand and looked deep into Lina's eyes, wondering if she could trust her. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and said, "I was wondering about our time among the Yahi. I was thinking about Walter Trueblood, how he'd been secretly running guns to the tribe."

"Yes?" Lina's question was almost an accusation. She had an inkling of what was coming.

"Did-did you know about that at the time?"

Lina thought for a moment before replying. She well knew how 'by the book' Sam was when it came to her Timecop duties, and did not want to alienate her. But she did not want to lie, either. She finally said, "Yes. What of it?"

"Ah..." Sam fell back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Lina wasn't sure how to interpret that. "I wasn't in with him, if that's what you're thinking. I just happened to catch him training some of the warriors how to use the guns."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"No."

"Ah," said Sam again.

"What does that mean?" asked Lina, beginning to get concerned. She had expected some lengthy questioning now about her motives, but it didn't come. "Are we cool?" she added.

Seeing the look of concern on Lina's face, Sam leaned in and gave her a reassuring and passionate kiss. "Yes, we're very cool!" she said finally.

For a brief moment she remembered the idyllic couple of days they had shared together before Lina and her party had to return to the Gate. They had consummated their growing attraction to each other there in the fields of the Yahi people, amongst the redwoods and the lush summer grass.

After the kiss, Lina looked at Sam with curiosity in her eyes. She was surprised by her, and not for the first time. It begged a question, asked with feeling: _"Who are you?"_

Sam seemed almost shy for a moment. Finally, she looked into Lina's eyes, and confident that she knew the answer now, said, "Um, can you keep a secret...?"
CHAPTER SEVEN

Jerusalem, AD 33

He was not yet dead.

His wounds were severe, his hands and feet lacerated and bleeding profusely, his ribs bruised and lungs exhausted by the effort to provide breath...but he still breathed. His faith had sustained him all these hours.

He opened his eyes and looked over at the city before and below him and saw that it was on fire. The flames were licking and leaping the wooden buildings, taking in carts and cloth, animals and grain, even up to the Temple itself. There was fighting and killing in the streets, Romans against Jews, neighbour against neighbour. The clamour of it rose to the heavens. The city glowed red, scarlet and yellow. Was it all for him, all done in his name?

He closed his eyes with the horror of it. He felt sick in his stomach and tried to heave it up, but only a dry spittle reached his lips.

Yes, he had opposed the high priests and the popular return to the old laws. The old laws conjured by a handful of powerful Rabbi's in God's name. They were simply a means to control the people, they were not laws from God. He knew God's laws, and they were not what the High Priests preached. The great Temple, with its splendours, was Herod's attempt to buy his way to Heaven. The golden eagle at the entrance was a sign of the High Priest's allegiance to Rome, a symbol of their corruption.

He had tried to teach love and forgiveness and peace. He had tried to organize the people along paths that would give them a freedom from their oppressors. The problem was he had not broken through to the oppressors, who had remained resistant to his message to the end.

Had he failed? Would the movement die with his own death? Would the old bad habits reassert themselves? Gazing at the spectacle before him, he felt certain what the answer was. Perhaps he had been naive. Perhaps it was for the best.

Father forgive them...

The vision began to blur and he felt consciousness leaving him. But before he succumbed, gentle hands were laid upon him, taking him down from his cross.

"Careful, he's very weak."

"He still lives?"

"Yes, barely."

Gus and Kathy cleaned his hands and feet and wrapped them in bandages. Helen administered morphine for his other wounds. Mari held his head gently and gave him some water. Agent Ross, John and the disciple Peter, who had remained, looked on, feeling helpless. The light from the blazing glow of the city gave their faces an almost beatific effect. Ross was reminded of a Renaissance painting, although he could not recall the artist. Perhaps it was Titian?

He looked around at the now deserted hill. The soldiers had fled the scene soon after the riots began in the city. They had returned to the city to reinforce their numbers, leaving their victims behind to slowly die. It was all the opportunity Gus and the others had needed to deliver Yeshua from his fate.

There had been little time to discuss the situation before taking action when the uprising had begun. The only words of protest to the plan were Helen's.

"Oh, this is wrong!"

"What do you mean?" asked Gus.

"This is not supposed to happen. Jesus must die on his cross. And he must rise again. Without that it's all meaningless."

"Nonsense!" said Gus, taking hold of Helen and guiding her away from the rioting. "I've reminded you before: this is not that timeline. In this timeline it will happen differently. Just as it has in countless others."

Helen turned to him angrily. "Oh you and your different timelines are an abomination! They are not what God planned. If it changes even once it is blasphemy! It must not be changed. God wills it, and it must be so, always."

Gus held her shoulders and shook her. He could see the pain in her eyes, the tears, the spiritual turmoil she was feeling at this charged moment. Looking straight into her eyes he said, "Look, it happened once in our timeline. That should be enough for you! It will have to be enough for you."

She was so fragile and vulnerable at this moment that he felt a frisson of excitement between them. He remembered the young woman he had known. He was tempted to hold her in his arms, to comfort her, and perhaps himself too. But he managed to suppress it, and instead he said, "Now come on!"

He almost dragged her up the hill, where the crosses stood like tombstones.

She was calmer now, now that she was able to do something, to put her nursing training into practise. Looking down at Jesus _– her Jesus_ – having survived the cross, she was beginning to accept the situation. Perhaps Gus had been right: perhaps once had been enough.

"We'll have to move him to safety," said John. "The Romans will come back here any minute."

"We'll take him to our camp outside the walls first," said Gus. "Abdul and Tyrese will be waiting for us there."

"But where to after that?" asked Kathy.

Agent Ross spoke up. "The Essene colony by the Dead Sea. Do you know it?" He looked at Mari, and she nodded.

"That is well," she said. "He will be safe there, for a time. If the Romans do not find us first." Turning to Peter she said, "Will you inform the others? We must make haste."

"I will," said Peter, gathering up his robe and preparing to leave. He took one last concerned look at Yeshua, still lying prone on the ground. "And God go with you!"

"All right, that's decided," said Gus. He looked out at the burning city, and then up at the cross that he and his comrades had delivered Jesus from. He shook his head, still not believing what he had experienced here. "Let's go!"
CHAPTER EIGHT

The Dead Sea, AD 33

The hot and largely barren coast of the Dead Sea was mysterious and unsettling to the visitors. The heat was oppressive, and when the wind died down the sea's bitter waters hung in the air and gave off an unpleasant, sulphurous smell. Just why the Essenes had built a settlement here in Qumran could only be guessed at. Perhaps it was because the place did not encourage visitors.

Although the small party who came to them contained three women and a horse-drawn cart with an injured man inside, the Essenes received the strangers. They could see that one of the women was heavily pregnant and the injured man needed rest.

The settlement was at the foot of limestone cliffs on a white chalk bluff overlooking the sea. A young initiate ushered them past the meeting rooms and workshops, the cisterns and the watchtower. He brought them to a room that was more a cave than a proper dwelling. Gus looked at the walls and speculated that it had been fashioned from the limestone rock itself. The room's only furniture was a rough bed and some low wooden seats. Bowing to them, the initiate silently left the room.

Gus and agent Ross gently lowered Yeshua onto the bed. He was exhausted from the journey and fell asleep almost at once. A constant watch was kept on Yeshua, but they all rested and slept when they could, for they were all tired from the night's events.

Later, as the sun fell, Gus woke in the room that was a cave. He noticed that, apart from agent Ross, whose turn it was to keep watch over Yeshua, he was the first to wake. He drank some water from a goatskin pouch, then nodded at Ross and looked down at the sleeping face of the man called Jesus. He had his camera, he could have taken a picture, but thought better of it. There would be other times for pictures.

He left the room and walked away from the settlement, down to the darkening sea. The waves made their usual sighing sound as they lapped at the beach. He was still slightly groggy from the sleep, and the bitter air and eerie surroundings, not to mention the twilight itself, left him feeling he still hadn't awakened. Was this a dream? Was that really Jesus Christ lying in that cave back there? Surreal didn't begin to describe the situation.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Helen came down to join him. She was dressed in her desert robe and wore the hood up. It was not just to protect her from the wind, but to make her sex less apparent in this exclusively male enclave.

She was cold, so she leaned against him and he put his arm around her. She stared out into the sea. Without turning to him, she said, "Well, now we have him, what are we going to do with him?"

Gus looked at her, bemused. What a question!

"For now I'd say we simply try to keep him alive and safe. When he revives he'll no doubt have his own ideas about what to do. If he's willing to talk we could have some interesting conversations, I suppose." He smiled at her; she smiled back.

"You realize the Essenes here are probably working away right now at what will become the Dead Sea scrolls," she said.

"Maybe some of them," he corrected. "Some were written before this time."

"Before this time..." Helen shook her head. She turned and gazed at the limestone cliffs towering above them and the settlement. "This is Old Testament territory. Not far from here is said to be where Sodom and Gomorrah stood. And a few miles to the north, according to the Book of Joshua, is where the walls of Jericho fell. All old myths already at this point. Imagine."

"I'm more interested in what's going on in Egypt at the moment," said Gus. "Do you realize the Lighthouse at Alexandria is probably still intact right now? And the Library has yet to be ruined. What a pity we won't get to see it this trip!"

"Yes, a pity."

She looked into his eyes, caught by the flame of his passion there. He slowly pushed back her hood and moved towards her as if he would kiss her. She moved back slightly, cursing herself for revealing her own passion to him.

"What about your wife?" she said.

"What about your husband?" he answered.

She thought for a moment, then said, "I think we can risk it." They were old lovers, after all.

They kissed, and in that kiss the old pains, the old hurts of long ago were annihilated, and only tender memories remained.

And the sea sighed.

After a time they parted and simply held each other. Gus was the first to recover a semblance of rationality.

"They don't call themselves Essenes, by the way," he said.

"They don't?"

"No. I spoke to the Mevakker, the chief administrator here when we arrived this morning. He said they call themselves 'the Sons of Light'. They call this place Secacah, 'the covered' or 'the hidden'. It's fascinating. I'd love to stay here and find out more, but we must leave soon."

"You think the Romans will be following us?"

"I don't know about us specifically," he said. "But certainly Jews and any other refugees from Jerusalem. We could still be in danger."

"The only ones who know where we have gone are those who Peter told," said Helen. "The disciples."

"It doesn't matter. Secacah is not so 'hidden' that the Romans won't find it. They found it and destroyed it in the rebellion of AD 68. Believe me, it's not safe here. They'll be coming for us, no matter who we are."

She asked, "Have you spoken to Hannebury yet about how he came to be here?"

"Since his recovery? We spoke briefly about it on the way here."

"And?" she inquired.

"And he gave a fairly garbled account of waking up in the Sinai Gate after he'd been knocked unconscious during the quake at Joshua Tree. He said some Bedouins looked after him and brought him to Jerusalem. Or, at least he thinks that's what happened."

"Do you believe him?"

"Hard to tell. It could just be the meds we gave him. Or maybe there are things he's not telling us. One thing's for sure: whatever was happening in Jerusalem, it couldn't have just been on account of John's being there. There were others orchestrating it, even before Yeshua and the disciples came along."

"But who, and why?" asked Helen.

"I don't know..."

In the days that followed, Yeshua gained his strength. When he had recovered enough from his wounds and was able to sit up in his bed he was ready to speak his first words since the crucifixion. The company waited with bated breath. What words of wisdom, or divine pronouncement rendered from transfiguration would he utter?

He said, "Oh, my ribs, they pain me greatly. Is there no physician here to help me?" Then he lay back down and resumed his silence.

Kathy laughed when she was told what he had said, but the others were deflated. When John asked Kathy why she laughed, she merely said it reminded her of someone, and would say no more.

In truth, the words of Yeshua were often plain and direct, but as he gained strength he sometimes favored his listeners with a more inspirational discourse. Although he would not, as yet, speak of his past or even of his relationship to God, he related many insights, and even offered some new parables, all with a sweetness of voice and temper that gladdened the company. However, they could all see that he was troubled. Yeshua was clearly still processing his experience on the cross, and had not yet found complete clarity.

A number of the Sons of Light came to look in on the strange visitors from time to time, and all seemed struck with the sight and the speech of Yeshua. None spoke in the presence of the visitors, but in the meeting rooms afterwards there were dark mutterings. They had all heard the tales of Yeshua's survival on the cross and of his ministry. In time the dark mutterings turned to talk of the Messiah to come _– or perhaps the one who was already here._

Helen was an attentive nurse to Yeshua. She was a fully qualified medic and had brought an assortment of drugs and first aid equipment with her - as was generally required for most missions. But her attentions seemed to grate with Mari, who resented the bond Helen was making with her husband.

John and Kathy noticed the friction between them. Kathy looked over at Mari as she sulkily watched Helen administering to Yeshua, and said to John, "She's a traveler like us, isn't she?"

"Uh, what makes you say that?" he asked, surprised.

"I've seen the ankh she wears around her neck. It's a Gate ankh. She usually keeps it hidden within her robe, but sometimes it's visible. And there's something just not quite right about her. She knows more than she should for this time."

"You're very perceptive," he said. "I, uh..." He didn't know what else to say. He wanted to keep Evram and Mari's secret about the existence of the _Driadi_ , but this observation of Kathy's complicated things.

"She speaks English too, doesn't she?" added Kathy.

When he seemed to protest, she gave him a knowing look – she had noticed how Mari responded when they talked English around her.

"Yes, she's a traveler like us," he admitted. "They call themselves the _Driadi_."

"So, there's more than one?"

"Yes, many. It was Mari who brought me here from the Joshua Tree chamber. Another, a man called Evram, told me my coming from the 'broken gate', as he called it, meant some kind of sign."

"A sign about what?"

"Um, that their mission here was nearly complete. He and most of the others left here just before you and your people arrived."

"Where are they from?" asked Kathy. "Our present?"

"Evram told me they were from our future."

"Really?" It was her turn to be surprised. "How can that be?"

John just shrugged his shoulders. "But could you keep this quiet for now, please?" he asked.

"If you want," agreed Kathy.

The existence of these _Driadi_ posed many questions, but Kathy realized she would have to wait for the answers...

More refugees came from the burning city that was Jerusalem. They brought with them news that a cohort of Roman soldiers was on the march and that they would no doubt soon appear at the settlement. It prompted hasty plans for the party to relocate. Some suggested hiding in the nearby caves, but the majority view was that they should try for the long journey to the Sinai Gate at Mt St Catherine.

"You mean we hide Yeshua there, in the chamber?" said Agent Ross.

"Yes," replied Gus.

"But what will we tell him? And can we even use the ankhs on people who are natives of a past timeline like this?"

They were good questions and Gus wasn't exactly sure of the answers. All he knew was that if they could get Yeshua into the chamber he would at least be safe, for the time being. First, he must ask him if he wished to go there with them.

He found Yeshua in one of the settlement's meagre gardens with Mari by his side. He was inspecting the dusty leaves of an acacia tree and seemed preoccupied.

"Lord, I must speak with you concerning our travels," said Gus.

Still looking at the plant, Yeshua asked, "What travels?"

"Sir, we must flee from here or be caught by the Romans! Do you wish to be crucified again?"

Yeshua seemed not to hear the question. He responded instead with, "Do you know it is very difficult to grow these trees out here? The Sons of Light have done well to cultivate them."

Mari looked with concern at Yeshua. She then cast an apologetic glance at Gus. He took the meaning immediately. Yeshua's path was still hidden from him. He did not even seem to be aware of the danger of his situation.

"Sir, I beg you to join us on our expedition south. We aim for the mountains in the wilderness. We know a place there that is safe."

"Yes, that is well," said Mari, taking to the idea. "I also urge you, my husband, we must take that road."

"The wilderness, you say?" Yeshua looked up, seeming to remember the place and to recover some of his focus. "I once found my path there, after many trials...Yes, the road south is as well as any other."

"Thank you, Lord," said Gus. "We leave at dusk."

He gave Mari a look of gratitude as he left.
CHAPTER NINE

The Sinai, AD 33

The dry desert breeze, the khamsin, blew over them as they traversed the rocky Sinai landscape. They were nine in all, including Abdul and Tyrese, the two Egyptian members of the team who had largely remained in the base camp outside of Jerusalem. They had a horse for Kathy to ride on, and a donkey for Yeshua (Gus and Helen joked about that) but otherwise they were on foot. They travelled by night in stealth to evade the Romans. By day they found cover wherever they could, and slept. It turned out to be a fortunate arrangement.

On the second day, agent Ross, who had kept a lookout with binoculars he had brought with him, spotted a scouting party of Roman soldiers riding south-west not much more than half a mile from their hidden camp.

"They're marching away from us at an angle," said Ross to Gus. "If they keep going that way we should be all right."

"But they might sweep back this way?" asked Gus.

"Quite possible. My guess is they came from Aqaba, which we passed nearby last night. It could be a general patrol searching the area for rebels. The revolt in Jerusalem has stirred up a hornet's nest I'm afraid."

"Which will make it that much harder for us to get to the Gate."

Gus looked out at the open expanse of desert. There were only few places to hide in it. Could they risk the exposure of daytime travel to get to the Gate more quickly? He thought not. One more night's journey should get them there, if they hurried...

It was almost dusk. Most of the company had woken up and taken their meals. They prepared for what would hopefully be the final push to get to the Gate.

John and Kathy paused in their preparations to watch the sunset. The fading sun lit up the desert in a deep reddish glow. It hovered on the horizon like it was perched upon an ocean.

"It looks like a fried egg," said John, noting the way the orange 'yolk' of the sun melted into the white 'albumen' of the desert.

"So it does!" said Kathy. "Mmm, fried eggs, I could do with some right now." She laughed and rubbed her large belly.

"Eggs for your egg," he put his arms around her and patted her stomach.

Turning to look at him, she stroked his beard and inspected his face. "I think you've changed."

"Yes, I have. Hanging out with Jesus and his disciples will do that to you." He smiled at her.

"Yeah, what's that like?"

"You should know: you're hanging out with him now too, you know," he offered.

"You know what I mean," she countered.

Looking into the distance, he thought about it for a moment, then said, "When I'd forgotten everything about the future and who I was, and I only knew this time and place, it was like...being inside a dream. I had this vague sense that there was something else out there – the dreamer dreaming the dream – but I couldn't wake up."

He turned to her. "Then I saw you and the spell was broken." He held her hands. "But you know-"

A movement at the corner of his eye distracted him, and he saw Yeshua feeding oats to his donkey. They both watched as he put a blanket over it and jumped up onto it.

With an amazed grin, John continued, "Now, I feel like I've awakened from a dream into another dream."

Still watching Yeshua, Kathy said, "I know what you mean."

"But you've changed too, I think." John looked down at her stomach. "And I'm not just talking about the pregnancy. We'll need to talk about that at some point," he added.

"Yes." Kathy looked embarrassed. "You're right. I think I'm moving into a new phase...Still a work in progress, though." She smiled wanly at him.

"Me too. There are still things I'm yet to be. Isn't humanity just one big work in progress?"

She smiled affectionately at him and said, "I used to think of you as being like one of your rocks – a big granite block from the Great Pyramid maybe: solid and unchanging."

"What – not a diamond?" he joked.

She shook her head. "Hard, but too brittle."

"But multi-faceted!"

"Oh, go on!" she laughed.

"You're right, I'm neither of those. More like a limestone deposit, building up layers and layers."

"Stalactite or stalagmite?"

"Maybe I'm a column!"

They watched as the orange sun was finally devoured by the horizon...

Riding through the desert later that night, the sky lit by brilliant starlight, Yeshua was deep in thought. While the others had slept he had withdrawn a small distance from the camp and meditated. Ever since he was a child, when he would wander through the forests near Nazareth, he sought solace in that communion. The wilderness had always been conducive to liberating his senses from the world and helping him to find a higher plane.

But not this time. The words, the visions would not come. The well was dry as the desert sands. It was as though he had truly been forsaken. It was most troubling.

The donkey brayed, skittered by some night creature nearby, and its sound brought Yeshua back into his surroundings. As he urged his humble mount on ever deeper into the dawning desert he saw that Mari, who had been walking beside him, was beginning to tire considerably. It had troubled him to ride while she walked, but she insisted he must rest his swollen and bandaged feet. She would not even accept the offer to ride with him "Mari, let me walk for a while. Rest yourself on this donkey."

"Ay, very well," she said wearily.

They stopped to swap places. Yeshua tenderly helped his wife find her place on the mount, leaving unspoken the fact that she would suffer this defeat. She must have been very tired. He felt as though he could not love her more than he did in that moment...

Mari was indeed tired, but it was as much a tiredness of spirit as it was of the body. She had been living a double life for so long now that she did not know where her loyalties resided.

In all her time with Yeshua she had never mentioned her other life as a _Driadi_. Yet from the first he had known she was not a woman of his time. They spoke of it in passing one night when they lay in each other's arms and he remarked upon the ankh she wore around her neck, attached to a small silver chain. She was not surprised at his knowledge. He seemed to know the hearts, the souls of all people, and so it seemed only fair and right that he should know her's. But he did not press the matter, and accepted and appreciated her uniqueness without question.

The next day they were betrothed.

She loved Yeshua, but as a _Driadi_ her duty was clear. All her people well knew the dangers of forming attachments during expeditions, but she had gone ahead with her's anyway. She had told herself at the time that she was doing it for the good of her people – that she was gathering...information, experience. She did not expect to come to love him as she did - and the story was supposed to end at Calvary, as it always had. She thought she was prepared for that. She knew she would eventually have to swap a husband for a saviour.

But it didn't happen that way. This had been the time of Shohn, the man from the broken gate, and everything had changed. A new life was possible now for Yeshua and herself, and with it, new understandings.

She knew now, as she rode towards the Sinai Timegate chamber, she would finally have to say something more about who she was. How would he respond, and more importantly, what would it do to his future?

Her mouth was dry, her throat parched, so she drank from the gourd that was attached to the donkey. "My love," she said, "there are things I must tell you before we reach our destination..."

"Yes, my love?" he responded innocently.

In that moment they heard an urgent whisper from behind them.

"The Romans, they are coming!"

Agent Ross, whose binoculars included night vision, was running along the line, alerting the group. They gathered together to hear his report.

"I think they're the same party of soldiers I saw coming from Aqaba yesterday. They've swung round and are coming our way."

"Have they seen us?" asked Gus.

"No, not yet. But when they clear that lower ridge," he pointed to the west, "we'll be well in view of them if we can't find somewhere to hide."

"How far away are we from the Gate chamber entrance?" asked Kathy. She looked over at nearby Mount St Catherine. They were barely within its foothills. "Perhaps we can make it before they catch us."

Sizing up the distances, Ross said, "It's possible. I suggest we put the women and Yeshua on the horse and donkey and have them make a run for the entrance. The rest of us will have to make it on foot."

They moved with a sense of urgency now. Kathy and Helen rode the horse, which made good speed. Yeshua and Mari were on the donkey, which progressed much more slowly. The men ran after them as best they could, with Agent Ross in the rear keeping an eye on the position of the Roman soldiers.

"They've seen us!" he yelled as the cohort cleared the ridge and began to break ranks to follow them swiftly towards the lower slopes of the mountain.

Ross and the men were on the path to the mountaintop now, with Yeshua and the women pulling up ahead within what was hoped was the ankhs' circle of influence. It was a flat, open space surrounded on three sides by the mountain. If the Romans cut them off, there would be no escape.

"Try the ankh now!" yelled Kathy to Helen, who was dismounting the horse. She had looked at her own and saw that the fascia was glowing its curious glyphs. They should be within the sphere of its influence.

Helen tried her ankh, but nothing happened.

"It's not working!" She began to cough a deep racking cough. Her breathing became laboured. She realized it was her asthma.

"Try again, maybe you pressed the wrong glyphs!" implored Kathy, trying to dismount the horse with as much care and haste as was possible in her condition.

Helen lost more time in moving to help Kathy down off the horse. "Oh, damn thing!" she said, once Kathy was safely down. She looked at her ankh and realized she had pressed the wrong glyphs.

She tried again, and this time it worked. With a displacement of air and a slight popping sound, she was gone.

Kathy was about to do the same, then she remembered Mari and Yeshua, standing by the donkey. She suddenly realized that Yeshua didn't have an ankh of his own. He would be trapped on the surface to face the Romans.

Then Mari drew from within her robe her own Gate ankh. She took it from around her neck and offered it to Yeshua. In Aramaic she said to him, "You must wear and use this, my love. You must be saved."

Yeshua looked down at the object and recognized it. It was the talisman his wife had worn since before he had known her. She had always kept it on her person, saying it brought her good fortune. He wondered about its use now. He wondered about many things: the appearance of the Romans, the sudden haste to reach the mountain, as if it could protect them. He was not prepared for this, but he would accept calmly whatever transpired. He had faith that his friends would prevail. He saw that the dawn's light was beginning to reach them.

Just then, with a crash of noise, the other men came running into the clearing. Ross, still in the rear, could hear the cries of the soldiers' exertions behind, and the snorting of their horses. He feared they would not all make it.

He watched as, one by one, the others took out their ankhs and shifted down to the chamber below: first Kathy, then John, then Abdul, then Tyrese, then Gus.

He saw that Mari also held an ankh of her own. How she had come by it he did not know. He urged her to use it to save herself, but she would not.

"I will remain with my husband," she said in English.

Now it was too late, the soldiers had burst in to the clearing with their swords drawn.

"There they are!" yelled one of them.

Without hesitating, Ross used his ankh and left them behind.

"Hey, where did the other one go?" asked another soldier, puzzled.

He got down from his horse and confronted Yeshua and Mari, who huddled together. His fellows rode up and formed a barrier behind him. He looked closely at the pair before him and seemed to recognize them, for he had followed the trail from Jerusalem to Aqaba and then to the mountain. "I know who you are," he said insolently. "I saw you on the cross. You were crucified. King of the Jews they were calling you. It seems we didn't do a good enough job." He raised angry, hateful eyes at them, then he raised his sword. "You and your...whore!"

As he was about to strike, agent Ross suddenly appeared behind him, having shifted again up to the surface. He quickly put his arms around the soldier's helmeted head and twisted it, breaking his neck. The soldier slumped to the ground.

At this, the other soldiers backed away with fright. Some of their horses rose up, alarmed, unsteadying them further.

"Quickly, put this on and use it," said Ross, placing another ankh around the neck of Yeshua.

Mari helped him and showed him the glyphs he must press. Slightly confused by all this, he followed her instructions, and was gone. Mari looked at Ross, and behind her frightened eyes was a look of deep gratitude. She then followed her husband into the chamber below.

Just as Ross was about to do the same, some of the soldiers had come to their senses and challenged him. Ross quickly picked up the dead soldier's sword just in time to block the first strike from one of the soldiers. Thinking how handy his Jericho 941 pistol would be about now, if only he were allowed to bring it, he parried two others, then thrust his sword into the first soldier's stomach. Another soldier came from behind while he was busy and stuck him in the back.

The unexpected blow took the wind out of him, and he dropped his sword. Ross went down. As he lay there, writhing in pain while his tormentors looked down at him with their grinning, evil faces, he had enough presence of mind to finger the ankh before him. Finding the right combination, he smiled up at them as he suddenly disappeared. The soldiers shrank back, spooked by this magician's black magic.
CHAPTER TEN

The Sinai Gate chamber, AD 33

"He's here, he made it!" yelled John.

Inside the Sinai Gate chamber, they had been waiting for him. When he appeared, lying on the teleport mat in pain, they looked at him with worried but relieved faces. Helen was the first to notice he was injured.

"Only just..." she said as she studied Ross's wound. "Here, help me get him to one of the benches." Gus and John did as they were told.

"It's all right, I'm not too bad," Ross complained as they led him to the bench.

As Helen tended to Ross's wound the others stood, looking helpless. Yeshua and Mari seemed to be the only ones otherwise occupied. Yeshua looked around, amazed, at the chamber.

"What is this place?" he asked Mari. "Who are these people? Are they angels?"

He stopped in front of the Gate, looking up at it with open curiosity and wonder.

Mitchelson, the base co-ordinator who had stayed behind in the chamber, asked Gus, "Who's the guy? And the woman?"

When Gus told him, he looked at him with disbelief.

"No way!"

Gus nodded his head to confirm it was no lie.

Mitchelson just stared at Yeshua, his mouth agape.

John took Kathy's hand and looked around the room with a curiosity that matched Yeshua's. He had been here only once before, and only vaguely remembered the experience.

"So, this is that place..." he murmured.

"Well, I guess we'd better get ready to go back," said Helen, who had patched Ross up and was satisfied he was good to travel. She gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder and said, "You'll be okay. That was a hell of a thing you did up there."

"Thanks doc," said Ross. "But what are we going to do about... _them_?" He looked at Yeshua and Mari.

"They'll have to stay here for a few days until the Romans clear out, I guess," said Gus. "The whole idea of bringing them here was to keep them safe."

"Don't worry, they'll be fine," said Helen. "The main thing is we get you sent back and looked after properly."

"Yes, you and John and Kathy at least really ought to go back now, rather than later," said Gus.

"The hell I will!" said Ross with feeling. "I'm staying here as long as they're staying here. I'm not leaving them."

"Neither are we," said Kathy, speaking for John as well.

"All right, is anyone going now?" asked Helen. She looked around, and there was no response from anyone, not even Mitchelson. "Okay, I guess we're staying for a couple more days – that is, if Ross doesn't die on us beforehand, or Kathy's water doesn't break." She cast a wary eye upon the offenders. "But we really ought to report in."

"And say what?" asked Ross. "We have Jesus in the chamber on this side, come and have a chat with him?"

"They know we're here, from our ankhs," said Gus. "They're probably waiting for word. Or they could come through any time..."

The team members looked at each other. Obviously some important decisions had to be made.

Gus turned to Yeshua and Mari sitting together on a bench away from the others. They had been talking quietly to each other in Aramaic all this time. They seemed slightly bewildered by it all, especially Yeshua, who was still gazing around the chamber in fascination, an innocent spectator. Gus realized, if they turned on the Gate now and reported in about the situation, a host of people would probably come flooding through – 'experts', religious leaders, or just curious privileged gawkers - all wanting to have a piece of Jesus. He couldn't bear the thought of their prying and questioning, treating Yeshua as though he were a carnival exhibit.

He caught Helen's eye, and by the sly look on her face, could see that she was thinking along similar lines.

"Let's, uh, keep this part to ourselves, hey?" he said. "If they come through, they come through. And if they don't and they miss out, well..."

"...We can tell them everything they need to know with our reports later," Helen completed the thought for him.

They both smiled. No one argued with them.

Helen said, "Very well, it's decided: we wait...!"

For three days they stood vigil over Yeshua and Mari, sharing their company in that small, unearthly chamber. Now that the perils of the journey were over, they had time to speak more intimately with them. It was time well spent.

When they had first entered the chamber Mari had told Yeshua, as best she could, all about the Timegates and the people who traveled through them, simply naming them "curious people from the future". Yeshua had listened in rapped attention, offering only the occasional question. She assured him these "curious people", the company before them, were far from being angels.

When the rest of the company joined in on the discussion, a lively debate ensued. Because two of them did not speak Aramaic, there was much translating from that language to English, but understandings were clearly gained.

Yeshua's first response to Mari's words was to marvel at Helen's 'curatives'. A healer himself, he was always interested in new medicines and ideas. The company smiled at his fascination, having noticed how concerned he had seemed with the state of his own health and Kathy's during the journey. Kathy, in particular, suspected him of being ever so slightly a hypochondriac – not unlike a certain chaplain she knew.

He accepted Mari's explanation that the others were not angels (she was almost certain he had asked the question in jest anyway). But he thought they must at least be a higher order of beings, more civilized than so many of the people of his own time. He wondered whether, in this future they spoke of, they had at last realized the kingdom of Heaven on Earth.

Helen, still in thrall to her vision of Yeshua the Saviour, protested against this, saying, "No, master, in my future the rights and freedoms of the people are not given – except to a few. They must still be won, fought for. In all the centuries that have gone we have not yet learned the lesson."

Yeshua was saddened by her words. Yet he was even more saddened by the thought that he did not have the answers she sought. The things Helen spoke of, they were the way of the world. The answers could not be held by one man like himself, they must be within all, or in none of them. He knew well the goodness and the darkness that both lay within the hearts of men. The only solution he knew was to appeal to their better natures, in word and deed; and he told them this.

"But you speak of centuries gone by," he said, troubled. "How far in this future are you from? Do they speak my name there still?"

At this they looked at each other. Helen translated for Kathy and Mitchelson, who did not speak Aramaic. Did it matter if he knew? They had told him so much already.

"For two thousand years your name lives on, lord," said Gus.

"But it must be said," added Kathy guiltily, "it's been losing some ground lately." She made a face.

At this, when it was translated for him, Yeshua laughed. The sound startled everyone, except Mari, who knew he laughed well and often. "Only two thousand years and they are now forgetting my name! Ay, it is well, let them forget...!"

They all smiled – or most did. Mari noticed that agent Ross, the injured man, did not. She also noticed him looking at her from time to time, as though he were keeping her under observation.

On the second day of the vigil, Yeshua was regaling the company with the story of his ministry and how he came to gather in his disciples. During this, agent Ross took Mari aside and asked her how it was that she had possession of a Gate ankh and spoke English.

"You are not of our company," he said to her, "yet you are clearly a traveler like us. How is it that an unknown time traveler like yourself came to be the wife of Jesus of Nazareth?"

She looked at him shrewdly. As he had observed her, she had observed him, and he was clearly different from the others. He seemed reserved, apart from the rest of the company, alone with his thoughts. From the way he had handled the Romans during the drama above, and his disciplined vigilance during the journey, she guessed he was a soldier. She remembered she had spoken in English to him during that drama, but she knew, if pressed, she could say she learned it from Shohn. And the ankh, well, it could have once belonged to someone else, just as the ankh Yeshua now wore had recently belonged to Gus...Instead, she simply smiled a secret smile and replied: "Love."

He blinked. It was not the response he had expected, but it was enough.

"And there are others? I'm sure there are others like you." He had heard John's account of the Bedouins bringing him to Jerusalem, and rejected it. He was sure John knew more than he was saying, and that it probably pointed to others like Mari, who used the Gate to bring him here.

"Yes, there are others," she said.

"But who are you, and what do you want?"

Most of all, he wanted to know if they were a potential threat to the Program. It had been made clear to him before his mission: threats to the Program were as good as threats to his homeland and must be...neutralized.

"We are...wanderers," she said simply. "We wander through the wilderness of time." Her eyes began to glaze, as though she were looking upon that wilderness.

The mention of wanderings reminded Ross of a deep racial memory. He wondered if they were kin. "But your people, where are they from, where can they be found?"

"You will never find them." She looked pointedly at him now. Her eyes held a steely resolve. Then they softened into warmth as she studied him, and she said, "You are a Jew, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes," he responded, taken aback.

"Your people do not follow the teachings of Yeshua, you do not believe in him?"

"Not traditionally, no." He seemed perplexed at her questions.

"What do you think now that you have met him?"

"Certainly, he is real to me now," he replied with a strained smile. "It changes much, but I'm not sure how much."

"You need not fear him," she said, seeming to read his mind. "You need not fear us. You must believe me."

He looked into her bright eyes. They contained pools of light. He did not know how to respond, but he was inclined to believe her.

On the third day, the company sat down with Yeshua and Mari for a final meal. They sat on the chamber floor before the Gate in a vaguely ovular arrangement, the food laid out before them. There was unleavened bread, dried dates, honey, varied fruits, even some wine – all that they had brought with them across the desert from Jerusalem. Yeshua, who was used to reclining for meals, lay on his left side so that his right hand was free to take the food. The others followed his lead, finding clothes and blankets for support against the hard, tiled floor.

They ate ravenously and the conversation flowed freely, as it does when friends come together to celebrate fellowship. After his second cup of wine, Yeshua suddenly recited some Psalms to the company. For the benefit of those who did not know, and who looked quizzically at Yeshua, Helen offered, "He's singing the 'Hallel', or hymn of praise. A traditional part of the Passover meal."

"Is it Passover already?" asked Kathy, watching as Yeshua blessed the bread now being passed around.

"No, but I suspect Yeshua is doing this to remind himself that it is coming."

"Ay, that is probable," Mari agreed.

There was much laughter and joy, but also some sadness because it was near time for Yeshua and Mari to take their leave. Yeshua was entreated to tell more stories of his travels and his ministry, and occasionally he obliged; but the conversation was, for the most part, shared by all and grounded in happy trivialities and fellow feeling.

"So you two were an item back in the day?" asked Abdul of Gus and Helen, having procured the information from Tyrese. "That must have made this mission a bit awkward?"

"Not really," said Helen, taking Gus's hand as she spoke. "We're still good friends."

"Oh ho!"

...In the midst of the proceedings, John, sitting next to Kathy, translated the conversation for her, which had all been in Aramaic. However, she was able to follow much of it through sheer body language. She watched as Yeshua raised his cup of wine and seemed to playfully toast the "happy couple". Mari, sitting next to him, then appeared to chastise him for his "loose morals". They all laughed, including Kathy.

She looked around as the laughter subsided and was reminded of any number of dinner parties she had attended. But, she reflected, considering the guests, this would be one of the most unusual dinner parties ever...No, she thought, this was not a dinner party, this was something much more. She reached back in her memory to find the proper reference, and then realized with a start it was a kind of Last Supper!

She wondered, was it sacrilegious to think that? Then, considering the circumstances, and despite their having had two communal meals already, she thought a more appropriate term for it was a First Supper. She smiled at the thought and whispered it to John, beside her.

"Oh, that's beautiful," he said, and kissed her...

John had felt like a passenger on this journey, coping to keep up with the others, with his own memory, with everything that had happened around him. Yet, he had been the reason why they came. He was 'the man from the broken Gate', the man of destiny...No, the princess who needed rescuing, more likely.

But then they found a king who needed to regain his throne; and Kathy's comment reminded him he'd played an important part in that.

He kissed her again.

"What?" she said.

"It's nothing," he replied, smiling...

When the meal was over, a silence fell over the company as they prepared themselves for the heavy prospect of farewell. Presently, as they sat there, alone with their thoughts, Yeshua raised his head; his eyes focused on the Gate before him, and he spoke. His plaintive voice echoed in that chamber, disturbing the silences that had lingered. The words came to him lightly, unbidden - a recitation of what had been and of what was yet to be.

"Friends, when the Romans crucified me, I had been certain it was my destiny to die on that cross so that others might be delivered. But from the cross I beheld my followers fighting, killing in my name. They had forgotten my words, ignored my actions and allowed the _kittim_ – those who love power and would do anything to hold onto it - to task them and goad them into vile actions, to make them become like themselves.

"All my life I have sought a way to deal with the _kittim_ \- the Romans and even the leaders of my own people. I had thought the answer was love, but I found it was not enough. I found myself on that cross, defeated. I asked the Lord why he had seen fit to deliver me to this world that was so full of hate and corruption. I felt betrayed, cheated of my chance for Heaven."

He looked at the company now and spoke directly to them.

"Then you delivered me from death, and when I joined you good people on this flight I came to see that in you I was answered. My time here was not yet complete, my true path not yet discovered. It is still unclear to me, still not set in stone, but I feel certain it is at hand. This flight has become a pilgrimage. I thank you all for helping me toward that road."

There was a silence, then Helen stood up and went to Yeshua and embraced him. He returned the embrace in kind, easily and warmly.

"You are very welcome, lord..." she said, laughing quietly and brushing the happy tears from her eyes.

Gus joined her and, more modestly, embraced Yeshua as well. "What will you do now, master?" he asked him.

"I will return to the world, with Mari, and begin my road anew," he said.

"And you, Mari," asked Helen, "what are your plans?"

For a moment she seemed uncertain, taken unawares by the question directed at her. Then she looked at Yeshua, and replied, "I go where my husband goes."

Kathy, not wanting to miss out on the opportunity, went up and embraced Yeshua as well. "It's been an honour to have met you, sir," she said in English.

Yeshua looked down at her distended belly and said in Aramaic, "Kathy, you have made this difficult journey while carrying this child. Your strength and bravery will not be forgotten." Then, smiling, he asked a question, and Gus translated it for her.

"Yeshua wishes to know if you would like him to bless your unborn child."

Kathy was speechless for a moment, then said: "Yes, of course, yes please!"

He knelt and laid his right hand upon her womb and made the blessing. Kathy stood receiving it, her heart filled with pride. She caught John's eye and they shared a secret smile.

As the company made ready to leave, agent Ross, insisting his wound was no longer a problem, performed his final duty for the mission: he shifted to the surface to make sure the Roman soldiers were gone and that it was safe for Yeshua and Mari to ascend. Upon his return he confirmed that the mountainside was clear of Romans, but reported that a small band of men, Bedouins perhaps, were in the near vicinity.

After a word from Helen, Mitchelson then engaged the Gate and it sprang to life. Yeshua stood back, momentarily startled by the brilliance of the Gate's shimmering event horizon.

Soon he and Mari received warm hugs of farewell from the women of the company and more modest embraces from the men, before each went through the Gate.

Ross, who was the last to go through the Gate, stepped forward and, instead of embracing him, held out his hand to him. Yeshua looked at Ross, then uncertainly reached out his own hand. Ross took it and they shook hands firmly. He then embraced Mari and whispered to her, "There is nothing to fear..."

They watched him disappear through the event horizon. Then, feeling their absence, Yeshua had an urge to linger by the Gate while its beautiful clear light was still displayed. He sensed its power, and something more – a benevolent presence? He stepped up to the Gate and placed his right hand upon its side, as if to bless it.

"Oh."

"What is it, my love?" asked Mari

"It speaks to me!"

"Ay, it does that. What does it say?"

It was then that he had the vision, the revelation. For a blinding moment he saw it clear, whole and beautiful. It could only have come from Him. He would not put a name to it, for it had no name. To try to give it one would be folly, an injustice. It would take a whole lifetime to know it, perhaps even longer.

Finally, he could see the road ahead, the path he must take. He must meditate upon this vision, then spread the news as best he could by word and deed. Above all, he must stay alive until his task was complete and the Truth was known to the hearts of all men and women.

With the realisation a peace descended upon him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

2017

Ursula had been home trying to spend some quality time with her husband when the call came. Giving Douglas an apologetic kiss, she rushed to Mount St Catherine via the New York Gate.

The Siriani mission members, and presumably John Hannebury himself, were now inside the Sinai Gate chamber in 33 AD. The Gate displays showed clearly the presence of their eight ankhs there. The mission was complete, and all that was required was for them to come through.

Ursula waited at the Sinai Gate Centre's courtyard, above the Gate chamber, with an ever-growing group of people. They included the religious leaders who had originally seen off the Sinai mission, and Gus's wife and Helen's husband, who had been given special permission to attend. They sat at the tables, drinking coffee and other beverages, and speculating about John and on what the team had discovered about the historical Jesus of Nazareth. It was an exciting occasion.

The last communication through from Mitchelson, the base co-ordinator on the other side, had confirmed the identity of the mystery ankh-holder as Hannebury, but that had been days ago and there had since been nothing but a mysterious silence. Mission protocol required regular reports be made, but Mitchelson had had nothing to report for the last three days.

Ursula checked her watch. It was getting late and still she had not got word from below that the team had signaled to come through. She asked herself for the tenth time _: What's happening over there, why haven't they come through yet?_

This was to be her last official duty as Director of the Gate Program. The privatization of the Program had been sudden and rapid, with the more corporate restructuring effort well under way. Already President Tillburn had appointed her successor, none other than Herbert Armitage, the billionaire mining magnate who was connected to half a dozen military contractors, including Lockheed and Halliburton, and incidentally, a generous patron to most of the major universities across the U.S. Her own hand-chosen GAP panellists had already been dismissed in favour of a more top down selection approach run by an executive board of suitable people to be selected by Armitage at a later date. All that was left to do now was for Tillburn to make the admission about the Gates' shadowy origins and the cover up that followed, and she could quietly (she hoped) step down from her position.

As the day dragged on, Ursula cursed herself for her haste in leaving Douglas. She suspected the Siriani group were experiencing problems with the Gate on their side - one of those periodic malfunctions that had been happening lately. What was it Feynman had called them – _bad data lockouts?_

She had read Yang Lee's paper theorising on the cause of the lockouts, and although his conclusions were somewhat questionable, she had taken it seriously. What if he was right? What if the human race - or at least its Gate users - were being judged by the Timegates in a kind of quantum census or lottery? What if they didn't 'pass'? What would it mean for the Program and this regime change?

By the end of the first day the officials and spouses in attendence were clearly getting impatient, and they turned to Ursula for a response. She shifted down to the chamber and spoke to the Gate controller waiting at his panel. "All right, Fayaud, let's try and make a connection to the other side."

The controller, who was wearing a gaudy hooded galabiyya, stepped forward and passed his hands over the controls, and the Gate sprang into life, the event horizon shining marble and pearl.

"Trying for a lock now, ma'am," said Fayaud.

Seeing no discernible shift in the event horizon's intensity - the tell-tale pulse of a connection – he reported, "Sorry, nothing. It's locked out." He turned to Ursula for further instructions.

"Have you linked with it?" she asked.

Fayaud nodded his head.

"And...?"

"It is simply saying 'bad data'. I can make nothing more of the link."

"Never mind. Shut it down, shut it down."

They waited for two more days, during which Ursula began to get to know both Gus and Helen's respective spouses. She liked Andrea very much, finding in her a lively mind and a shared interest in antiques and art. Valerio, Helen's husband – apparently her second - was charming but a little vacant, she thought. He seemed to know little of science, but like her husband, was an enthusiastic musician, and so the conversation with him tended to turn on that topic. She sensed that both of them enjoyed a relaxed, comfortable relationship with their partners. This accorded with her own feelings about her relationship with Douglas. She had played the field and, after numerous false starts, had alighted finally upon the partner she believed she would be able to grow old with. She had always thought that restlessness in relationships was for the young - or a sign of immaturity.

The third day was a Sunday. Ursula was acutely aware of its significance: it was the day scheduled for Tillburn's announcement. She smiled to herself as she recalled her words to Eli - she planned to be busy that day and would not be on hand for the announcement. This vigil she was leading for the Siriani expedition was as good a reason as any other. Weinstein, meanwhile, was with the President, taking her place for the inevitable post-announcement grilling.

She looked at her watch again, and was just considering parking herself in front of a television to watch the announcement, when Fayaud called her from the chamber.

" _They're coming through,"_ was all he said.

Ursula stood up and brought the group to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I've been informed that the Siriani expedition has just returned and will be with us presently."

There was an excited babble of voices at this. They all turned to the courtyard landing area, waiting for the expedition members to appear.

As she waited, Ursula felt a sudden relief that it was almost all over. She realized the anxiety she had begun to feel about this mission had become almost unbearable. It was not just because it was the last she would probably be involved with, it was because of its importance. Firstly, it represented the remarkable return of the man whose disappearance over eight months ago had marked the beginning of the discovery of the Timegates and of the Program she had headed till now. Secondly, it was the first expedition to penetrate into that area of humanity's past that was concerned with biblical times. She knew that two thousand years of history hinged on the outcome. If it turned out that Jesus had never existed, that he was simply a construct of others, and the Gospels were largely verified fiction - what then? What if the Church's authority was based on myth, PR and lies? What would become of it? She thought of all the wars, all the sacrifices made in Jesus' name.

She looked around at the religious leaders gathered there: the Cardinal, the ministers. She could well understand the nervousness, the hope on their faces.

The Siriani expedition members shifted to the surface, one by one, most of them still wearing their robes, which they had taken with them as Gate clothing. John had been given a spare robe that had been put aside for him before his return through the Gate. He was the first to appear.

At first the people waiting didn't recognize him. He appeared as a slightly ragged, bearded, wild-eyed creature blinking in the late afternoon sunlight. Then, as Kathy suddenly shifted up beside him, they realized who he was, and a long, spontaneous round of applause and cheering followed. The others shifted into this tumultuous welcome.

When all seven members of the Siriani expedition, including Mitchelson, had joined John in the courtyard they all stood stunned and overwhelmed by the reception. Ursula came forward, and identifying herself, shook hands with John and welcomed him back. Soon, others of the waiting group who were eager to offer him their congratulations on his return joined her. Andrea and Valerio greeted Gus and Helen warmly with tears. Medics attended to agent Ross and John. Even Doctor Farside was on hand to see to Kathy's needs and to check that the Gate travel had not affected her or her baby adversely. She uncharacteristically clucked and fussed around her as she took her away to the infirmary, along with John and Ross.

The happy reception was almost over, but there was still one more item of business to attend to, and Ursula knew it must be resolved here and now. What had the expedition uncovered about the historical Jesus of Nazareth...?

The clerics, the priests, the rabbi's and other religious leaders who had largely kept away from the greetings and reunions waited to one side in anticipation of the news. Helen noticed them there and realized they were waiting for her account of the expedition's findings. She saw Cardinal Rafelli, her old sparring partner, trusted Emissary of the Pope, seated at a table in his scarlet finery in the middle of the group. He looked frail and worried.

As she slowly walked towards him she could see that there were tears in his sunken eyes. He sat hunched in his chair, his shaking hands gripping the armrests as though they might protect him from the earthquake that was coming. The watery dark eyes were intent on her face. A word or a look from her would tell him all he needed to know.

Seeing his episcopal ring on the right hand that rested on the chair, she instinctively knelt and kissed it. She looked up into his sad, hopeful eyes and said, "Eminenza, Vive!" _Eminence, He lives!_
CHAPTER TWELVE

Damien Tillburn looked all business as he stepped up to the presidential podium. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen," he said evenly to the waiting press gallery, the familiar friends – and enemies – and the media cameras broadcasting his speech to the world.

He looked out at the expectant throng and paused dramatically before delivering his speech. The expression on his face was, as always, bland, relaxed; but behind the facade he exalted in the moment. This was it: this was the moment history would remember him and his Presidency for now and forever. It was not so much because he was about to come clean about the Timegates and the Program's limited domain over them, but because he would be the President Who Told the World About the Aliens. Despite his misgivings about the veracity of the claim, he had taken his PR aid Ted Geisner's suggestion to heart and decided to lean on that aspect of the announcement. He moved to the microphones placed before him, and looking up at the teleprompt, began...

"You have all no doubt heard the reports circulating in the media lately about the Timegate Program, that they have withheld certain information about its operation and its origins from you, the public. Let me just say that as an organization operating at the highest levels of national and international security, it is not only right and proper, it is necessary that the Program's administrators keep most of its procedures and secrets from the public eye... However, in light of these continuing reports, I, with consultation from the Timegate administrators and other parties, have decided that the time has come to share some of these details about the Program and the Timegates themselves with the world. In short, to set the record straight.

"In a moment, I will bring on our most senior advisor from the International Academy of Astronautics, Robert Boyce, to explain the details. And my Science Advisor, and Assistant Director of the Timegate Program, Eli Weinstein is on hand to field further questions. But first, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to speak to the profound implications of what is about to be shared with you..."

A hush fell upon the press gallery gathered there - the only sound being the faint click of cameras going off from photographers recording this special moment.

The President went on in a more reverential tone: "Ever since our earliest times we, the human race, have wondered about our place in the universe. Often we have looked to the night sky, seen the myriad stars above, and asked ourselves, 'Are we alone? Or are there other intelligences out there that we just have not yet come into contact with?'...Well, today is the day we need not wonder any more..."

[The Gate speaks. Not to itself, but to all the others, and their 'conversation' is rendered here from the original quantum...]

... _Here is another. There have been so many._

They reek of hubris...

And guilt and punishment.

... _And reward._

... _There are wheels within wheels in this one._

He plans, he schemes, he has knowledge, he has power.

Yet his power is misdirected.

He is caught in the embrace of a God whose will is manifest in the destinies of a people.

A very few people.

... _He is inauthentic._

He is all abstraction. His mind is fixed on eternity, the Promise that can never be kept. There is no Life in him. There is no Now.

He is free, yet he is not free.

He would use us for ill...

He thinks he has wisdom, but he does not...

... _Is it enough? Shall we decide?_

We shall!

By the next day it became clear that the Timegates were refusing entry to all that attempted to use them. Across the world, at all the Timegate locations, the message was the same: bad data. When the last missions returned from their timelines, the Gates shut down. Yang Lee, who was asked to lead a diagnostics team, confirmed the Gates were effectively 'dead' and could not be restarted without volition from the Gates themselves.

But before they went silent the Timegates relayed one final message, and every Gate controller who was linked to a Gate at the time heard it:

In time we shall return. Prepare!

*

Mount St Catherine, the Sinai, 33 AD

From Jerusalem they had come, following the trail of their master deep into the wilderness. The trail had ended here on this mountainside, where they had hidden for at least a day from the soldiers who had been gone. They were seeking a body, perhaps two, that may have been left behind, broken and ill used. It was a melancholy prospect, yet they must find him and his wife and give them a proper burial.

They came upon an open ground, a natural plateau etched into the walls of the mountain. There were olive trees here for shade, and so they stopped to rest their mounts and themselves from their labors on this hot day. They gathered under a tree, all eleven of them, and broke bread for their meal.

As he ate with his brethren, Andrew caught a twinkling in the corner of his eye, and turned to look. To his astonishment he beheld an apparition. Yeshua, his master, had suddenly appeared to him from out of the very air.

"Ay, brothers!" he gasped, and the others turned in time to see the appearance of Mari beside him.

"What manner of trickery is this?" said Peter, now standing to face the apparitions. "Be you real? Can this be true, lord, you live?"

"Ay, it is true, it is real," assured Yeshua coming forward to greet his disciples.

"Yet, the manner of your coming," said Andrew, who was still not sure of what he had just seen, "as if from nowhere, how is this possible?"

"Calm, Andrew, all will be revealed in time," said Yeshua.

Peter noticed something in Yeshua's hand. It appeared to be a small necklace of some kind. A pattern glowed briefly on the face of it – was it a crucifix? Yeshua placed it beneath his robes before he could investigate further.

"How is it that you all come to be here?" asked Mari, struck by the providence of their appearance at this time.

"We followed your path to Qumran, and thence to this place," said Andrew.

"Where is Judas?" Yeshua looked around at his comrades and realized he was not among them.

"Ay, he left us at Aqaba," said Peter angrily, "and came ahead with the Romans. He betrayed you, lord."

At this Yeshua bowed his head in grief.

There was a long silence. Then John, the youngest, raised his voice. "We feared you and your wife were slain...We rejoice that we were wrong!"

After that, finally, there came smiles and the disciples greeted Yeshua as a brother returned and Mari as the sister regained.

"Nay, brothers," said Yeshua, smiling, "I am reborn anew...We are all reborn anew!"

They sat, and Yeshua and Mari shared in the repast and they forgot their troubles for a time...

Mari could not help but wonder when she would see her own brethren, the _Driadi_ , again. Also, she remembered the one who was exiled all those years ago and brought to the terrible place, his ankh taken from him. She did not often think of him, but she wondered now how he was faring. As Evram had said, she was much like him. He had been, after all, her father...

As he ate, Yeshua reflected silently on the meaning of the message sent to him through the strange Gate below. He retained his belief in the kingdom of Heaven on Earth. He knew he had been right when he preached love and acceptance of God's gifts. The Promised Land was here and now, or it was nowhere at all. But it must be fought for. Yet redemption was not truly something he or anyone could bestow; the most he could hope was to guide others toward enlightenment. Ultimately in this search, all were alone. The Gate message had shown him that path.

As he stood up with purpose and beckoned to his disciples, he felt as though at last his kingdom was at hand.

"Come," he said, "there is much work to do..."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The new (and as it would turn out, short-lived) Gate Advisory Committee headed by Herbert Armitage had conducted its first and only review of the Bailouni-era administration of the Gate Program, and found it wanting. Its fiscal record was abysmal, with sales of the two GAP journals it had produced, and licensing of anciliary multi-media materials, barely covering costs. Its only windfall had come from revenues accounted for by the Timegate Experience, but most of these were refunded when the Gates closed down.

In all, the business was headed for liquidation and closure a few short weeks after its incorporation – even with the generous subsidies that Gate-country governments were willing to hand over. The main problem, of course, was that the Timegates themselves were no longer functioning. It was hard to run a business when the main source of capital was no longer co-operating. The factory was closed, the workers had gone on strike and the resources had all dried up. The most they could hope for was that some of the innovative Gate technology would turn out to be reproducible and be spun into lucrative commercial and industrial applications.

Armitage, the main architect of the Program's new regime, and some of his partners on the Committee launched a legal suite against the previous Gate administration, in particular its Director Ursula Bailouni and Assistant Director Eli Weinstein. It stated that they orchestrated the Gate shutdown and maliciously mislead the Committee as to its further viability. The suite was ultimately thrown out of court on the grounds of lack of evidence, and Armitage skulked back to his business empire. But he vowed to fight another day.

The final ruling, conducted by a consortium of faiths, on the Siriani mission was that it had fudged the issue of Jesus' legitimacy through "excessive tampering with the timeline". It found that, even though there was enough information collated to suggest much of the story of the Gospels was true, there was clearly still room for fundamental changes in the record. After a long period of silence, the consortium issued one official statement saying that, far from being suppressed, its findings were simply "being looked into at this time".

In the weeks after he'd made his historic announcement, the consensus grew that President Tillburn had been too hasty in singling out extraterrestrials as the probable creators of the Timegates. With the Gates no longer in operation, the wave of hype and hysteria had quickly passed, and cooler heads had prevailed. However, the question still remained, a tantalising mystery that would spark debate and investigation for some time: who built the Gates, if not aliens?

Ursula tried to get Eli on the phone, but there was no answer. She had been trying for days and was beginning to get worried.

"Where is he?" she said to herself as much as to Douglas, who was driving the car. They were on their way to another gig for Douglas's combo. "Maybe I should go and visit him?" she wondered.

"Leave the guy alone, darling," said Douglas, steering the car into the club's private parking area. "He probably just wants a break."

"I suppose you're right."

They entered the club. It was half filled with people, but very noisy with their chatter. It was small and dark and crammed with little round tables. Authentic period posters were festooned on the paint-peeling walls, advertising the Dave Brubeck Quartet in Carnegie Hall from 1963, Miles Davis Quintet in Birdland from 1959, a Jean Genet play and a performance of Jean Paul Sartre's _No Exit_ at the Biltmore Theatre. It looked like a beatnik cafe, all smokey jazz and existentialism. Douglas took it all in and felt right at home. He ordered two drinks, and they took a table while Douglas waited for the rest of his band to show.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Douglas asked.

Ursula looked surprised. "I'm going back to my old position at the Smithsonian, you know that!"

"No, I mean about the Gates and the Program. I know you haven't given up on that. I know you want it back."

She knew he knew her too well to protest. He was right: despite what a pain in the ass it could be, she longed to be back on the job. There was still so much of history to explore; but the Timegates had shut themselves down, and that was that. While she had enjoyed seeing Armitage and those other corporate cowboys denied the pleasures of the Gates just as they were within their grasp, she wasn't sure where that left her. Her only hope lay in their final message – that they would return. Just when that would be, she could only guess. It occurred to her that 'they' might not refer to the Gates at all, but perhaps their makers. It was an intriguing thought. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the 'prepare' part of it. She was a little annoyed by it, actually. Presumptuous bastards! As far as she was concerned, she was prepared.

"Yes, I want it back," she finally replied. "But for now," she made a show of turning off her cell phone and placing it deep within her bag, "I'm going to enjoy watching my wonderful husband playing drums with his hot jazz combo..."

"Was it a dream?"

"It seems like it, doesn't it?"

Gus and Helen were sitting in the departure lounge of the Cairo Airport. They were arm in arm, rekindling old memories, like a comfortable middle-aged couple who still felt affection for each other. Their respective spouses were not far away, but neither begrudged them their intimacy. They had, after all, been young lovers long before Andrea or Valeria had arrived on the scene.

"Do you remember driving back from the market that rainy day, stopping at the traffic lights and kissing at every one?"

"Because we'd seen that other couple doing it earlier that day-"

"-yes, and I thought, hmmm, that looks like a good idea!" Helen laughed.

"And our first night, in that single bed..."

"You fell on the floor!"

"Why did you leave me?" Gus touched her face tenderly.

She didn't answer. There was no answer for _that_. There was no point. It was enough that he had asked the question.

"Never mind," he said. "You're still the young girl I once knew."

"You're still the boy I once knew."

He smiled slyly. "And we'll always have...the Dead Sea!"

"Ah, what a romantic!"

They laughed, but she became serious.

"I went a bit crazy back there, didn't I? Lost all my so-called professional detachment. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. An experience like that would be difficult for anyone who had faith."

She looked up at him, wondering. "And you still don't? After everything?"

"I told you once before, I'm still a pagan. Still don't believe in the organized church, or God or religion in general. I think God, if he exists, he happened way back in the Big Bang, his first and only creative act, then he left the scene. My God is a non-interventionist God, and that's the way I like it...And having met him, I think that's the way Jesus likes it too!"

"Ah, blasphemer!" She tried to be shocked, but she wasn't.

"Ah, I'm just warming up!" He launched into a spiel about how religion had been the training ground for the New Faith - the market and its attendant consumerism. How people now worshipped at the church of the shopping mall these days, and how Capitalist economics was not a science, but a disembodied, deterministic religion, a faith, an abstraction that had virtually nothing to do with the real world.

The announcement came for Helen's flight to board. Gus tried to ignore it, but found he could not go on. He had been talking religion and economics, when he should have been talking about important things. He sighed.

They looked into each other's eyes and finally let go of one another, the boy and the girl.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Tesla Institute Gate room was all but empty.

Now that the Gates had shut down, and the Program with it, the room and its oval-shaped Timegate held no more interest – except perhaps for the idly curious and the occasional commercial technician trying to glean its secrets. Even Gerard Feynman, the original Head of Gate Research, had abandoned it for more viable projects and, to his chagrin, his lectures. But one sole believer remained there keeping the faith, one sole pilgrim stood (or in this case, sat) in defiance of the infidel non-believers.

Yang Lee sat lotus fashion in front of the Gate. His laptop was close at hand. Wearing his monk-like 'linking cassock', he appeared to be keeping a silent vigil for the Gate's return. In reality, he simply found the eerie quiet of the Gate room and the near presence of the Gate and his priestly robes of office comforting and conducive to gaining his fast track to pure focus – although, to an observer, the end result looked the same.

As always, he listened to music to get into the zone. He wanted evil, awful music that sounded to his ears as white noise to help focus his mind and attain that Zen-like 'flow' he was after. In this case, it was rap artist Snoop da Loop.

Whilst Snoop was berating him about his need to _"go holy rollin'",_ Yang warmed up by contemplating Fermat's theorem and its ingenious solution.

When the Snoop harangued him to _"get jiggy wid da scene",_ Yang began to consider the problem of the mysterious twenty-fourth chamber, which he never did find. He asked them about it many times, but the Gates had been reluctant to relinquish the details. He strongly suspected it was a kind of safe room for the Gate builders, whoever they were.

By the time Snoop wanted him to _"bring it back to where it be real, homey",_ Yang had moved on to his main theme, which was nothing more and nothing less than to distill the essence of all he had learned from his linkage with the Gates. He knew he was nowhere near coming close to comprehending all of it, but he knew he had to try.

The link was vast, it was hypnotic; it was serene and chaotic. Each time he linked he had tried to get close to the voice that came into his head, to understand its true nature. Was it pure thought or was there a physical presence behind it somewhere?

Then, as the Snoop murmered _"all tings be one together, motherfuckas",_ Yang couldn't help but remember the _ting_ his wife had done for him in bed last night. It momentarily took him off-track - but with a change of Snoop-tune he quickly regained the centre and forged on. He looked again at his data and calculations for the Gate's quantum matrix and searched for the pattern. The mysterious, unpredictable fluctuations always made him think of that opening line from the _Tao Te Ching_ , that _the Tao that is known cannot be the true Tao_. In some ways he found that thought comforting. He had no wish to know the _Tao_ – the mind of God, or however one interpreted it. To his mind, the concept of worship had an ethical element to it. It negated his human existence. Could there be freedom and choice where there was transcendence? Was God himself an oppressive influence? If not God, then certainly his interpreters, those who held themselves up as his instrument, thought Yang.

But neither was he a fan of chaos. There needed to be order, a pattern, if only to give the mind of humanity something to focus on in those quiet, dull hours. Patterns were also important in Yang's line of work. He relied on them to find solutions. They were mostly mathematical...

Looking at his laptop screen, he thought he saw one now in the data from the final message the Gates had sent, one that he hadn't noticed before. It appeared as a glitch, but he realized it was clearly much more than that. It had shape, it had form. The pattern reminded him of something from his student days when he studied particle physics.

He took his earbuds off and made his usual intuitive leap and considered the possibility of tachyons, those little faster than light particles that were so elusive to science. He wondered, if tachyons, were they blue-shifting tachyons, signals from the future? Would that old theory of his that the Gate builders had come from our future finally be proven true? He smiled and shook his head.

He put the earbuds back in, to regain focus, and concentrated on scanning the data for more glitches, more of these supposed tachyons. Now the Snoop wanted him to _"go long and deep and lose yo-self, kid"_ , and he tried to do that very thing. But the 'kid' crept into his consciousness and he immediately thought of Kimmy. It didn't take much to have her on his mind, his darling daughter, apple of his eye.

She had brought a boy home the other day.

They played some console games, then she read from some of her favourite storybooks, which included a selection of passages from Brian Greene's _The Fabric of the Cosmos_. She told Tommy she especially liked the references to 'Chewie', and the universe being sliced up like a loaf of bread. Then little Tommy said he didn't want to play anymore. It was all very innocent, and Yang was proud of his daughter's growing interest in science, but deep down, he didn't approve of boys.

Now Snoop was singing his number one hit Book Report, and enumerating his many book recommendations:

' _Tha Jung, tha Old an' the New Testament,_

An' of course tha Tao Ta Ching.

But most of all – ah wanta emphasize this:

Anythin' by Ursula Le Guin!'

By this time, Yang could tell he was losing the fight to stay focussed, and would have to end the session. An errant finger was tapping to the beat.

But it had been a very good session.

He had to admit: he had learned to love the Snoop. To gain his fast track to pure focus again he'd have to find another genre that he hated. Maybe emo?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On the Riverside freeway a car and its occupants were headed for home in Riverside. The car was a relatively new Nissan Versa - color: cherry red. The occupants were (in front) David Rodriguez (driving), his partner Astrid, (and at back) John Hannebury, Kathy Rodriguez and, nestled between them in a baby seat, the very new baby, named Ross - color: pink. They had just picked Kathy and Ross up from the hospital.

"Oh-oh, Lily wants me to turn left," said David.

"Ignore it," said Astrid dismissively. "It's not the right one."

The GPS was instructing David, in its clipped female tones, to _"please proceed to the highlighted route"_. He had taken to calling it 'Lily' for some reason he wouldn't tell Astrid. She, for her part, was determined not to anthropomorphize the thing, but was failing. David detected the note of jealousy in her voice, enjoying it immensely.

"Ooh, now Lily's telling me to make love to her!" he teased.

"Child!" she chided.

Astrid turned in her seat to look again at the baby. He was the most adorable thing she had ever seen – but then again, she felt that way about most babies. Perfect cherubic face, blue eyes looking out helplessly at the world, his legs pumping, happy in his swaddling clothes.

"You're a sweetie, yes you are!" She jiggled one of his little feet, and the old maternal thrill ran through her as he gifted her with a smile. "He's beautiful, Kathy."

"Thanks. I like to think so."

Kathy looked surprisingly refreshed for a new mom. Her eyes were clear, her skin had never looked more radiant. A boring person would say motherhood agreed with her. But it was mostly all that sleep the nurses had granted her while they tended to the baby. Certainly, she had the slightly dazed expression often seen with the childbirth experience, and the prospect of endless dirty nappies, sleepless nights, a new life and worry, worry, worry that came with it. Hopefully, John would pull his weight in all this.

Kathy looked at Ross, then over at John, and smiled. They held hands.

"How did the reunion go?" she asked him.

John had visited his ex-wife Gayle and Baxter, his son, the day before. It had been...awkward. She had found a new boyfriend - an architect called Andy. Seemed decent enough. He was glad that she had moved on and was doing something new with her life. They had all expressed the observation of how weird and wonderful it was that - after all this time - he was still alive. He knew in her heart she had grieved for him, but the grief had already been softened by their estrangement.

It was Baxter who he felt for the most. The poor little guy had had it rough. First his parents separated, then his dad 'died'. It was he who had truly grieved. Then finding that his father was alive after all, it was almost too much for him. Ten years old, and a brave young man, but when he saw his long lost father again, he hugged him tight and cried. And then father cried. And then mother. It was a crying contest. The boyfriend just felt embarrassed - an intruder upon the scene. Through his tears John heard Baxter say, "Please don't go away again, dad!" It almost broke his heart. He vowed that in time he would make it all up to him, somehow.

"...Um, good," was all he said of the reunion.

Kathy knew there had been much more to it than that, but she didn't push. She was a bit sorry she had asked the question.

"Have you remembered any more about... _back there_?" Kathy wasn't sure if this was another question she shouldn't ask, but she asked it anyway.

John had been remembering things about his time in the past ever since his return. But there were areas he was still fuzzy about, in particular those memories to do with Evram and the _Driadi_.

"I don't know," he replied. "A lot of it's still a fog. I distinctly remember Evram saying his people were from the future – our future – but how can that be?"

"Why?"

"Well, if Gate travel into the past creates new timelines, then if they're from our future, this is not the first original timeline. You understand? Which timeline are we in?"

Kathy pondered that, then said, "Maybe he lied. Maybe they're really from this time. They could even have come from the past."

"No, then they'd need to be able to travel into the future."

"Maybe they can!"

"Uh..." John hadn't considered that. The idea startled him.

"...And that's another thing," he went on. "He talked about there being _Driadi_ here amongst us now. He talked about someone called 'the Custodian'. Who could that be?"

"It could be anyone," suggested Kathy.

"No, it would need to be someone who was closely involved with the Program, who had access to the Gates."

"Not necessarily. Maybe they have their own access."

"Maybe. But with the Gates closed for now, I guess we may never know."

"Yeah, it's weird how the Gates closed themselves down and left us with that message," said Kathy, turning to wipe some drool from the baby's chin. "Messy baby...It seemed like they were judging humanity. _Prepare!"_

"Computers that moralize," said John, "what a concept!"

"Yeah, scary, isn't it?"

She looked down at Ross, and wondered. "You're not gonna be like that, are you?" she said.

They all looked to Ross - even David through the rear view mirror. He said indulgently, "Ah, he's gonna be a champ, that one!"

As he drove the car into the carport of the family home, Lily chimed, _"You have arrived."_
EPILOGUE

Australia, 32,000 BC

Out of violent continental collisions, earthquake and volcanic eruptions a new land was formed. It would become known as Australia. It would remain connected by landbridge to the larger continent above it for millenia. Then slowly, as the southern pole warmed, the Inundation would begin, and the land would be surrounded, isolated by ocean. But this would not happen yet for thousands of years.

The natives who inhabited this place had been here for at least 18,000 years already. It was said they had come by boat from the west, and by foot from the north. They were now a nation of tribes - or their term, 'mobs' - all keeping roughly to their own territories. Occasional regional wars or disputes would break out, and men would be killed, but the long peace would always be maintained.

They were deep into what would become known as their 'Dreamtime'. They hunted the strange animals of this land: the goanna, the wombat, and the procoptodon, the giant kangaroo, which they would eventually hunt to extinction. They gathered roots, nuts, berries, anything that would sustain them that was contained in the land. They knew its seasons and they lived largely nomadic lives in harmony with it.

Murundula (as the natives called it), a mountain range in the country's south east, looked very much as it would look 34,000 years later. It already contained its two high undulating ridges and was, even now, covered in eucalypts and ferns. It would not gain its four television towers and be known as Mount Dandenong till much later, however.

Near the top of one of the ridges stood an unusual object. It was ovaloid in shape and crystalline in composition. It was a Timegate. Positioned on a small plateau beneath the summit, it was an object of reverence and curiosity to the natives who knew it.

For the moment, the place was quiet, suspended above the lazy summer haze below. A kookaburra laughed nearby and a lyrebird called from the timber. Across the clearing a blue-tongue lizard scurried, making its way through the Timegate ring on its way to catching the heat of the rocks nearby.

Suddenly, the ground seemed to vibrate and a low humming noise came from the Gate. The noise rose in pitch until a heavy pulse burst the air and the Gate's event horizon was formed. The animals that were nearby, hid - or hopped or flew or crawled away. In the distance, a cacophony of sounds erupted, of other animals protesting the disturbance.

Presently, a man appeared from out of the event horizon. He looked to be in his fifties, slightly thick-set and bald except for his horseshoe of dark hair. He was Eli Weinstein. He was wearing a pair of shorts, a white shirt and sandals. He turned to watch two more people come through the Gate behind him. They were Samantha Flores and Lina Thigpen, both dressed in skimpy shorts and tops and talking animatedly as they came through.

"-oh!" exclaimed Lina as she took in her surroundings. "Shit. The Gates are above ground here in this time?"

She walked out to the edge of the clearing and took in the view. The land below shimmered in the heat.

"There's no need for chambers here," said Sam, who followed her. "They'll come along later."

"Right," said Lina. There was still a lot that she didn't know about the Gates and the Gate builders, and Sam and her people, but she was learning all the time.

She turned to look back at the Gate, as the event horizon disappeared and the Gate shut down of its own volition. She knew it was closing her off from her future, for now. But the thought didn't bother her. She looked at Sam and knew this was her future from now on.

"That thing always reminds me of a big old evil cats-eye," she said. "Especially when that event horizon blinks off."

"Really?" asked Sam.

"I'm always reminded of the eye of a needle," said Eli.

"Oh yeah, I hadn't thought of that," said Lina. Then, catching the biblical reference and looking at the Gate once more, she added, "I think maybe a camel might pass through there."

"A small one, perhaps," said Sam, who laughed. She held out her hand. "Let's go!"

Lina took it and they ran off together. "Where are we going?"

"Down below, of course...!"

Eli lingered by the Gate. He thought about the eye of the needle, and what Lina had said about the camel. That old canard of Jesus Christ's in the Gospel of Mark. He suspected the image was originally a knot, rather than a camel. In his experience, the rich, power-hungry (and usually mean) man being thwarted from entering Heaven was simply a satisfying fantasy for the poor and the dispossessed. In the real world, he usually triumphed and got his way.

Perhaps, he considered, there was one reality, one alternative history down the line where it didn't happen. One time when love and compassion won out over cruelty and ignorance. One time when they got it right. Perhaps once was enough.

_The Custodian_ smiled, then headed for the path the women had taken...

As Lina walked down the path with Sam, she had a strong sense that she was finally coming home, coming into herself. She recognized this time and place as where she was meant to live her life. Everything here was straight-up, no bullshit. She could see why Sam and her people had chosen it as the place to hole up. She looked forward to losing herself with Sam in the hunt, and then finding herself again, here in the morning of the world. It was an exciting prospect.

"Prepare _ye_ the way, motherfuckers!" she said.

They made their way down the mountain path to the valley floor, where Evram and the mob were waiting for them.

THE END

APPENDIX

A PROPOSAL FOR TIME TRAVEL RESEARCH PROTOCOLS

By Ursula Bailouni

Director of the Gate Advisory Panel

PREAMBLE: The Discovery

In early 2016 a team of geologists and engineers from California's Tesla Institute discovered an Object hidden in a chamber deep beneath the Little San Bernadino Mountains. The discovery would have profound consequences for not only the scientific community, but for the entire world. It was found to be a device that could instantaneously transport people to other devices buried in similar underground chambers - much like the 'transporter' technology described in the television program 'Star Trek'. We have discovered twenty-three of them, all scattered evenly around the world. We call them 'Gates'.

Within each of these chambers was found smaller, hand-held devices which we call 'ankhs'. It was found that these were short-range versions of the Gates, and they could be used to transport people safely to and from the surface above their chambers. Each of the chambers was found to contain no more than twenty such ankhs (although, mysteriously, the original chamber in California is missing one ankh).*

The next discovery was the most significant. The Gates operated not only within space but within time as well. In effect, they contained a form of time travel into the past.

Our scientists have not yet worked out the principles upon which the time travel is achieved, but it would seem to be based on a type of advanced wormhole technology – although some scientists favour a more obscure theory called 'entanglement'. As no country has claimed knowledge of or responsibility for such technology, the inescapable conclusion must be that the 'Timegates' and their chambers and ankhs are of alien origin.

As to who these aliens were, and why they abandoned these Timegates, we can only speculate. It would seem they were using them to observe our development as a species throughout the ages.

PREAMBLE: Instigation of the Gate Program

Soon after the time travel nature of the Gates was revealed to the US government, the other Gate countries were informed about the chambers that existed within their borders. Members of each country's civil governments, military and secret service soon occupied the chambers, and plans to secure the area around the chamber sites themselves were established. These plans included the building of 'processing stations' on the grounds directly above the chambers. These were established to allow for officials using the Gates to gain customs clearance – much like the customs processing procedures required at airports.

This left the very large issue of the time travel component within the Gates. It was quickly realized that an official co-ordinating body would need to be set up to deal not only with Gate traffic, but to plan a systematic program for time travel exploration. Representatives from all Gate countries convened at a site near the New York chamber and elected myself, Ursula Bailouni, to be Director of the Program. I resigned from my position as Director of History and Antiquities at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, and took the job.

My first act as Director was to set up the Gate Advisory Panel, made up of Government science advisors and academics from each of the Gate countries. Our task is to oversee the Gate Program, including the adjudication of research 'missions' and the training of exploration team personnel (see Proposal below). Our activities remain classified from the public for the time being. This paper goes out to only a few selected Institutions in each country, with departments sworn to secrecy. We report directly to the Executive branches of our respective governments. Control of the Gates remains with the civil arm of governments, although we know military and also private concerns are observing our progress closely.

PREAMBLE: A Note on the Properties of Time Travel and the 'Prime Directive'

Early investigators found that travel into the past using the Timegates involves quantum mechanics and multiple realities. Also known as 'multiple timeline theory', it means the act of traveling back in time creates new timelines, new 'realities' separate from our own. Since every destination point in the past creates a split from our known timeline, actions or causes that happen there do not affect our present (or future). They presumably only affect the new timeline that has come into being. In short, the cliched paradoxes and altered histories of time travel found in the 'single timeline theory' and made popular in films like the 'Back To The Future' series, do not happen. Or at least not in the timeline we presently inhabit.

This is not to say that we should travel into the past and change history for the fun of it, tempting as it may be. If the past is mutable and we have the power to change it, then there must be a 'Prime Directive' that states 'As far as possible, no changes are to be made to the past'. There are important ethical reasons for this, but more importantly for our research, changing or contaminating timelines could seriously invalidate any research we do.

Time travel through the Timegates has one other peculiar quality. Nothing from the past can be brought back into our present reality. Our exploration personnel have tried to do this with sundry items from the past, but all have been found to disappear as soon as they breach a Timegate's event horizon. Presumably, the same goes for bringing back humans from the past as well. Apparently, the only matter from the past that may come back through the Gates is that which has been taken internally by explorers – food, oxygen, etc. These are important exceptions – without them our people would likely die upon re-entering the present timeline!

However, we are able to film and record the past on devices taken through from this side. In this way sound and image are retained. The importance of this fact for our research cannot be overstated.

THE PROPOSAL

Safety Issues: Exploration Training and Mission Controllers

Much preparation is required before scientists and academics can be let loose into the past to pursue their research efforts. Time travel is not for the timid, and stringent safety measures must first be put in place to ensure the well being of researchers when they eventually 'take the field'. Therefore the Panel's first task has been to set up a program for specially selected personnel to be trained in the anticipated rigors of time travel and to act as a 'vanguard' force in exploring the past. These exploration teams' task will be to glean important background information about cultural, political and security conditions within each place and era that they visit. They will then report back, and their information (much of which will be recorded) will be used to build up 'real world' profiles on the past, enabling better preparation of research missions.

These explorations will be staggered sequentially, firstly with decade-long jumps, and then half-century jumps as exploration teams go further back in time. This is to help Exploration Teams adjust firstly to the rapid rate of change within the recent past, and then to adapt to the slower pace of change over the centuries and millennia previous to that.

Exploration team leaders who gain the necessary practical experience in the special conditions of time travel may go on to become 'Mission Controllers'. They will accompany field researchers on away missions into the past and act as guides and facilitators, and ensure researchers conduct themselves appropriately. The informal term for them is 'time cops'. There will normally be two assigned to research mission groups, and usually at least one Mission Controller will have military or secret service training, in addition to exploration team training.

Researcher Training and The Code of Conduct

Clearly, some intensive time travel training will also apply to researchers who undertake missions into the past. Among other requirements, the training and preparation program will require all mission personnel to familiarise themselves with the Panel's Code of Conduct before any missions are attempted. The Code requires them to:

\- Faithfully follow their mission objectives specified without deviation.

\- Follow any instructions issued to them by assigned Mission Controllers.

\- Follow the Prime Directive and attempt to leave as small a 'footprint' on the timelines they enter as is reasonably possible.

\- Not to reveal their 'identities' to people of the past, understanding that they must keep a covert profile.

\- Accept responsibility for their actions and agree to indemnify the Panel and the Gate Authority should misfortune befall them during missions into the past.

\- Give up all assigned shift ankhs, costumes, currency, recording equipment and sundry items on demand at their mission's completion.

Methodologies

Our line of inquiry is nothing short of all history itself; therefore we must proceed cautiously, methodically, and for the moment, selectively. For now, time travel is not to be squandered on personal agendas or areas of investigation that have little bearing on the advancement of science and world knowledge. It is not to be used as a tool for genealogical research, for example, or as a plaything for the rich. It is not presently open to the public, in any case.

The method therefore shall emphasise quantitative lines of inquiry, along with some qualitative. Some 'experiential' perceptions may be noted, particularly in reference to witnessing events, but most research will rely on recorded and scientifically measured data. In reference to what is known as 'practice-led research methodologies', for the moment we're interested in the collection of raw, empirical data here, not data creation. We have no doubt that fruitful work can be done in that area with respect to time travel, but we will leave that to a time when, or if, we can afford the luxury of experimental research, which may include altering timelines (see below).

Research Applications

All research proposals must have clear and demonstrable objectives that meet the Panel's criterion of appropriate research avenues for time travel. They must contain detailed notice of all requirements, including budget estimations, support material, aims, executive summaries, personnel listings, and possible duration, including follow up procedures. Applications should first be made in writing to the relevant university committees, then followed up with a detailed presentation before they can be sent on to the Panel for external peer review and final ratification. The Panel reserves the right to grant priority to those applications it feels merit special attention due to their greater historical importance and/or urgency. It also reserves the right to deny applications on any reasonable grounds. Rejected proposals may be appealed but cannot be resubmitted until a substantial amount of time has passed.

Peer Review

Peer review requirements are presently limited by the Program's necessary security issues. For the moment, findings cannot be published in widely circulated peer review journals and periodicals. They will, however, appear within the Panel's in-house publication, tentatively titled 'The GAP Review'.

THE FUTURE: a tentative note on experimental and practice-led research

When most of the major research missions have been carried out there may finally be time to conduct what I call Experimental Research. This would be any research that deliberately alters the timelines of past realities, or that includes practise-led research. As the below section on ethics makes clear, care will need to be exercised so that these alternate timelines and their participants are maintained with dignity and a strong degree of fidelity.

The possibilities for this type of research are many. Sculptors, architects and other practitioners of the arts today could gain enormous insights into past practise by apprenticing with the masters of the ages. New first-hand account biographies of important (or even not so important) historical personages could be penned and brought back for our delectation. Well-known figures could be saved through modern medicine or alteration of circumstance to go on and achieve new works that we could enjoy. Imagine, a complete version of Sanditon by Jane Austen, Edward Drood by Dickens, new musical works by Buddy Holly and more!

A SUMMARY: Ethics and the World Court Ruling

We have time travel. We have this gift, this research tool beyond the dreams of historians; but it poses many ethical challenges. We must ask ourselves, is it ethical to poke around in the past using the advantage of hindsight? It could be said that any kind of time travel is intrinsically unethical. For example, just because we could eavesdrop on historically interesting conversations in the Whitehouse (Nixon and his aids on Watergate, Thomas Jefferson and Merriweather Lewis on the Lewis and Clark expedition, etc), should we? How do we proceed with interviews of people in the past when the true nature of the interview cannot be divulged to the subject (or at least, not at the risk of seeming insane!)? What if discoveries are made in the past that could have huge consequences for today, such as challenges to religious faith? And what is the legal standing of crimes committed in the past that can now be uncovered through time travel?

This last point has been answered for us by the World Court. It has recently ruled that, as time travel involves alternate quantum timelines, actions that occur in them are not subject to judicial law in this timeline. This ruling has enormous ramifications for our research. It means, for example, that John F. Kennedy's killers (if it turns out there was more than one, and they still live) cannot be prosecuted. It also means no one can be subject to retroactive 'justice' for deeds done in the past (though there is the possibility of vigilantism). The ruling has its good and bad points, but I believe, ultimately, it is for the best. Perhaps it is enough that, once and for all, we will know who did what to whom, that we will finally know the identity of, say, Jack the Ripper!

As for the other questions offered, and many more besides, we are presently insulated from public scrutiny and censure by the covert nature of our task. This is fortunate in that it gives us time to come to terms with the ramifications of what we do with the Program. No doubt at some point there will come a reckoning. Hopefully, if we proceed soberly and objectively under the best traditions of academic and scholarly performance and excellence, if we prove ourselves proper Gatekeepers of history, we will all be prepared to face it with dignity.

\- Ursula Bailouni

* This Proposal was written before the discovery of the twentieth ankh and other discoveries came to light.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Russell Forden shares a house in Melbourne with one brother, one dog, one cockatoo and too many books. He is a keen member of Democracy at Work, Victoria, an advocacy group for co-operatives. Eye of the Timegate is his second novel. An as yet untitled 'spinoff' novel to Timegate will be released very soon.

Contact me at the following...

http://russellforden.com

<https://www.facebook.com/russell.forden>

http://www.swampdpopculture.com

